RKlAH 
 
 Mr eiati 
 
CukNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PS 2147.04 1884 
 
 Old Mark Langstona tale of Duke's creek 
 
 3 1924 022 161 875 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022161875 
 
OLD MAKE LANGSTON 
 
 ^ Cale of Miikt'8 Cmfe 
 
 BY 
 
 RICHARD MALCOLM JOHNSTON 
 
 £on*on : 
 SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, & RIVINGTON 
 
 CEOW.N BUILDINGS, 188, FLEET STREET), 
 
 1884. 
 
 [All rights reserved.] 
 
TO THE MEMORY OP MT PARENTS 
 
 MALCOLM AND OATHAEINE DAVENPOET JOHNSTON 
 
 WHOSE DISCIPLINE MADE MY CHILDHOOD SO CONTINUOUSLY 
 
 BLESSED, THAT NOW, NEXT TO THE SOLACE OP 
 
 CALLING TO MIND PERSONS AND THINGS 
 
 THAT WERE THEN, IS THAT OP 
 
 DREAMING OP SOME THAT 
 
 WERE NOT 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. PAGH 
 
 I. THE TOPOGRAPHY OP DUKESBOROUGH .... 7 
 
 II. VERMONTER8 IN GEORGIA 11 
 
 in. THE JARRELLS 15 
 
 IV. IMPRESSIONS MADE BY THE NEW-COMERS ... 21 
 
 V. MRS. TOLIVER AT HOME 28 
 
 VI. THE PORTERS AND OTHER DUKE'S CREEK FOLK . . 39 
 VII. MR. RIDDLE AND HIS HUMBLE ROMANCE . . . . 52i 
 Vffl. MR. DUKE'S UNFORESEEN INTEREST IN THE JAR- 
 RELLS 6S 
 
 IX. A RETIRED MAGISTRATE 68 
 
 X. THE SCHOOL-MASTER CONTEMPLATES RETURNING TO 
 
 HIS OLD PROFESSION 74 
 
 XI. MR. DUKE VISITS THE SICK 83 
 
 XU. DOOLANA LINES 94 
 
 Xin. MR. RIDDLE'S EARLY MOTIVES AND OBSTACLES IN 
 
 LEARNING HIS ART 105 
 
 XIV. MR8. TOLIVER HAS A CHAT "WITH REBECCA WOOD- 
 BRIDGE ABOUT BOARDERS 115 
 
 XV. LEWIS SANDERS . 123 
 
 XVI. A CONVERSATION AT DUKE'S MILL 132 
 
 XVII. A CASE FOR THE RETURNING LAWYER 139 
 
 XVDX MR. RIDDLE AND BARNEY JARRELL MEET AT THE 
 
 STORE OF PORTER & SANDERS 149 
 
 XIX. THE VISIT OF AGGY TO MARK LANGSTON . . . 154 
 
 XX. A SUNDAY EVENING LETTER 160 
 
 XXI. MR. RIDDLE IN DUKESBOROUGH 166 
 
 XXII. MR. RIDDLE AT BARNEY JARRELL'S 172 
 
 XXni. WOODBRIDGE AND BARNEY JARRELL AT THE FOR- 
 MER'S NEW ROOMS . . 184 
 
6 CONTENTS. 
 
 chap. PA °a 
 
 XXIV. TALKS BETWEEN BROTHER AND SISTER ON A 
 
 DELICATE SUBJECT 188 
 
 XXV. A LETTER FROM LUCIUS WOODBRIDGE TO HIS 
 COUSIN, JUDGE WELLBORNE, OP MLDDLEBURY, 
 
 VERMONT 199 
 
 XXVI. MR. DUKE AND BARNEY JARRELL ON THE CREEK 
 
 BANK 205 
 
 XXVII. BARNEY JARRELL'S EMBARRASSMENT . . . 218 
 
 XXVIII. COMMENCEMENT 222 
 
 XXIX. SUSPICIONS FOLLOWED BY ENHANCED CONFIDENCE 227 
 XXX. LITTLE POLLY GETS BETTER AND BETTER . . . 239 
 XXXI. REBECCA WOODBRIDGE PROPOSES TO RESIGN . . 246 
 XXXII. MR. JESSE LINES SEEKS TO MAKE AN ADVAN- 
 TAGEOUS TRADE 251 
 
 XXXIII. DISCUSSIONS ABOUT THE PARTY AT THE ACADEMY 261 
 
 XXXIV. MR. DUKE AND MR. RIDDLE AT MARK LANGSTON'S 266 
 XXXV. THE DISAPPOINTMENTS OF MR. LINES 274 
 
 XXXVI. BARNEY JARRELL VISITS MR. LINES BY NIGHT . 283 
 XXXVTI. A PREDICTION BY MR. LINES IS VERIFIED . . . 295 
 XXXVIII. A CITATION FROM THE COURT OF ORDINARY, WITH 
 
 SOME OF ITS RESULTS . . 298 
 
 XXXIX. MRS. TOLIVER'S SPECULATIONS AS TO NEWS 
 
 BROUGHT BY LEWIS SANDERS 310 
 
 XL. ONE MORE VISIT FROM MR. DUKE TO HIS INVALID 
 
 FRIEND . 316 
 
 XLI. SEPARATION AND UNION . 328 
 
 XLII. SETTLEMENTS 335 
 
OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 31 Sale of JBuke's Greek. 
 
 Chapter I. 
 
 THE TOPOGRAPHY OP DUKESBOEOUGH. 
 
 The Dukes were among the very first to settle in the 
 neighborhood wherein occurred what is herein told. They 
 imparted their name to the creek one mile above their resi- 
 dence, and some years afterward, when a blacksmith's shop 
 entirely, and a meeting-house mainly their own, had been 
 erected at the cross-roads, a quarter of a mile east, they 
 called the place Dukesborough. Ammon Duke was sup- 
 posed to have come from an upper county of North Caro- 
 lina, though, being a man apparently without desire of 
 hereditary distinction, he was not wont to speak often or 
 much of bis family antecedents. He had come in a two- 
 horse wagon, bringing a wife, with her one young male 
 child (Kinsey by name), five or six negroes, and a considera- 
 ble amount of money in specie. He grew rich apace. The 
 withdrawal of the Indians across the Oconee and the Oc- 
 mulgee had opened the hither sides to easy and frequent 
 settlement thereon. Ammon Duke offered early and per- 
 sistent arguments in favor of a town there in the upper 
 border of the county. It was a shame, he averred, to be de- 
 
8 OLD MARK LANGSTON : 
 
 pendent upon Gateston, the county-seat, twelve miles below, 
 for schools, groceries, dry-goods — everything, in fact, except 
 preaching and blacksmithing. For it had not been very 
 long after his first coming that he had taken up and sold 
 thousands of acres, and a population of goodly numbers 
 had settled in the country around. His arguments, with 
 other causes, in time prevailed. In process of several years 
 a few planters had consecutively purchased lots of from 
 five to twenty acres and upward along the road leading 
 west from the cross, and built residences thereon. Dukes- 
 borough, however, grew but slowly, notwithstanding the 
 claims of its founder as to its eligibility for a large town. 
 Even at the period of which I propose to write a portion of 
 its history it contained less than a dozen families, although 
 it had attained to considerable fame, far and near. 
 
 At that time Ammon Duke and his wife had long been 
 dead, and Kinsey Duke, now a man of fifty-three, or there- 
 about, with his wife and son, Ammon, dwelt in the family 
 mansion, on the only hill in the village. A "rusher" (such a 
 man was called) had been Ammon Duke — intrepid, reckless 
 of consequences to boldest endeavors, audacious in risks of 
 person and fame, gaining success that often falls to such a 
 spirit in pioneer existence. It was said that he died hard, 
 and while berating the physician whom, calling in late, he 
 repeatedly stigmatized as "fool" and "liar" for telling him 
 his end was near, and urging him to turn his thoughts from 
 earthly interests. The grief of his neighbors in town and 
 country, or even his son's, did not seem excessive. Some of 
 his oldest negroes did mumble some affectionate regrets — 
 nobody knew for what. Kinsey buried him, rather decently, 
 by the side of his deceased mother, in the grove destined to 
 become the main village cemetery, situated near the dwell- 
 ing. So henceforward Kinsey ruled in Amnion's stead. 
 
A TALE OE DUKE'S CREEK. 9 
 
 Though Dukesborough was near three-quarters of a mile 
 long, a brief description will serve for its topography. You 
 understand it lost in width and populousness. The travel- 
 ler, say he began at the beginning — namely, the cross-roads 
 — would see the meeting-house to the left and the graveyard 
 to the right. Advancing in a direction westward, after as- 
 cending an easy acclivity, he would observe, on his right, at 
 the corner of the graveyard, the blacksmith's shop, which 
 at this period had so lengthened its lines and strengthened 
 its stakes as to have an annex, in which spokes, hubs, fel- 
 loes, and axle-trees were made from timber as good as the 
 world ever saw. Keeping his eyes to the right, he would 
 now pass in view, at convenient distances themselves apart, 
 first Griffin's shoe-shop, in the rear of which Griffin himself 
 dwelt in a house not much bigger than the shop ; then the 
 Duke mansion on the hill, one hundred and fifty yards from 
 the street ; then Barfield's. Eight here the road, not hav- 
 ing foreseen that it was to become a street, getting rather 
 clumsily down the acclivity to its incipient level, diverged 
 somewhat south-westwardly, and so continued until it con- 
 cluded to fork, and thus define that limit of the town. Up 
 to the fork, with liberal allowance for calf - pastures and 
 truck -patches between, were Duggin's store and residence, 
 Mrs. Catlin's, and the Howells', the last at the extreme west 
 end. The said traveller, supposing his attention hitherto 
 had been confined to objects of interest on his right, must 
 turn square round, if his purpose were to do Dukesborough 
 thoroughly and soon. Yet, pausing a moment at this 
 point, he might observe, at short distance from the fork, 
 one prong of which extended due west and the other south, 
 another meeting-house, not nigh so large as the one afore- 
 mentioned, and of another denomination of Christians. It 
 had its little graveyard also. Beyond, an expanse of un- 
 
10 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 dulating country, covered with majestic growth, would in- 
 vite him to penetrate. But, engaged with the investigation 
 of Dukesborough, the tourist must take the back-track. A 
 couple of hundreds of yards' walk would put him before 
 Mason's residence, store, and post-office. Thence he would 
 pass consecutively Mrs. Toliver's, Hallier's tavern, Barfield's 
 grocery across the street from his mansion, Eeuben Quil- 
 lian's (opposite the Dukes'), and Colin Quillian's. Lingering, 
 when a few rods beyond the latter, at the mouth of a lane 
 that led due south, a moment's survey would show that it 
 terminated at the academy grove, which was a mere exten- 
 sion of that around the church. Eeturned to the starting- 
 point, he would now notice^ if he had at first omitted, 
 within the fork of the north and east roads, a small, clumsy- 
 looking house, at present occupied by a new-eomer. 
 
 It had been sometimes a disputed question whether this 
 house, and the little church in the south-west fork, could 
 fairly be regarded as being within the limits of Dukesbor- 
 ough. The lack of statutory enactments establishing def- 
 inite corporate limits put off decision indefinitely. As to 
 the north-east case, the spirit of contestation depended gen- 
 erally upon whether the occupant for the time being pre- 
 ferred to be considered townsman or countryman. For the 
 south-west, Mrs. Catlin, the only Methodist in town, had 
 often been heard to say that, as to whether her meeting- 
 house was to be called a country or a town meeting-house, 
 she was, and intended to remain, as independent as a wood- 
 sawyer, so to speak ; or, if people preferred a different com- 
 parison, a bob-tailed lizard; and that, as it would neither 
 hurt the town for her meeting-house to be taken in, nor (es- 
 pecially) her meeting-house to be left out, she thought she 
 might safely say for the latter that it was as independent 
 as herself. Indeed, it is but fair to say that discussions 
 
A TALE OP DUKE'S CREEK. 11 
 
 upon the subject were held mainly at Barfield's, and the neg- 
 ative side maintained by country people, who, manifestly 
 outside of the pale of town society, seemed to wish to con- 
 fine that pale to its most narrowly ascertained limits. 
 
 Chapter II. 
 
 VERMONTERS IN GEORGIA. 
 
 Some years before this time had begun in Middle Georgia, 
 especially in this particular neighborhood, an impulsion 
 toward intellectual culture higher than could be obtained 
 in the State outside of Savannah and Augusta. The State 
 University had been established mainly through the instru- 
 mentality of Abraham Baldwin, a native of Connecticut, 
 who, little as is now known of him, was one of the great- 
 est men of modern times. Yet native young men, educated 
 in that and similar institutions outside the State, without 
 exception, abstained from the profession of teaching, and 
 teachers of competent attainments in classical and math- 
 ematical education had come, partly from the Middle, but 
 mainly New England States. In this respect Vermont was 
 especially notable. Otis Smith, Alonzo Church, the Be- 
 mans, Charles Mallory — all became men of fame, and all 
 except one chose Georgia for their home. For this was 
 before the Slavery agitation troubles, when a Georgian 
 and a Vermonter had the same love for a common coun- 
 try and the same pride in the heroes of Kettle Creek and 
 the Green Mountain Boys. 
 
 A school, considerably above the average of the " old 
 fields," had been in Dukesborough for a considerable time. 
 About five years before a few families in the village and 
 
12 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 neighborhood, mainly the Quillians, Colonel Porter, and 
 Mr. Duke, had united their efforts to establish a first-class 
 academy. A large, two-story frame building was erected 
 in the grove, and Lucius "Woodbridge, from Vermont, was 
 placed at the head. The enterprise succeeded beyond most 
 sanguine hopes. During the last year there were about 
 seventy-five boys and girls, half of whom were boarders 
 at the different houses in the village. The teacher was a 
 man of slight build, tall, of pale complexion, high classic 
 features. His dark-brown hair hung in clusters almost to 
 his shoulders. His deep bass voice contrasted well with 
 his slender physique and gentle manners. For although a 
 strict disciplinarian in school, out of it he was almost as 
 suave as his sister Eebecca. He had been bred to the Bar, 
 and in his native State had practised for three years with 
 promising success. Apprehensions on the score of health 
 induced him to seek a milder clime. The situation obtained 
 at Dukesborough, intended by himself to be temporary, had 
 proved to be agreeable and profitable, and he had held it 
 already much longer than he had expected. 
 
 The school had grown so large that his sister Eebecca 
 had recently come out and joined him as assistant, particu- 
 larly to teach music to the girls, and for this purpose a 
 long, one-story building had been added at right angles to 
 the west end of the first. Eebecca was tall, lithe, fair, and 
 rosy-cheeked : not very handsome, except when she moved, 
 and especially when in conversation. Her mouth was 
 deliriously sweet, and in exquisite harmony with her bright 
 blue eyes. She was twenty-two, and her brother thirty 
 years old. 
 
 The reputation of the school spread far and wide. This 
 present year had opened with near a hundred pupils. When 
 they saw these things — every bench occupied, the certain 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CHEEK. 13 
 
 prospect that more would have to be made ; when they saw 
 that piano in the annex, the only one known or beard of ex- 
 cept one apiece at Eeuben Quillian's and Colonel Porter's ; 
 when they saw this special instrument set there for Miss 
 Woodbridge to teach the native girls to play like she was 
 known to discourse on another and a finer that she kept 
 at Mrs. Toliver's, where she boarded, all — it was not worth 
 while to try to deny it — all, including Quillians, Porters, 
 and Dukes, felt what might as well be styled pride as sat- 
 isfaction. As for music, excepting merely vocal, there had 
 been prejudices against it, especially that produced by the 
 violin. The inspirations imparted by that instrument some- 
 times, especially to young persons, had been suspected to 
 have come from — well, some right out with it and said — 
 the devil. The flute and flageolet, though not diabolical, 
 were regarded as considerably carnal. But somehow, from 
 the beginning, the piano was looked upon as harmless, and 
 soon with favor, and it became pleasant to observe the 
 sweetness that would overspread even elderly females when 
 Harriet Quillian or little Eliza Porter would play "Days 
 of Absence " or " Bonaparte Crossing the Bhine," and the 
 youthful, almost mischievous, smilings when the bigger girl, 
 with unwonted boldness, would essay "The White Cock- 
 ade," "Leather Breeches," or "Molly, Put the Kettle on." 
 The coming of Miss Woodbridge was an important era. 
 Mrs. Toliver, very tall, stout, now, at sixty-five or upward, 
 in her second widowhood, while her two husbands slept 
 side by side in the lower part of the garden at her planta- 
 tion, a few miles south — Mrs. Toliver, as staunch a pre- 
 destinarian as the best of them, as honest, as courageous, 
 and as pronounced, was captivated at the start by the fair 
 Vermonter. I hesitate to use the word captivated in con- 
 nection with such a person as Mrs. Toliver, and I do so only 
 
14 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 for want of a better. In a comparatively brief time she 
 had, as it were, adopted this her only boarder, and made 
 herself, or believed to have made herself, familiar with her 
 whole list of pieces. There were " The Brattleboro' "Waltz," 
 "The River Waltz," "London," "Russian," and other 
 marches ; " Speed the Plough," " Money Musk," and " Kiss 
 me Sweetly." There were Scotch and Irish ballads : " Kel- 
 vin Grove," "Bonnie Dundee," "Oh, believe me, if all," 
 and "The Last Rose of Summer." Then there were also 
 "The Troubadour," " The Minstrel's Return," "The Mel- 
 low Horn," "The Soldier's Tear," and others. The per- 
 former was as modest as she was skilful, and she had to be 
 led, and sometimes even gently constrained, to do herself 
 full justice in the opening of her career. Mrs. Toliver 
 handed her generously around, and, whether at her own 
 or the house of a neighbor where there was a piano (for 
 pianos began now to be bought with some freedom in the 
 town), would call placidly, yet with some slight authori- 
 tativeness, from her boarder's collection. She would not 
 always have it precisely accurate, yet quite enough so to 
 be understood by Miss Woodbridge, who would respond to 
 invitations to give us, if she pleased, the " Battleberry 
 Walls," "The Maelstrom's Returns," "The Miller's Horn," 
 and, if Miss Woodbridge were not — and she hoped she were 
 not — too tired, " The Downfall of the Past," by which the 
 young lady understood " The Downfall of Paris." 
 
A TALE Or DUKE'S CREEK. 15 
 
 Chapter III. 
 
 THE JARRELLS. 
 
 The Dukes thought, of course, that it was their right 
 and duty to be more interested than all others in new- 
 comers. Dukesborough, if not their town, had been founded 
 by them, bore their name, and the very ground on which 
 the main meeting-house and academy stood, with the acres 
 of broad, shady grove between and around, had been donated 
 by them, to say nothing of the lion's share of money and 
 lumber they had contributed besides. From their residence, 
 upon the only hill in the village, they could see Dukesbor- 
 ough from one end to the other. Within these few years 
 last past it had grown much in notability, if not in popula- 
 tion ; and they, as if conscious of their responsibility, were 
 wont to claim credit, yet not loudly nor offensively, for 
 what it had gained, leaving the debit of what it had failed 
 to gain to be distributed among the other citizens, as they 
 might acknowledge or compromise. Blacksmiths, shoemak- 
 ers, such as these, the Dukes had to admit to be necessary 
 in a town community aggregated of various elements. Yet 
 Mrs. Duke, who had been born and reared on Broad Kiver, 
 had sometimes said, though without anything like harsh 
 complaining, that to the Quillians mainly belonged the 
 blame that such persons were not required to keep their 
 places at the foot of the ladder of society. Not very long 
 after her first coming, when the town was beginning to look 
 as if it would be a town indeed, she had been heard to say 
 
16 OLD MAKK LANGSTOlf: 
 
 that she intended to wait and see where such mixing of high 
 and low people would lead it. Having waited now many 
 years, the town, so happy in name, yet remained iD its 
 same geographical position, the state of its society being 
 less altered than its growth. 
 
 Mr. Duke of course was, and always had been, president 
 of the board of trustees, because principally, among other 
 reasons, he had been known to be the only one who cared 
 for that honor. His native imperiousness of temper was 
 not wont to exhibit itself here or in social circles. A silent, 
 at times gloomy, man, he left the general conduct of board 
 matters to the rest. What they proposed (not having lei- 
 sure in the multitude of his own affairs for such less import- 
 ant work) he usually assented to with becoming reflection, 
 hesitation, and reluctance. When it succeeded the family 
 congratulated themselves upon it. The president had given 
 a qualified assent to the call of Lucius Woodbridge. Af- 
 ter he had come the success he had achieved was claimed 
 to be attributable to the fact that he had been a constant 
 boarder in the Duke family, and subject to their surveil- 
 lance and counsel. When Eebecca was invited, rather with 
 consent of Mr. Duke than after special consort with his 
 colleagues, the family determined, as before, to wait for 
 results before expressing decided opinions. When she came, 
 and went to Mrs. Toliver's to board, they remarked calmly 
 that, if matters should not turn out according to expecta- 
 tion, they were glad in advance that people would know 
 where to fix the responsibility, or at least wherefrom to 
 keep it. For of all persons in the village the Dukes liked 
 Mrs. Toliver least. 
 
 Not nearly so much interest had been felt on the hill by 
 the arrival, somewhat later, of the Jarrells. They had come 
 in a two-horse wagon, and for several days had remained at 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CKEEK. 17 
 
 the camping-ground in the woods near the house before- 
 mentioned in the north-east fork. The woods and the 
 house belonged to Mr. Duke, and the latter happened then 
 to be without a tenant. Seeing that the travellers did not 
 move on, Mr. Duke rode up to their camp one morning, and 
 after some chatting with Mr. Jarrell it was agreed that the 
 latter would take the house near by for at least six months, 
 half the rent paid in advance, the rest to be due a month 
 before the expiration of the term. 
 
 " Seems like right, conversant, good-natured, independent 
 kind o' fellow," said the landlord, in his curt, abrupt man- 
 ner, to his wife and son, that night, when returned from one 
 of his plantations. 
 
 " Where from ?" asked the wife. 
 
 " South Carolina, he said. Fine, good-looking girl child, 
 and one nigger woman. All the family seems to have. 
 Adopted- the child, he says ; him a bachelor." 
 
 " Independent, you say, husband ?" 
 
 " Ruther so, but not unpolite. Just talks on. Don't say 
 much ; but don't seem to care particklar for nobody." 
 
 " Did he know who you were V 
 
 " He didn't till I told him. When I did said he heard 
 a man o' my name lived here, and the town was named 
 after family. Heard that in Augusta, where they told him 
 of the big school we had here." 
 
 "Did he say anything of his purposes, and how he ex- 
 pects to obtain his living ?" 
 
 "Not particklar. Sort o' Jack-pf -all-trades, said. Do 
 a'most anything comes to hand. Going to look around for 
 place to settle at. Maybe settle down to farming, if find 
 place to suit — good land, cheap, and time to pay for it. 
 Board girl somewheres, if he go on further. Send her to 
 school." 
 
 2 
 
18 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 "Yes, and I suppose the Quillians will be for taking 
 them, perfect strangers, by the hand, as they do with every- 
 body else." 
 
 " Oh, Belle," said Mr. Duke, feeling less complaint than 
 hp tone aud words would have indicated, " don't run so on 
 aristocracy. Free country. Quillians know that ; and if one 
 ain't as good as another, what difference, and what use 
 making a to-do about it? 'Specially when people can't 
 help themselves." 
 
 " I shall make no ado about it, husband. Other people 
 have the responsibility of such matters in this town. Such 
 as that I was not raised to. But I shall make no com- 
 plaint." 
 
 "Saw the girl, pa?" asked Amnion, his son. "About 
 how old?" 
 
 " Thirteen, or such a matter. Pretty girl. Looks smart, 
 too. Nigger don't seem to have any manners. Hussy 
 stared at me like never see white man before. Asked her 
 where she got her manners ; then she went off to the horses. 
 Marster laughed ; said she were natchelly scary, but never 
 meant no impudence." 
 
 The child Amanda entered school at once. Her un- 
 common gifts, modest, graceful deportment commended 
 her to teachers and pupils, and the signs of good-breeding 
 in both her and her father placed them soon on good terms 
 in society. Barney was a tallish, light-complexioned man, 
 apparently not much beyond thirty, deliberate in his mo- 
 tions, considerate in speech. He spent his time walking 
 about, chatting with whomsoever he got acquainted with, 
 and doing little jobs, as mending wagons, yard-fences, and 
 such other like work. The excellent start made by Aman- 
 da led to frequent intercourse between him and the school- 
 master; and each having apparently found the other con- 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 19 
 
 genial, it was not long before they were upon terras of very 
 friendly intimacy. 
 
 Some weeks passed, during which Barney had become 
 considerably acquainted, not only in town, but in the coun- 
 try close around. One night, after supper, Mr. Duke and 
 Lucius Woodbridge were sitting in the drawing-room by 
 the fire. The former said, 
 
 "That fellow Jarrell seems to feel much at home, as if 
 been born and raised here. You and him 'pears like quite 
 friendly. Git anything out of him, Mr. Woodige 2" 
 
 " I've not tried, Mr. Duke." 
 
 Association of years had not served to reconcile the 
 young man to the rudeness of speech of his host. 
 
 " I mean, know much about him, and who he was, where 
 he come from ?" 
 
 " I have heard him say that he came here from the neigh- 
 borhood of Winnsborough, South Carolina. I have not 
 asked him what were his occupations there. But I believe 
 it is generally supposed that they were about as they are 
 here." 
 
 " Look strange man - with family don't settle himself 
 down in some sort regular business and get prop'ty, instead 
 of piddlin about as he does." , 
 
 " I incline to think, sir, that such is his intention when- 
 ever he can see his way clearly. At least, I have heard him 
 say as much. He does not seem to be disposed to speak 
 much about himself and his plans, and of course I do not 
 inquire about them further than I am so led by what he 
 says of his own accord." 
 
 " Smart young girl, ain't she ?" 
 
 " His daughter, you mean ? Yes, quite so." 
 
 " Sassy-looking nigger. Having but the one, I suppose 
 they both natchelly spiles her. Generally case with these. 
 
20 OLD MAEK LANGSTON : 
 
 hussies that stay about the house, except mine. They know 
 their places, and who they are." 
 
 Nothing farther was said then upon the subject. 
 
 Between Kipsey Duke and Lucius Woodbridge relations 
 never had and never could have become cordial ; they were 
 too widely different for that. The younger had long de- 
 sired to remove to another place ; and once he had applied 
 to Mrs. Toliver, whose was the only house in the village 
 without boarders. She had declined to receive him, and 
 his staunchest friends had urged him to remain in a family 
 which, they knew, prided themselves on having with them 
 the head of the school, and would resent his withdrawal. 
 Besides, being one who was rather particular in his wants 
 and tastes, and these having ever been specially regarded 
 by Mrs. Duke, he had remained where he was until now. 
 
 It would have been interesting to one acquainted with his 
 relations in that family to observe how skilfully yet inde- 
 pendently he conducted himself. Mr. Duke had found 
 long ago that his opinions upon any subject made no great 
 impression upon his boarder ; and, choleric, domineering 
 though he was, he knew the limit of safe discussion, and 
 not very often overpassed it. In politics especially the two 
 were at very decided variance. In this respect, however, 
 the Vermonter was in an almost infinitesimal minority in 
 the neighborhood, and indeed through that whole section 
 of the State — Colin Quillian being the only influential man 
 in that part of the county that sided with him. Political 
 parties were then styled Troup and Clark, and the contest 
 between the two leaders who imparted these names had 
 been long and acrimonious. The adroit tactics of Troup 
 in dispossessing the Indians of their lands in the north- 
 western portion of the State, and espousing a system of legis- 
 lation by which every citizen was made a freeholder of rich, 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 21 
 
 virgin public lands — tactics which for a time involved the 
 State in serious dispute. with the Federal government — 
 served at last to give to this consummate politician control 
 of public affairs and enable him to hold it. The followers 
 of Clark, however, still adhered to their chieftain, defeated, 
 though unvanquished, and they hoped — in vain, as it after- 
 ward proved — to restore him to power. Not often, yet 
 sometimes, Mr. Duke and his boarder must have their dis- 
 cussions. These were usually brief* The former soon got 
 unduly excited, from the consciousness of being incapable 
 of coping with his adversary in argument, and, convinced 
 of the imprudence, if not the impropriety, of personalities, 
 generally broke off and moved away. Additional coolness 
 between the two had been growing since the arrival of 
 Rebecca, and both had felt that separation was probable. 
 
 Chapter IY. 
 
 IMPRESSIONS MADE BY THE NEW-COMERS. 
 
 On the rest of the villagers the Jarrells made a good 
 impression. Amanda rose speedily into some distinction, 
 being found so bright and diligent in her studies, and so 
 proper in deportment. In spite of her father's dawdling 
 over jobs that neither occupied all his time nor brought in 
 much money, he seemed to be universally liked. Aggy, 
 even, having been found to be the best fitter of frocks in 
 town, and as good a cook as the best, contributed her 
 share to the well-doing of the family. 
 
 " Where did you learn all your smartness, 'oman 2" asked. 
 Mrs. Tolirer one day, at Reuben Quillian's, where the negress 
 had been assisting in fitting a new frock for her daughter 
 Harriet. 
 
22 OLD MARK. LANGSTON: 
 
 "I learnt what I know, ma'am," answered Aggy, "from 
 my white people." 
 
 "I should of supposened that people that had one as 
 smart nigger as you would of scuffled about and got more 
 prop'ty o' some kind." 
 
 " I'm very much obliged to you, Aggy," said Mrs. Quil- 
 lian, '' and you must always call upon me whenever I can 
 help you about your Miss Amanda's affairs, or your mas- 
 ter's, or your own." 
 
 " Thanky, ma'am," said Aggy, and took her leave. 
 
 "There's something sort o' curous about them people, 
 Sister Quillian," said Mrs. Toliver, when the woman had 
 gone. "Poor as they are, they've got manners, even to 
 the nigger. That nigger have belonged to a lady, sure as 
 you're born. And as for Mandy, Miss Woodige say her 
 brother say he hain't a s'perior in his school." 
 
 " He may well say that, Sister Toliver. Harriet is seven- 
 teen, and a hard student. She stands well in her classes — 
 highest in some, I think; but she says that Amanda Jar- 
 rell learns with a rapidity that will place her before long at 
 the head of the girls in the school." 
 
 " Do you know much about 'em, Sister Quillian, and who 
 they was where they come from ?" 
 
 " Nothing more than yourself, Sister Toliver, I suppose. 
 I've never asked Amanda, and, of course, not Aggy, about 
 their history." 
 
 Mrs. Toliver felt some, not all, of this rebuke, if indeed 
 it was such. She was as good a woman as Mrs. Quillian, 
 and she knew it. But there are various kinds of goodness. 
 
 " Miss Woodbridge," remarked Mrs. Quillian, " seems to 
 be a very fine young woman." 
 
 " Ermarkable fine," answered Mrs. Toliver — " ermarkable 
 fine, considerin'." 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 23 
 
 " Considering ?" 
 
 "Yes, considerin'. Of course I know, Sister Quillian, 
 what I'm a-talkin' about, and you'll be obleeged to say the 
 same o' yourself. Ef Miss Woodige were a Babtis'/ should 
 say she were the religiousest person in this town, no mat- 
 ter of what sect or sections ; for, as fur as I can see, and I 
 have watched her close, because I made up my mind many's 
 the year ago that, if I ever had another boarder of the fe- 
 male sections, I should watch her same as a hawk, and which, 
 I tell you now, Sister Quillian, that young 'oroan do more 
 prayin' than any person of whomsoever sections I know 
 anything about, not even of exceptin' of old Sister Catlin, 
 who, as we all know, have to do a right smart o' prayin' 
 more'n other people to try and make up for bein' of a Meth- 
 odis'. But as to who Miss Woodige pray to, and all what 
 she pray for, nobody know, not even her brother; nor he 
 wouldn't know, as to that, if, instid of boardin' with the 
 Jooks, he were boardin' with me along of her. I ast her 
 one day, and I told her in course that it were nona of my 
 business, but yit I consated to ask her about so much pray- 
 in' in a young person that didn't seem to me would natch- 
 elly feel like they stood in need of sich a powerful amount 
 o' prayin'. I ast her, I did, what made her do so much of 
 it. Instid of its hurtin' of her feelin's, she up, she did, and 
 she laughed. And I do think, upon my soul, Sister Quil- 
 lian, that when that young 'oman do laugh she have the 
 prettiest mouth and eyes that I ever; and ef I was a young 
 man — but, law me! which I ain't, and which by no means I 
 shouldn't desires to be, and have always been, ef not satis-: 
 fied, at leastways riconciled to the sections that the good 
 Lord have put upon me and appinted to me, as it were ; 
 although I can't but have consate sometimes that ef I had 
 of been of a man person, and belonged to that sect and sec- 
 
24 OLD MAKE LANGSTOJJ : 
 
 tions o' society, and had of been called — you understand, 
 Sister Quillian — it may be it mout of been that I could of 
 carried good Babtis' doctring a little furder into the howl- 
 in' wilderness, and of been more sagitated — or I mout rutb- 
 er say sagaciated — as it were, to shet up old Sister Catlin in 
 her wain and wanity argiments ; though I cannot deny, and 
 shouldn't wish to try to deny, that Sister Catlin — if so be 
 I mout call her sister — is as good a neighbor as anybody 
 ought never to want to live close by. Yit, Sister Quillian, 
 as I was a-sayin', that young 'oman, when I ast her the 
 question I did she laughed, she did, and she said that when 
 she prayed she were a-prayin' for her sins, and which, as for 
 them, she said they was mounting high. And now warrUt 
 that honest? But which also she 'lowed she prayed for 
 the souls in purgatary, and which they was her father and 
 mother, and warous besides that was done dead and goned, 
 and which I told her that, good, bad, or indifferent, I should 
 of supposened that they was now a past of prayin' for, be- 
 cause as the tree falls so it lays. But, 'ithout lettin' on so 
 powerful much on that pint o' doctring, I says to her, ' Miss 
 Arbecca,' says I, ' when I prays I prays to Godamighty ; 
 and though I in ginerly, when on my knees, I goes in most- 
 ly for myself, as in juty bound, for there's monstous few, 
 if any, than by good rights ought to confess their sins 
 ofener that what I do, yit I tries, when I go to the throne 
 o' grace, to 'member some other people, and specially them 
 that worshes idols up, and the sick, and the 'flicted, and the 
 Gallio-like that keers for none o' these things.' But I wanted 
 her to bar it in mind that when / prayed I prayed to God- 
 amighty and him only. Now, what you supposen, Sister 
 Quillian, that that young 'oman upped, she did, and said to 
 me ? She upped, she did, and she said, ' Missis Toliver,' 
 says she, ' when your pastor, Mr. Holmes, was here I heard 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 25 
 
 yon ask him to pray for Polly.' ' In course I did,' says 
 I. ' Well,' says slie, ' what you ask Mr. Holmes and other 
 prayerful persons to do for you and yours I ask the Blessed 
 Virgin Mary and the other saints to do for me and mine.' 
 And, mind you, now, Sister Quillian, when it come to the 
 cotin' o' Scripter there's monstous few of any sect or sec- 
 tions that can git ahead o' her, that same young 'oman. 
 In fact, she's a monstous fine young 'oman, Sister Quil- 
 lian ; and ef she were jes' only a Babtis' — " 
 
 " Well, well, Sister Catlin, if she prays as you say she 
 does—" 
 
 " Prays, Sister Quillian ! I tell you she's a more prayin' 
 person than anybody in this town. Well, my opinion is 
 she's on her knees offener than Sister Catlin or Br'er Mark. 
 I'm bound to say it, she's freckwent thar, night, mornin', 
 before goin' to the 'cademy, and arfter comin' back from 
 the 'cademy, and at warous odd times betwixt and between. 
 As to who all she pray too outside o' Godamighty / don't 
 say, because I don't know, and I s'pose it ain't adzactly 
 none o' my business, nor nobody else's, although I ken but 
 have the curosity to know somethin' about the warous 
 idols o' sich people." 
 
 "You are right, Sister Toliver, in saying that it is not 
 our business how she worships. You remember that her 
 brother told the trustees frankly of her being a Catholic ; 
 but at the same time he said that she would not meddle 
 with the faith of others, nor make efforts to change or alter 
 it in any case. Of course she expected to be allowed the 
 independent exercise of her own. As far as I have ob- 
 served her course, it seems to have been remarkably up- 
 right and discreet, and her coming has certainly added 
 already much to the tone of the school, good as it was 
 before." 
 
26 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 " Certainly," answered Mrs. Toliver, with great cordial- 
 ity, " that it have. Don't you supposen, by no manner o' 
 means, Sister Quillian, but what I thinks as much of Miss 
 Arbecca as anybody. We — that is, her and me — we never 
 has nothin' like any quarrelin' about the worshin up of 
 God in the deferent ways that me and her chooses. We 
 has friendly talks, but them's all ; and nary one of us gits 
 mad, like me and old Sister Catlin do sometimes, because 
 it's nothin' but jes predigice, jes old natchel, hard-head 
 predigice with her ; yet we — me and Sister Catlin I'm talk- 
 in' about now — we soon makes it up, because outside o' 
 that, I do think, upon my soul, that her beat for goodness 
 ain't to be found — no, no, by no manner o' means ; but yit, 
 Sister Quillian, I kin but ast myself how it ever could of 
 come about that two sich fine people, brother and sister, 
 could ever of got so far apart in the one pint o' the means 
 o' the salvation o' their souls. As for Br'er Woodige, they 
 say he's way up in doctring, even beyant Br'er Holmes, 
 and if he ain't a preacher, the pra'ars he make 's as lovely 
 and as retchin* to the very bottom o' my heart as ever I 
 got down on my knees to yit, and I'm sixty-seven year old, 
 agoin' on to my sixty-eigKt, and been a Babtis' fifty-seven 
 o' them the first Sunday in this very month, and I've heerd 
 a many a pra'ar enduring of my day and generation, good, 
 bad, and indifferent." 
 
 "I know little about it, Sister Toliver; but Brother 
 Woodbridge told Mr. Quillian that his father, while a stu- 
 dent of law in St. Alban's, Vermont, became in love with 
 and married his mother, who was a Catholic, and that of 
 the two children born of their marriage he took the fa- 
 ther's and his sister the mother's faith. Both parents 
 died when Miss Kebecca was an infant. She was brought 
 up by the mother's and himself by the father's relations. 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S .CREEK. 27 
 
 The circumstances were such that none on either side 
 thought proper to interfere, and the results became as 
 they are. Brother Woodbridge said that their difference 
 in this respect had never interfered with their affection for 
 each other, and that always it had been the wish and ex- 
 pectation of both, whenever her age and education would 
 so warrant, that she should live with or near him. The 
 trustees, being made acquainted with all the facts, invited 
 her to come and assist in the school." 
 
 " And they done a monstous powerful good thing when 
 they done it, to git Br'er "Woodige, in the first place, and 
 her afterwards ; and as for her of a-playin' on the peaner, 
 and of her singin' — But you've heerd her, Sister Quillian." 
 
 "Oh yes. She does indeed play and sing remarkably 
 well." 
 
 " I do think, Sister Quillian, that them ' Battleberry 
 Walls,' and that 'Downfall o' the Past,' and that 'Male- 
 strom's Beturn'- — Well, it's jes curous to think how any- 
 body that ain't a Christan — " 
 
 " Oh, my dear Sister Toliver ! she is a Christian." 
 
 " Well, yes, she may be, up to a certain pint ; and she 
 do sing sometimes chimes — she calls 'em psalms and sich — 
 and upon my soul and body, Sister Quillian, if some of 'em 
 ain't jes that meltin' that, as for me, I jes has to git up and 
 go into my room and set down and cry. They hain't any 
 words in 'em, that I can understand ; she say the lang- 
 widges of 'em is dead, and I sposen may be mout that's 
 what make 'em so meltin', not only on me but poor little 
 Polly. Well, she's a monstous fine young 'oman, and a 
 modester or a delicater about herself and her clothes I 
 should sildom wish to see in or about my house; and the 
 keer she help take o' Polly — Well, Sister Quillian, she 
 moutn't be a Babtis', but her goodness to that child show 
 
28 OLD MAEK LANGSTON : 
 
 that somebody or sometliin' 's learnt her what Godamighty 
 want done to the weak and the 'flicted, and she do for that 
 child same as me, exceptin' that she's more tender like in 
 the doin' of it." 
 
 The old lady drew out her handkerchief and wiped her 
 eyes, continuing : " She have been to my house now three 
 months, agoin' on four, and I believe that precious little 
 thing have got to love her more'n her grandpa afore he 
 died, and as much as she do me. You see, Sister Quillian, 
 she's more tender like than what I am, and the child, child 
 as she is, know it. Well, I must be agoin'. I left Polly 
 asleep ; she'll miss me if she's awake, and 'specially if Miss 
 Arbecca have not yit come from the 'cademy." 
 
 Chapter V. 
 
 MES. TOLIVEK AT HOME. 
 
 Mrs. Tolivee's worldly possessions, consisting of her 
 house and lot in the village, her plantation, and about 
 twenty negroes, a few miles below, had been accumulated 
 by her and her first husband, Mr. Cox, who, dying childless, 
 had bequeathed them all to her. Some years after his death 
 his relict, overpersuaded, as she used to say, contrary to her 
 expectations in that behalf, had married the late Mr. Toli- 
 ver, who, in a small, unostentatious, yet somewhat unctuous, 
 way, was a Baptist preacher. About four years ago this 
 second husband, whose antenuptial debts had been liqui- 
 dated by his wife, departed this life, leaving to her, in ad- 
 dition to what she already had, nothing except his memory 
 and an invalid grandchild, Polly Cheney by name, both of 
 whose parents, his son-in-law and daughter by a former 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CKKEK. 29 
 
 marriage, had deceased before Lim. The widow managed 
 this piece of property with greater care than that she 
 bestowed upon the rest. Though of masculine figure and 
 features, she was affectionate, pious, and the most indis- 
 criminately charitable person in Dukesborough. A.n invalid 
 child confided to her charge needed not ties of blood-rela- 
 tionship to obtain from such a woman long-continued and 
 tender ministrations. 
 
 Considering the differences among the three women — 
 herself, Mrs. Catlin, and Mrs. Reuben Quillian — their good 
 neighborhood and their affectionate friendship were pleas- 
 ant to contemplate, Mrs. Quillian, younger by fifteen years, 
 was soft, gentle, sweet. Her cheeks, though now at fifty, 
 had a smoothness and a sheen that harmonized well with 
 her low, loving voice. Mrs. Catlin, of about the age as her 
 nearest neighbor, as plain, as tall, though not as gigantic, 
 yet approximated her in all points, physically and spirit- 
 ually. From both the other two, and from the rest of the 
 villagers, she differed in religious faith. The main Dukes- 
 borough Church had been planted by Silas Mercer, a man of 
 great vigor of understanding and character, whose family 
 name was destined to be made yet more notable by the ca- 
 reer of one of its members, Jesse, who, in his time, extending 
 over many years, was probably the greatest Baptist divine in 
 the United States. It was a problem, to such as Mrs. Nan- 
 cy Toliver, wholly insoluble, not so much how many other 
 persons of common honesty and in their senses, as how a 
 woman like Mrs. Catlin, acknowledged to be on a line with 
 the foremost in all good works, could be other than a Baptist 
 right there in sight, except for the slight rise at Barfield's, 
 of the meeting-house that had been erected under the coun- 
 sels of such a founder. But Mrs. Toliver and the rest would 
 say, " We all know what prejudice is, and what it can do 
 
30 OLD MARK LANGSTOST : 
 
 with the very best people." And all except Mrs. Toliver 
 tried to become reconciled to leave the case where it stood. 
 
 The late Mr. Catlin had had built, mainly at his own ex- 
 pense, the small meeting-house at the other end of the vil- 
 lage, sustaining, to the great one at the east fork, relations 
 somewhat like that of a synagogue of the Getto, in Rome, 
 to the cathedral of Saint John Lateran. Seldom was relig- 
 ious service held there, the congregation being limited to 
 Mrs. Catlin and three or four other humbler country peo- 
 ple, though usually Mrs. Toliver, and sometimes the Quil- 
 lians, with whatever inward protests, attended out of respect 
 for their neighbor, and in acknowledgment of her habitual 
 presence at all exercises in their own church. 
 
 This religious difference made none in social intercourse. 
 The Quillians were thoroughly tolerant, and they especially, 
 together with another member from the country, soon to be 
 herein introduced, gave to the community its religious tone, 
 and that was marked with brotherly kindness and charity. 
 As for Mrs. Toliver and Mrs. Catlin, I am not sure that the 
 enjoyment of each other's society was not enhanced by their 
 religious difference. Pronounced characters as they were, 
 both rather militant, one decidedly so, the other, if not ag- 
 gressive, at least dauntless in defence, each served as a foil 
 to the assaults of the other's doctrinal warfare. High times 
 they sometimes had at one and the other of their dwellings. 
 Yet they seemed to love each other the more after such dis- 
 putes, and scarcely a day passed on which one did not send 
 the other some kindly inquiry or some sweetmeat, which 
 atoned for every item of acrimony. Mark Langston, broth- 
 er of Mrs. Toliver, several years her senior, used to have his 
 quiet, confidential chats with Brother Reuben Quillian about 
 these ladies and their frequent hot controversies. 
 
 " Both of 'ein, Br'er Quillian, seem to have the notion 
 
A TALE OP DUKE'S CKEEK. 31 
 
 every time they meet, that they're goin' to conwert one 
 another right then and there, 'specially Sister Nancy, and 
 which, of course, she have the right side o' the case, ef she 
 only knewedrhow to manage it; but which they both get 
 mad as two settin' hens ef the tother don't come in imme- 
 giantly, though they makes it up and loves one another the 
 same, and I sometimes think even better, arfter they've had 
 one o' their blow-outs. For the fact is, they're both of 'em 
 monstous good and fine women. But my expeunce is, Br'er 
 Quillian, that, as a general thing, women, ef they don't know 
 how to argy like men, yit they're more streenious on pints 
 o' doctring, and harder to be jerked loose from 'em, 'spec- 
 ially when they git to jerkin' at one another. In sech a 
 case my expeunce is, nary one of 'em seem to know, 'pear 
 like, where to git hold o' the tother, but they jes' shets 
 their eyes and goes to grabbin' at one another, so to speak. 
 Ah well ! God looks at the heart more than perfessions. 
 I'm more and more convinced o' that." 
 
 Wide apart as the two were in religious opinions, they 
 could not but frequently meet in close combat with javelin 
 and spear, even with sword and buckler. Yet their warfare, 
 if stormy, was bloodless, and their truces early and hearty. 
 Mrs. Catlin was fond of visiting Mrs. Quillian and Mrs. Tol- 
 iver. When entirely calm in her mind she went to the for- 
 mer and rested sweetly under the influences of that meekest 
 of women. When she felt a spur of friendly pugnacity, or 
 imagined it to be her duty to exhibit herself before one 
 whom she knew ever disposed to attack her dearest convic- 
 tions, or her feelings, from accidental and unknown causes, 
 were strung more or less beyond their ordinary tension, she 
 went to Mrs. Toliver's. Two other motives, co-operating, 
 made her a more frequent visitor here. The one was to 
 see Miss Woodbridge and hear her play and sing, and the 
 
32 OLD MAKK LANGSTON : 
 
 other to visit the invalid child, Polly Cheney. And be ft 
 said, in memorial of good women of all creeds in that primal 
 time, that visitation of the sick was regarded and practised 
 as a duty second only to belief in God and our Eedeemer. 
 Seldom a day passed in which Mrs. Catlin did not bring or 
 send something in token of affectionate sympathy. The 
 child, who had for years been confined to the house, and 
 mainly to her bed, from an infirmity of the spine brought 
 on by a fall, whose understanding gradually grew to partake 
 of the weakness of her physical frame, loved this chari- 
 table neighbor next to her grandmother and Rebecca 
 Woodbridge. 
 
 The young lady had a hearty sense of humor, and en- 
 joyed the discussions of these two, occurring often in her 
 presence, and sometimes even at Polly's bedside. Many a 
 bout had herself had with her hostess, but ever with pres- 
 ervation of entirely good-temper on both sides. They were 
 at such vast distance asunder that they could combat coolly 
 and deliberately. The efforts of the older combatant had 
 been employed mainly on the line of attempting to per- 
 suade the younger to dispense, one by one, with some of 
 her numerous gods. Good-humored, sometimes even mer- 
 ry, were these contests. But with Mrs. Catlin and Mrs. 
 Toliver each was wont to complain to Rebecca that the 
 other would never listen to argument. Mrs. Toliver espe- 
 cially had often declared that if her neighbor would listen 
 to reason she would settle the hash for her in fifteen — well, 
 at the outside, twenty minutes. 
 
 Polly, used to these discussions, had grown to regard 
 them as mere friendly chattings between her grandmother 
 and her "Aunty Catlin," as she called the latter. Lately, 
 however, a certain matter had begun to agitate her mind. 
 
 On the same afternoon of Mrs. Toliver's visit to Mrs. 
 
A TALE OB DUKE'S CBEEK. 33 
 
 Quillian aforementioned, when Rebecca had returned from 
 school, and the old lady had stepped over to her next neigh- 
 bor's, Polly told Rebecca that she had heard her grand- 
 ma say that she had come nigh making a Baptist of her 
 aunty that afternoon when the latter had broken away. 
 Then Polly gave it as her opinion that her grandma had 
 gone over there to finish up the business. 
 
 " And oh, Miss Arbecca ! you ought to of heerd — " 
 
 '"Have heard,' Polly, not ' of heerd.' " 
 
 "Have heard grammar and Aunty Gatlin, how they went 
 on when the old Dominicker heu's chicken fell in the 
 chicken-trough." 
 
 " How was that, darling?" 
 
 " Oh, you'll have to get grammar to tell you ; but it was 
 so funny, and, what must I say ? — intrusting." 
 
 "Interesting, you mean, I suppose?" 
 
 " Grammar says intrusting. But she tells me I must try 
 to learn to talk like you." 
 
 Hereat Mrs. Toliver came in, disappointment plainly 
 written on her face. She laid on the table her portable 
 Bible, almost jerked off her sun-bonnet, and, as she threw 
 it on the bed, said, 
 
 " How you feel, Polly ?" 
 
 "Better, grammar." 
 
 Polly, according to her own account, was always grow- 
 ing better. 
 
 " Glad to hear it, precious. But oh, Miss Arbecca, the 
 predigice, the predigice o' some people ! Where you 
 sposen I been?" 
 
 " Polly said she thought you had gone to Mrs. Catlin's." 
 
 " Well, well ! The child, she see me gether up my 
 Bible. Grammar's child's the smartest of all the childern, 
 ef she ain't been to school. But oh, Miss Arbecca, the 
 
 3 
 
34 OLD mark langston: 
 
 predigice, the predigice ! for it ain't nothing but predigice ; 
 for, exceptin' o' that, she's as sensible and good a person o' 
 the female sections as they is in this town or this whole 
 county, and, not a-exceptin' of even Sister Qnillian, I be- 
 lieve, on my soul, she'd be the religiousest." 
 
 " Can't bring her around yet, eh, Mrs. Toliver ?" 
 "No. I had her onst this evenin' where she couldn't 
 squeal, nor not even chirrup, so to speak, and a leetle more 
 and I'd of clinched the nail on her; but somehow, to save 
 my life, I couldn't lay my hand at the minute on the pas- 
 sage o' Scripter I wanted ; and I were a-sarchin' for it, when 
 she up, she did, and she scooted, a-sayin' she had to make 
 some wafers for Polly, and which you know she do make 
 the best wafers of ary 'nother person in this town ; and 
 which I don't know, Miss Arbecca, whether you know it or 
 not, but them Methodis' women — at least, them that lives 
 where their preachers in general stops when they goes a- 
 prowlin' around in their mirations — them women has to learn 
 how to do good cookin', because them preachers, so they 
 tell me, they has appetites, they do. Appetites is the word. 
 But that ain't neither here nor thar. To-day I see, or I 
 could but consate I see — for somehow the words and the 
 idees come to me freer and easier 'n common — and I were 
 a-pinnin' of her down, and I see the iron were hot, or at least- 
 ways warm, and I wanted to strike before it got cold agin, 
 and I found the passage o' Scripter, and I car'd it over to 
 her. Well, now, you think she didn't ? — Well, in course she 
 had too much respects to laugh right in my face when she 
 see the Bible in my hands and it open ; but she smiled, 
 she did, in a way off yonder kind of a way, and she said 
 the passage didn't bar on what we was a-talkin' about, and 
 which — Here, Polly, is the wafers ; and ain't they nice, and 
 ain't Aunty Catlin good to grammar's precious darlin' ?" 
 
35 
 
 A young negro woman had brought in the plate of wafers, 
 saying her mistress had sent them, and wanted to hear from 
 Miss Polly's own mouth how she felt. 
 
 " Oh, thanky, Eachel. Tell Aunty Catlin they're so nice, 
 and tell her I'm a great deal better." 
 
 "That's a precious. Grammar loves to see her child 
 thankful, and 'specially to her aunty, that's so good to 
 her." 
 
 When the servant had gone Rebecca remarked, 
 
 " Polly tells me you and Mrs. Catlin had a good deal of 
 talk about chickens." 
 
 " Law bless us ! Did you hear that, precious ? We was 
 at the furder end o' the back peazer, and grammar thought 
 her baby was asleep. Aunty Catlin must of talked power- 
 ful loud. My woice is natchelly a strong woice, but I tries 
 to rigerlate it, 'specially when Polly, or, as to that, when 
 any sick person is asleep, or ought to try to go to sleep. 
 Well, you mind, Miss Arbecca, me and Sister Catlin — be- 
 cause me and her calls one another Sister, although we're 
 as fnr apart as the ragin', mounting seas — we was a talkin' 
 about of infant baptism — " 
 
 She paused a moment, regarded Polly with some appar- 
 ent momentary concern, and proceeded, but evidently there 
 was some blank in the report she was making. 
 
 " And while we was a-talkin' thar on the back peazer my 
 old Dominicker hen — and she may not be sich a layer, Miss 
 Arbecca, as some, that is, sich a monstous powerful layer, 
 but (I'll say it open and above-board) she's the best setter, 
 hatcher, and raiser in all this whole yard o' chickens. Well, 
 now, you jes listen to me, if you please : that hen, right in 
 the mist of me and Sister Catlin a-talkin' on that very pint, 
 she comes up, she do, to the chicken-trough, a-fetchin' of 
 her chickens to git water. Sister Catlin were a-lookin' at 
 
36 OLD HARK LANGSTON: 
 
 them hen and chickens, while I were a-explainin' o' the 
 doctring as I knowed the blessed apostles laid it down and 
 'pinted to be follered. For that's one o' her ways, Miss 
 Arbecca, and which, ef she'd listen to me, I'd conwince her 
 in no time. I were jes a-cappin' o' the climack, when she 
 ups, she does, and she say, ' What a fine hen, Sister Toliver, 
 and what a fine passel o' chickens, to be shore !' Well, 
 Madam Miss Arbecca Woodige, the words wa'n't scacely 
 outen her mouth before one o' them chickens — he were a 
 little rooster — he leaned, he did, too fur over the age o' the 
 trough, or he were jes natchelly too smart, and, lo and 
 behold, he hop off — anyhow, he got right smack into the 
 water. Well, now, young 'oman, ef ever you see a mad 
 hen, then was the time ; for you know, or, ef you don't, you 
 mout know, that hens with young chickens is like some 
 women, and don't seem they can be satisfied without a-fus- 
 sin' other with their young 'uns or about 'em, and old Lady 
 Dominicker are that kind in particklar. But this time I 
 could but see she were in the right. She sot on to that little 
 rooster and she pecked him here and she pecked him thar, 
 and he hollered and he hopped, and he hopped and he 
 hollered, ontil he hopped out agin, and she yit give him a 
 wipe on the back of his head arfter he were out. Sister 
 Catlin and me," she continued, still laughing heartily at the 
 recollection, " we both, well, we jes had to laugh — her so 
 mad, and him so pitiful. But now," again becoming se- 
 rious, even stern, " I don't think a idee ever struck me so 
 suddently as the idee of all that a-happenin' right thar 
 while we was on the pint o' the babtizih' o' childern, and 
 they a not knowin' no more o' its wallue nor what it's for 
 than that same little rooster, and I says to her, ' Thar,' savs 
 I, ' Sister Catlin, you see that the very hens and chickens 
 is agin it.' " 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 37 
 
 " Only the hens, my dear friend, it seems, from your 
 account," said Eebecca, laughing heartily. 
 
 "Bless your soul and body, madam, she wouldn't give, 
 up that much, and she declared the case wa'n't in pint; 
 and then I thought on that passage o' Scripter where it 
 says about the beholdin' o' the fowels o' the ar, but to save 
 my life I couldn't cote it quite at the minute, nor light on 
 the book and chapter and veerse whar to find it, and before 
 I could light on it she ris, she did, and she scooted; but, 
 law ! the iron had done got cold, and you jes as well of beat 
 on it with your fist, let 'lone a hommer. It only go to 
 show what predigice '11 do with even good people, and if 
 that 'oman were jes only a Babtis' she'd be a saint. And 
 ain't them nice wafers, precious ? And ain't Aunty Catlin 
 good to grammar's child ?" 
 
 " That she is, and so is grammar, and so is Miss Arbecca. 
 I love all of 'em." 
 
 The old lady carefully gathered up the crumbs that had 
 fallen upon the child's breast, and smoothed the bedclothes, 
 saying the while, " She's the preciousest, thankfulest child 
 in this whole town, I don't keer how big it is." 
 
 A tear dropped from her eye. She turned away, took 
 out her huge handkerchief, and gave a snort that, but for 
 its frequent occurrence at that little bedside, would have 
 been startling to hear. 
 
 " It do look like," she said, as she was leaving the room, 
 " that I never will git over these bad colds." 
 
 When she had gone Polly said, 
 
 "Miss Arbecca, grammar didn't tell you all Aunty Catlin 
 said, and how the talk begun. I heard aunty say / ought 
 to be baptized, and grammar said she wanted it done, and 
 they was a-waitin' — " 
 
 " ' Were waiting.' " 
 
38 OLD MAKK LANGSTON : 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, were waiting for me to git — " 
 
 "'Get.'" 
 
 "Get stronger, and be able to erlate a expeunce, and 
 Aunty Catlin said it wasn't no use to be talkin' such talk. 
 That's what she said, and she said it was a mighty impor- 
 tant thing, and danjous in the bargain. Do you think I 
 ought to be baptized, Miss Arbecca?" 
 
 " By all means, darling, by all means, when — when the 
 time comes. But grammar's the one to talk with about 
 that." 
 
 " But, Miss Arbecca, even ef they was to carry me to the 
 creek, I couldn't stand up to be baptized." 
 
 " Well, precious, they could make some arrangement 
 about that. Grammar would see to that." 
 
 " But, Miss Arbecca," she persisted, " how could I erlate 
 a expeunce ? I don't even know what that is. I've never 
 learnt how to read. Grammar started to try to learn me; 
 but the doctor said she had to stop it, because my head 
 couldn't stand it. I can say the Lord's Prayer, and I can 
 say my prayer ; but I haven't had the chance to learn a 
 expeunce ; and what will they do ?" 
 
 " Never mind now, darling. Something, I trust, will 
 be done in good time. There, now, be quiet, and go to 
 sleep." 
 
 She took her hand and gently stroked it with her own. 
 Under that influence Polly soon fell into sleep. The young 
 woman knelt and leaned her head upon the bed for a few 
 moments, then rose, and repaired to her chamber. 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 39 
 
 Chapter VI. 
 
 THE PORTERS AND OTHER DUKE'S CREEK POLK. 
 
 Henry Porter, who bad been a colonel in the war of 
 1812, now about fifty, dwelt four miles west of Dukesbor- 
 ough. His mansion, a large, two-storied building, with front 
 and back piazza, stood in a grove of oaks, interspersed with 
 hickory, poplar, and chestnut. His store, at the foot of the 
 grove, three hundred yards distant, stood on one of the 
 main thoroughfares from the west to Augusta. He owned 
 some three thousand acres of land and about seventy-five 
 slaves. His wife, sister of the Quillians, who had borne him 
 many children, but seen them all depart in infancy except 
 one, had died, leaving the last — Eliza by name, then three 
 and now eleven years old — who, boarding with her uncle, 
 Reuben Quillian, attended the Dukesborough school. 
 
 Between Colonel Porter's and Dukesborough, on the north 
 side of the road, were the plantations of Reuben and Colin 
 Quillian. In the neighborhood, especially on the south side, 
 dwelt quite a number of moderately well-to-do farmers ; and 
 not only Duggan's store, in town, but that of Porter & 
 Sanders, did a satisfactory trade. For Lewis Sanders, who 
 had begun as clerk, had been the colonel's partner for five 
 or six years, and, in so far as were concerned the responsi- 
 bilities, both of purchases and sales, might as well have 
 been considered the leading man in the firm. 
 
 One Friday evening, in April, Lucius Woodbridge, his 
 sister, Harriet Quillian, and Amanda Jarrell went, on invi- 
 tation, with Eliza, to remain, as many as would do so, until 
 
40 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 Sunday. The invitation to Amanda had been at the special 
 instance of Eliza, between whom and her quite a friendship 
 had arisen. They were to go on a fishing excursion to 
 Duke's Creek and the mill-pond on Saturday morning. 
 The creek, originating in the north-west corner of Colonel 
 Porter's plantation, ran parallel with the road, a mile north 
 of his mansion, for about three miles, when, diverging to 
 the south-east, it made its way to the Ogeechee, and joined 
 it at a point two miles east of Dukesborough. As this 
 was an uncommon occasion, Eliza succeeded in persuading 
 Lewis Sanders to go along with the party, an event most 
 unusual with him, so devoted and punctual a man of busi- 
 ness was he. Miss Woodbridge, you may be sure, as well 
 as all who had heard Eliza talk about her home, had heard 
 of him. Lucius Woodbridge had also sometimes alluded 
 to him, as a gentleman of whose society he regretted that 
 he had not had more frequent enjoyment. 
 
 People familiar with Duke's Creek of to-day, not remem- 
 bering what once it was, would smile at the idea of a fish- 
 ing excursion, even for recreation, along its stream. For 
 its waters have dwindled, in lapse of time, by the destruc- 
 tion of the encompassing forests. They have survived the 
 Dukes and their descendants of that name ; but, slow, slug- 
 gish, yellow, they seem as if they cannot do such a thing 
 with another generation. Yet, in the times herein named, 
 Duke's Creek was clear like crystal, deep, and, though 
 not rapid, because of the wide, low grounds, and delayed 
 by the mill-pond, it neither hasted nor rested in its six 
 miles' course to the river, and it abounded in bream, red- 
 belly, the sucker, and the eel. Those who had leisure to 
 angle by day could gather within a couple of hours strings 
 sufficient for several meals. Others, especially negroes were 
 wont to repair there at night, armed with long-handled gigs 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 41 
 
 and spear the game as, attracted by the pine-torches, they 
 came from beneath the banks and darted up and down and 
 across the clear stream. 
 
 After breakfast the party set out on foot. The woods, 
 ever undulating with hill and level, seemed as if they could 
 not have had imparted deeper green and shade. Honey- 
 suckles, bubby-blossoms, yellow jasmines, haw, wild plum, 
 chestnut, and chincapin, even sweet-gums and young hick- 
 ories, loaded the air with sweetness. They strolled slowly 
 along, and saw and listened how the birds and gray squir- 
 rels disported in this their season of wooing. Eliza had 
 several times spoken to Miss Woodbridge of Lewis Sanders, 
 with his six feet (papa had said that was exactly his height), 
 his sandy hair, his sober, silent, sweet ways. 
 
 " And oh ! Miss Rebecca, he's up, Lewis is, like papa and 
 TJncle Reuben and Colin, in books, such as history and — 
 and newspapers. But you'll have to draw him out, he's so 
 bashful ; and if you can draw him out he's just charming, 
 Lewis is." 
 
 This in private ; to Lewis, in like manner, thus : 
 
 " Now, do you put off them silent, say nothing ways you 
 have before company, sir, and make Miss Woodbridge see 
 that you and the rest of us are somebody, and have a pleas- 
 ant time here. If you don't I'll never speak to you again." 
 
 Leisurely along they moved on the bright morning, up 
 and down, on the levels, and chatted, and smelled the green 
 woods and the dewy earth, and listened to the varied mu- 
 sic. When they had reached the last rising ground, at the 
 yonder foot of which coursed the creek, they saw two men, 
 one standing, the other sitting on a block newly sawed 
 from the trunk of a large white-oak that lay extended on 
 the margin of the road. The latter, once tall and strong, 
 now bent with age, sat with his coat off, his thin, white 
 
42 OLD MAEK LASGSTOJN : 
 
 hair thrown back and banging nearly a foot in length be- 
 hind his ears. In his right band he held a mallet, in his 
 left a froe ; at his feet was a cross-cut saw, and near by a 
 stack of short pieces of timber, newly rived. The other 
 was apparently fifty years old, stout of body, but slender of 
 limb, a trifle over medium height ; his hair also was thin 
 and white, yet not from age — it had been thus always. 
 It clung in close, tight clusters around his head. His 
 beardless face, white when not excited, on occasion could 
 instantly become red. He looked like a man who, though 
 conscious of having sufficient personal attractions, was not 
 disposed for that reason to neglect other matters becoming 
 the deportment of a gentleman. He wore his best suit of 
 homespun clothes ; his hat, though not new, had been re- 
 cently brushed with care ; the tags of his striped cravat hung 
 low upon his prominent chest, and the corner of his spotted 
 handkerchief peeped with studied coquetry from one of his 
 coat-tail pockets. If it bad been a Sunday and a Dukes- 
 borough meeting-day he could not have been gotten up 
 better. As the party approached he was standing, slightly 
 swayed backward, his left arm akimbo, his right grasping 
 three or four reeds whose stocks rested upon the ground, 
 while their tops towered ten feet above his head. Three 
 or four small round gourds were hanging by twine strings 
 from his neck. 
 
 "Oh," cried Eliza, "if yonder ain't Uncle Mark and 
 Baldy !" 
 
 She ran forward. The younger man, laughing loudly 
 the while, lifted her upon a higher block beside the one on 
 which the other was seated, and continued to laugh as the 
 two fondled each other's hair. 
 
 " And, bless my soul !" said the old man, " how you do 
 grow, Lizy ? How are you ? and how's your pa f" 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 43 
 
 " We are both just as well as we can be. But, Uncle 
 Mark, you haven't been to see us in ever so long." 
 
 "Why, I were there twice last week, and once this, 
 precious." 
 
 " Ah, but, you see, / wasn't there. Now, if you want 
 to see me, Uncle Mark, you must come of a Saturday or a 
 Sunday. I board now, I do ; didn't you know it?" 
 
 " Oh yes— oh yes." 
 
 " Yes, I go to school in Dukesborough, and board with 
 Aunty Quillian, and I can't see company at home now 
 except on certain days." 
 
 " Didn't I tell you, Uncle Mark," interposed the younger 
 man, " how she were a-growin' in more ways 'n one? Jes 
 listen at that talk for one o' her age." 
 
 "Good place to board at, your aunty's," continued the 
 elder. "I don't think you're apt to forgit to say your 
 praars of a night in that house, Lizy." 
 
 " You may 'pend on that, Uncle Mark. I don't suppose 
 that Aunty Quillian would let anybody, 'specially a girl 
 like me, stay in her house that didn't say her prayers at 
 night." 
 
 " Mornin', Lewis ; mornin', ladies ; and — why, bless my 
 soul, if it ain't Br'er Woodbridge ! I didn't know you ever 
 come out on such frolics as this. And — yes, Br'er Quillian's 
 daughter; and — why, this is Mr. Jarrell's little girl, ain't it? 
 To be sure. And — " 
 
 "This is my sister, Brother Langston, who has lately 
 come out from Vermont." 
 
 " Oh, yes. They told me about her. Sister Nancy sent 
 me word to come in to see her and hear her play on the 
 peana. Mornin', ma'am. I expect you're as clever as 
 your brother." 
 
 "No, indeed, sir," answered Rebecca, "that I am not." 
 
4-t OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 " More so, Brother Langston— decidedly more so," said 
 the brother. 
 
 " Not Babtis', so they told me." 
 
 " No, indeed," answered Woodbridge, " but—" 
 
 " Well, well, Br'er Woodbridge, it ain't all in people's 
 professions, nor not nigh as much as in the kind o' lives 
 they lead. Defernt people has defernt idees about churches, 
 and I'm one that believes nobody's conscience ought to be 
 interfered with nor thought less of, when they do the best 
 they can to act up to it. Groin' a-fishin', I see. But, Lizy, 
 you mustn't run up and down and talk and laugh too loud, 
 or you'll skeer the fish and make 'em run under the bank. 
 Here's Baldy to go 'long with you. He knows the ways 
 o' the fish on Duke's Creek. He heerd about your comin', 
 and, you see, he preparred hisself. He brought me a fine 
 mess this mornin'." 
 
 " Mornin', ladies all," said the younger man, with com- 
 placent gallantry. "Mr. Woodidge, mornin', sir. The 
 kernel and Lewis told me yisterday o' the present occasion, 
 and inwited my presence. Mornin', Miss Harriet ; mornin', 
 Miss — " When he saw Miss Woodbridge face to face he 
 swayed his back still more, with apparent danger of over- 
 turning the stack on which he was leaning. 
 
 "That's Br'er Woodbridge's sister, my son," said Mr. 
 Langston. 
 
 " Yes, sir, "Uncle Mark, that were my suspicions and pre- 
 sumptions. Your most obedient, madam." 
 
 She courtesied to his salutation, and the smile upon his 
 face broadened, as he was thinking up some remark that 
 might be worthy of the occasion. 
 
 "Hello, Baldy !" said Lewis Sanders. " Don't you know 
 a fellow, or can't you speak to him in such presence ?" 
 " Gracious me, Lewis ! I didn't think to re-cognize you in 
 
A TALE OF DUKK'S CREEK. 45 
 
 such a prevous splendid company. I knowed you knewed 
 nothin' 'bout fishin', and so I perwided some fishin'-poles 
 and bait-gourds ; and, as for Lizy's pole, I knewed nobody 'd 
 be tbinkin' about her havin' one fittin' to transact with, and 
 that's what mainly 1 sponded me to the inwitation, and 
 which — Well, now, Uncle Mark, will you jes' lo and be- 
 hold the pole they've give to that child ! — and to — I sus- 
 poses that Mr. Lewis Sanders have lost all his manners, as 
 him nor, as to that, nobody else hain't interposed me to 
 the tother young 'oman, though I knowed in course it were 
 Mr. Jarrell's daughter." 
 
 "You, Lewis," said Eliza, "I don't know where your 
 manners are gone, that you can't introduce Baldy to 
 Mandy." 
 
 " Begging a thousand pardons, Miss Jarrell, will you 
 please to allow me to introduce Mr. Eiddle?" 
 
 Amanda gracefully approached and extended her hand. 
 Mr. Biddle, taking it, held it only for an instant ; then, let- 
 ting it go, backed yet farther, and, with a blush and a yet 
 broader smile, said, 
 
 " Proud o' your acquaintance, madam. Fine prevous 
 mornin' for goin' of a-fishin'. I knewed Lewis 'd fetch but 
 one bait-gourd, and you two young ladies 'd have no satis- 
 faction a constant a-rnnnin' to him for bait, and so I per- 
 wided for all, at least o' the female sections o' the conge- 
 gation. These poles, arfter Lizy have had the first pick 
 and chice, the rest o' the present females may divide 'em 
 accordin' to their warious perlapsities. That one? I'm 
 afraid that's too heavy for you, precious. Ah, now ! that's 
 the one for you — keen, light, supple. I'll carry your bait- 
 gourd. Might dirty up your apon." 
 
 "And don't let her muddy up her frock, Baldy," said 
 the old man, " and have to git scolded when she go home." 
 
46 OLD mark langston: 
 
 "Now," said Eliza, "Uncle Mark, I'm going to 'range 
 the party. Pa said, as it was my party, I was to have the 
 'rangement of everything. Mr. Woodridge, you and Harriet 
 are to fish together. Lewis, you are to wait on Miss Re- 
 becca ; and as for you, Baldy, you've got to follow Mandy 
 and me wheresomever we want to go, and do whatsomever 
 we want you to." 
 
 "That," said Mr. Eiddle, bowing, and swaying, and 
 broadening to his utmost, " were just my own prevous de- 
 sires for the transactions, madam." 
 
 " I'm sorry, Miss Rebecca, but I never let Baldy be any- 
 body's beau exceptin' of mine." 
 
 "Ain't she the smartest thing that perwades of all 
 Georgy ?" inquired Mr. Riddle, audibly, of all around. 
 
 "Because, Miss Rebecca," continued the child, " next to 
 pa and Uncle Mark, he is my best friend — better 'n Lewis, 
 for Lewis won't always do all I ask him, and Baldy will ; 
 and he can play the fiddle ever so nice ; and he shall go 
 home this minute, if you say so, and fetch it, and play for 
 us while we are fishin' up and down the creek. I'll send 
 him for it right away, if you want to hear him. He don't 
 live but a mile from the creek." 
 
 Mr. Riddle smilingly awaited definite orders. 
 
 " Oh, Lizy !" said Mr. Langston, " Miss Nancy, as Baldy 
 calls her, would skeer all the fish and run 'em under the 
 bank. People, darlin', can't expect to be a-fishin' and a-fid- 
 dlin', not both of 'em together." 
 
 He smiled serenely upon her as he yet held in his hand 
 her abundant brown hair. 
 
 " Lizy," said Lewis, " I think you'd better order Baldy 
 to come to the house to-night, and bring Miss Nancy." 
 
 After reflecting a moment, she seemed to conclude that 
 that was best. 
 
A TALK OF DUKE'S CREEK. 47 
 
 " You do that, then, Baldy. Hear?" 
 
 "Yes, madam," said the gentleman, his pale-blue e3'es 
 glistening, partly from the fun of the occasion, and partly 
 from his intense admiration of " Lizy." 
 
 " Godamighty bless you all I" said the old man, as all, 
 except Lucius Woodbridge, taking their leave, moved on. 
 
 " You made me blesh, Lizy," said Mr. Eiddle, as he, with 
 her and Amanda, were travelling along in advance of the 
 others — " you made me blesh like the mornin' rose to want 
 me to 'splay my ign'ance before the splendid perriformance 
 of such a magnanimous school-mistess of the present occa- 
 sion, and — " 
 
 " Now, Mandy, you know," said Eliza, " that deceitful 
 man knows that he haven't any ignorance to 'splay. But 
 Mr. Woodbridge, Baldy, says we mustn't say 'splay, but 
 display. Never you mind. You fail to do what I tell 
 you if you feel like it, and don't care about knowing 
 what's good for you." 
 
 " Ain't she," he tried to whisper to Amanda — " ain't she 
 the smartest thing in that schoool-house ?" 
 
 " No whispering," said Eliza, " and 'specially things that 
 ain't so." 
 
 At the ford of the creek they waited for Lucius Wood- 
 bridge, who came up half an hour afterward. 
 
 " Mr. Woodbridge," said Eliza, " I almost began to think 
 you had quit us all for Uncle Mark. You had a long talk 
 with him. Ain't he sweet and good ?" 
 
 " That he is. I had been long thinking I ought to make 
 him a visit, and, meeting him upon the road, I concluded 
 I might just as well make it then and there." 
 
 " What did you and TJncle Mark have to talk about so 
 long?" 
 
 "Several things, my dear. But I supposed you were 
 
48 OLD mark langston: 
 
 all at your work, and had gotten, by this time, some dis- 
 tance down the stream." 
 
 " No ; I was afraid you might get lost hunting for us ; 
 and then," looking mischievously at Lewis and Mr. Riddle ; 
 " I didn't know hut that these men would get pestered and 
 mad with one 'nother how to divide Cousin Harriet. So I 
 said we better wait, and we waited." 
 
 " Thanks for your apprehension, Eliza — for my part of 
 it, that is — and pardon from all for keeping you waiting." 
 
 "And they are Mr. Langston and Mr. Riddle, of whom 
 I have heard Mrs. Toliver and Eliza often talk?" said Re- 
 becca to Lewis. 
 
 "The same. The old man is a wheelwright, though he 
 comes of good family, the colonel says, on his mother's 
 side. He gets all the timber from the colonel's woods, and 
 I have heard him say often that Mark Langston is the very 
 best man he ever knew." 
 
 " He has, indeed, a most serene and rather distinguished- 
 looking face and demeanor. Is he so poor that he must 
 yet do what seems quite hard work ?" 
 
 " He is poor ; but he continues to work from choice rath- 
 er than necessity. He dwells in a right good house, on the 
 first rise from the creek. Two negroes, a man and his wife, 
 live there, and do his domestic work. They belong to the 
 colonel. Uncle Mark, as we all call him, is very fond of 
 the colonel and Mr. Riddle, and, I believe, has come to 
 have quite a friendly interest in myself." 
 
 "But what a curious man is the other !" 
 
 "Yes, so he appears to those, especially ladies, who see 
 him for the first time. Yet he is a man of excellent char- 
 acter and standing. He was greatly embarrassed at meet- 
 ing you, of whom he has heard so much from Eliza, and his 
 loud speech, laughing, and other rather spasmodic deport- 
 
A TALE of duke's creek. 49 
 
 ment were intended mainly for his own relief and to avoid 
 making an unfavorable impression upon you. I heard Eliza 
 whisper to him that she had told you what a great gentle- 
 man he was, and that he had to be on his p's and q's. That 
 was quite enough to put him on his stilts, for he adores 
 Eliza, and thinks her opinions are of greatest importance. 
 An odd genius is Baldy, in looks, ways, and speech ; but a 
 man of excellent sense, a most faithful and efficient friend 
 to those he likes, and as ardent, though not an aggressive, 
 opponent to whom he positively dislikes. I know, however, 
 of but one person for whom he has decidedly hostile feel- 
 ing, and that is less on his own account than of Uncle Mark, 
 whom he has ever loved and revered with his whole heart." 
 
 They went to their work; but the air was so fresh, the 
 woods so dense, and green, and white, and red, and pink, 
 and sweet-smelling, the notes of the creek-birds so soft and 
 liquid, that by the time they had reached the saw- mill, 
 where they were to lunch, Mr. Riddle, as noted a fisherman 
 as fiddler, now become somewhat at his ease, had to laugh 
 at the slender string. 
 
 " What I 'nominates," said he, merrily, " as town-fl.skiri'. 
 Instid of a-baitin' of their hooks and a-tellin' of 'em when 
 and how to jerk, as I supposened were my main transac- 
 tions on this, immegiant occasion, these ladies has had 
 me a-preambulatin' after honeysuckles, and redbuds, and 
 bubby-blossoms, and sweet-bottles, and all such; and I see 
 the same is to be observated of you two fel — gentlemen, 
 'specially Lewis, though I knewed he knewed nothin' o' the 
 transactions o' the catchin' o' fish, not even horny-heads; 
 and I don't supposing that Mr. Woodidge have conde- 
 scended not so mighty powerful much to come down from 
 school-keepin', and have patience with things that a man 
 have to have patience if he expect to get outen them a 
 
 4 
 
50 OLD MARK LANGSTON : 
 
 string worth carrying home, and even flingin' into the fry- 
 in'-pan." 
 
 " Mr. Sanders and I," said Kebecca, " and, so it appears, 
 brother and Harriet, have mainly been gathering flowers for 
 our botany classes." 
 
 " Oh yes, Baldy," said Eliza, " Miss Arbecca have classes 
 in botany as well as music, and it would do you good, I 
 jest know it would, to hear them big words — some of 'em 
 bigger than any of yours. She say I may begin to study 
 it next year, and when I do there'll be somebody else in 
 our neighborhood besides you that can talk big words. I'll 
 let you know that." 
 
 She ran to the wagon to fetch the basket. 
 
 He shouted with triumphant laughter, looking at her 
 with highest admiration as she ran ; then, turning to Miss 
 Woodbridge, he asked, 
 
 " Ain't she a marracle, madam ?" 
 
 " Very bright, and good, too." 
 
 " Good, madam ! She's as perfec' and prevous a angel 
 as .they is outen heaven." 
 
 In the midst of the repast, as they were seated on logs 
 that had been hauled and deposited near the mill, Mr. Duke 
 rode up on his horse. Tall, large, ruddy-faced, his inten- 
 tion seemed at first to alight, as he placed one hand upon 
 the pommel of his saddle and was about to grasp the 
 horse's mane with the other. At that moment a laugh at 
 some trick of Eliza from Mr. Eiddle, whose back was turned 
 toward him, made him look up and take a survey of the 
 whole party. Then, without dismounting, he rode within 
 a few feet, and, halting, said, 
 
 " Morning, gentlemen, ladies. Didn't know Mister Wood- 
 idge, Mister Sanders ever went fishin'. Mister Eiddle great 
 fisherman, I know. Glad you all come here." 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CKEEK. 5i 
 
 Mr. Riddle was in the act of offering another piece of 
 
 »chicken to Rebecca Woodbridge. At the sound of these 
 
 words he turned. Swaying himself as far back as possible, 
 
 ,,and assuming one of the smiles which emotion of any sort 
 
 .always overspread his face withal, said, 
 
 " Won't you 'light, Mr. Duke, and jine in the pleasant 
 transactions o' the present occasion, sir? It would be a 
 honor, sir, to us all, and to the saw-mill, and likewise the 
 ..grist-mill below." 
 
 " Well, believe not," answered Mr. Duke, evidently some- 
 what embarrassed by words that he knew were not intended 
 to be regarded by himself as cordial. "No, thanky, Mr. 
 Riddle. Got business. Hope you'll enjoy yourselves. 
 Come here whenever please, Mr. Woodidge, and all the 
 rest of you." 
 
 These sentences came forth like bolts as his great sorrel 
 pawed the ground, switched his tail, and shook the green 
 "boughs in his bridle-stall. 
 
 " Fine-lookin' man," said Baldy, as he rode away, " and 
 ride a fine horse, and own a fine prop'ty, and a termenjous 
 big one." 
 
 After the repast there was a separation, Woodbridge, 
 with Harriet Quillian and Amanda, returning to Dukes- 
 borough, and the rest to Colonel Porter's. 
 
52 OLD MARK. LANGSTON: 
 
 Chapter VII. 
 
 ME. RIDDLE AND HIS HUMBLE ROMANCE. 
 
 Mr. Riddlk much preferred to be called by his Christian 
 name — and that shortened from Baldwin to Baldy — by his 
 friends, among whom all his acquaintances might be classed, 
 except Mr. Duke and possibly one other. 
 
 Baldy's musical repertory, however excellent within its 
 circle, was limited. "Billy in the Low Grounds," "Sally 
 Goodin," "The Gusty Flirt," "Jenny Wiggins, the Wool- 
 winder," "Blankets and Pins," with several jigs, styled, 
 some of them, "Step and Fetch it," "What you Come 
 for?" "Go 'long ofll'n here," and others similar comprised 
 his sportive pieces, while the serious, or, as he styled them, 
 the " solemncholly," were limited almost entirely to " The 
 Sea-side Shores" and "The Walls o' Jericho." He had 
 not been known, except upon very few occasions, to play 
 in concert with other musicians. There appeared in his ex- 
 ecution to be something that discouraged such concert. He 
 was a musician who was wont to vary the time of his tuites 
 according to circumstances, as the state of his own feelings, 
 the impression he considered himself to be exerting upon 
 his audience, and (especially when playing with others) the 
 apprehension he felt that his colleague, or colleagues, as the 
 case might be, would reach the close in advance of him. 
 He seemed ever to regard such colleagues not only as rivals 
 but adversaries. His habit, on finishing any piece, of what- 
 ever character, was to give one final, brief stroke away up 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 53 
 
 on the E string within an inch of the bridge. The musi- 
 cian, it is probable, did not live who could anticipate him 
 at this triumphant note, on the consummation of which he 
 would take down his bow and smile complacently as his 
 adversary came on up to the goal alone. If the latter 
 stopped in the midst, or afterward complained that he 
 could not play in satisfactory unison with him, he would 
 answer, with a chuckle, 
 
 "That's your lookout, my dear fine fellow, and not 
 mine." 
 
 So far from objecting to such contests, he rather liked 
 them, regarding them as friendly trials of speed, and he 
 liked them the more because he always foresaw that he 
 would prevail. This he made a point always of doing, 
 and he would do it even if he had to jump over any num- 
 ber of bars. It had been his boast that he had never met 
 up with a fiddler — no, not even a nigger fiddler — who could 
 beat him there. " Fact," he would say : " soon as I made 
 up my mind I could play the fiddle I made her up that I'd 
 never be beat in its transactions, and that I'd be prevous. 
 and priminary or nothin'." 
 
 Of all the auditors he had ever had Miss Woodbridge 
 seemed most impressed by his performance. This gratified 
 him intensely, the more so because of his own unbounded 
 delight at hers. The Porter piano was the first he had ever 
 seen, and even the crude performances of Eliza had pleased 
 him greatly. After supper, when Miss Woodbridge went 
 with spirit into the " Brattleborough Waltz " and others, he 
 was transported. Never had he felt so embarrassed as when 
 called upon to succeed her in the evening entertainment. 
 He would have pleaded that his E string was weak, and 
 that, from sheer forgetfulness, he had left at home the resin 
 for his bow. Bat Eliza, according to his express directions, 
 
54 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 had had a new string of silk twisted for his use, and when 
 the resin difficulty was presented she went for his waistcoat- 
 pocket and drew out a piece large enough to last any rea- 
 sonable fiddler for several weeks. 
 
 Giving his accustomed laugh at detection, he rose, took 
 the instrument, and, screwing his face into grimaces meant 
 to indicate the varying struggles of the strings against be- 
 ing put into satisfactory tension, he began his preliminary 
 work, and with that also began the enjoyment of his prin- 
 cipal auditress. The grimaces made by the musician as he 
 turned the screws, blowing and whistling the while with de- 
 cisive anger into the nuts whenever they refused to hold to 
 the pitch he assigned, the calm, brave sense of finally estab- 
 lished and acknowledged ownership with which he drew the 
 bow over the chords, when satisfactorily adjusted, pleased 
 the young woman from Vermont to the degree that, even 
 before the music began, her handkerchief had to be applied 
 both to her eyes and her mouth. 
 
 He opened with " Jenny Wiggins, the Wool-winder." In 
 this first essay before so distinguished a listener he scarcely 
 did himself full justice. He seemed to have an idea of an 
 imaginary colleague who was endeavoring to outstrip him 
 in the race. To this idea doubtless was to be referred the 
 excited haste, which, if the lady from whom the piece was 
 named had employed it in her work, must have led to 
 some entanglement of her threads. He scraped away, pat- 
 ting his foot continuously and heavily upon the floor, and 
 when he was through any competitor must have been im- 
 pelled to feel ashamed of himself for the distance at which 
 he would have been left behind. Miss Woodbridge seemed 
 to be in great emotion. Colonel Porter observed it, and im- 
 mediately cried out, in hasty congratulation, 
 
 " Bravo, Baldy ! I never knew you to make Jenny do 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 55 
 
 her winding so fast. An industrious young woman that, 
 Miss Woodbridge, eh?" 
 
 " I never — never — " answered the young lady, in tears, 
 but she did not get out another word. 
 
 " Oh, yes, kernel," said Baldy, "she were said to be the 
 most industrous and transactious young person of her sec- 
 tions in them days." 
 
 Miss Woodbridge nearly screamed with admiration of 
 this female of an older time. 
 
 In spite, however, of the gayety of Mr. Eiddle's disposi- 
 tion, and the prevalence of the sportive over the serious in 
 his collection, it was well known that his favorite pieces 
 were the " Sea-side Shores " and, especially, " The Walls o' 
 Jericho," the former of which was rather upon the dividing 
 line, and understood to lead, though with some abruptness 
 between, to the latter, portions of which were intensely 
 tragic. The "Sea-side Shores" might be regarded as in- 
 tended to. call off the too merry-hearted and thoughtless, 
 though without harsh rebuke, from scenes of fun and frolic 
 to those wherein were to be presented emotions and actions 
 the most passionate and awful. " The Walls o' Jericho " 
 were designed by the composer, believed and so affirmed 
 by Mr. Eiddle to have lived at a period of remote antiquity, 
 to represent the fall of that city on the Dead Sea before the 
 armies of Israel. In preparing for this piece Mr. Riddle, 
 as on all previous similar occasions, behaved as if he wished 
 it to be understood that all thoughts not in harmony with 
 the theme had departed from his mind, and should do so 
 from others. The smile which characterized his face, and 
 of which it never could become wholly divested, compro- 
 mised by endeavoring to become that of anger or compas- 
 sion rather than cheerfulness. 
 
 " This chune," said he, grinning painfully with the labor 
 
56 OLD MARK LANGSTOST: 
 
 of resining his bow, " have to have for its transactions a 
 awful powerful sight o' rawsom ; and these here strings," he 
 added, while cautiously straining up the two lower, " has to 
 be fotch up to the A pitchin'." 
 
 From the very beginning of the performance, such was 
 the awful solemnity, that Miss Woodbridge, who was un- 
 doubtedly the most competent judge of music there, was 
 so overcome by her feelings that she had to cover her 
 face, at times, with her handkerchief, lean her head upon 
 the piano, arid sob. As the rendition advanced the musi- 
 cian announced, in series, the varying attitudes and conduct 
 of the assailants and the besieged. In due sequence were 
 heard : " The Izzleites a-perceedin' fur to git ready to march 
 forrards," " The Izzleites actilly a-marchin'," " The Jericho- 
 ites a-laughin' at and a-makin' game o' the Izzleites, when 
 they seed the rams' horns," " The tootin' o' the said horns, 
 and the Jerichoites a-beginnin' to laugh on t'other side o' 
 their mouths." Even to a person not familiar with this 
 portion of Scripture history it had been plain to see all 
 along that, however thoughtless may have been the Jeri- 
 choites, the Israelites meant business. Already the perspi- 
 ration was flowing down the face of Mr. Eiddle, but, in the 
 storming of the heathen city, the warrior had no time for 
 pausing. Quick as lightning, or thereabout, he pushed back 
 with his nose the sleeve of his right arm, twanged with his 
 fingers alternately the second, third, and fourth strings, an- 
 nouncing the while, " The walls o' Jericho a-perceedin' to 
 fall ;" and then, as he screamed, " The said walls actilly 
 a-fallin'," he lowered his left side, elevated his right, and 
 sawed the lower strings in a way that few sounds, from 
 whatever source, could have surpassed in the attempt to 
 realize despair, death, and destruction. Seven times these 
 last two stages were represented in literal accord with his- 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 57 
 
 toric facts. When the piece was over the musician laid 
 down his bow and his fiddle, began to mop his face, his 
 Ihands, and his wrists, and looked as if he was sure that not 
 one stone had been left upon another in the ill-fated city. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Eiddle! Mr. Riddle!" cried Miss Woodbridge 
 through her tears. " That was simply spl-en-did ! I had 
 no idea — " Then she had to yield again to her sobs. 
 
 " The town couldn't stand the horns — eh, Baldy 2" said 
 the colonel. 
 
 Baldy, his passion cooled, answered, gayly, " No, kernel. 
 Old Jerry had to go, and she went." 
 
 Really impracticable as had been the attempts of other 
 musicians to play in concert with him, he was surprised 
 and delighted when, on the colonel's suggestion to that 
 end, he afterward led off on a gay piece, Miss Woodbridge 
 engaging to follow at a distance as little remote as possible. 
 On him the effect was positively ravishing when, after look- 
 ing intently, not at the piano, but his fiddle-bow, she flew 
 along behind him with the rapidity of the wind, and im- 
 mediately after his last stroke near the bridge came down 
 instantly with ier little finger upon the highest key. 
 
 " You never heard the ' Wool-winder ' before, madam ?" 
 
 " Never, upon my honor, Mr. Riddle." 
 
 " And jes catch it up so natchel and spontunous ?" 
 
 " Yes indeed." 
 
 " Well, it's the most remarkable and prevous transac- 
 tions — I supposing it's edgecation." 
 
 "And genius, Baldy," suggested Colonel Porter. 
 
 " Oh, laws of mercy ! kernel, don't talk about genus. I 
 sssee she were thar minute I lay eyes on her this mornin'." 
 
 Not long afterward, saying to Eliza that he had informed 
 his mother that he should return home that night, she, com- 
 mending strict filial obedience, let him go. 
 
58 OLD MARK LANGSTON : 
 
 After he had gone Colonel Porter said, 
 
 " Lewis, it is plain that Baldy feels that at last he has 
 met, if not his superior, at least his equal in music ; and I 
 cannot say — Eliza might be most likely to know as to that 
 — but I am not sure that the heart of our friend has not 
 been sensibly touched by to-day's and especially to-night's 
 experiences." 
 
 " Yes," said Eliza, in a distressful tone, " I'm afraid that 
 Baldy's done fell dead in love with Miss Woodbridge, as I 
 wanted, not him, but — somebody else to do," and she looked 
 with resentment toward Lewis Sanders. When, in response 
 to this, the three broke out into laughter she said, " You 
 may all laugh as you please, but / don't know anybody 
 that's more charming than Baldy. But I mean to tell 
 him that he mustn't, and is too old, and — but I do think 
 he is perfectly charming." She flushed with she did not 
 precisely know what. 
 
 " That's right, darling," said her father, taking her in his 
 arms. " Stand up squarely to your friend and your father's, 
 and the friend of whomsoever he regards worthy of the 
 friendship of the brave fellow he is. Papa loves to see 
 his baby so faithful." 
 
 He dried upon his breast her tears. They had some soft 
 whisperings. He seemed well pleased with her complain- 
 ings, and she with his consolings. Hugging her closely as 
 he dismissed her for the night, he said, in a low tone, 
 
 "Never mind, precious. Baldy will not forget. He's 
 quite able to take care of himself." 
 
 She slid from his lap, ran to Miss Woodbridge, kissed 
 her, and, after shaking hands with Lewis and raising her 
 finger portentously in his face, embraced her father, and 
 went off to bed. 
 
 " Baldy has had a little romance in his time, Miss Wood- 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CEEEK. 59 
 
 bridge," said the colonel when Eliza had gone, " and it is 
 that about which the dear little thing was concerned when 
 she spoke of him in such terms. I suppose he has told you 
 of it, Lewis? He has never alluded to it with me but once, 
 and that was shortly after its termination ; while he was 
 meditating a course of action from which Mr. Langston 
 discouraged him." 
 
 " Once — only once," answered Lewis, " he spoke of it to 
 me. It was the only time when I have seen him shed tears. 
 Those he averred, however, were on Uncle Mark's account ; 
 but it was plain to me that some were on his own." 
 
 " He has talked with Eliza about it more than any one 
 else, and her concern to-night was for his fidelity to his 
 dead love." 
 
 "The lady is not living?" 
 
 " Oh no ; dead many years ago, when he was not more 
 than nineteen or twenty. She was Mr. Langston's daugh- 
 ter, to whom he had been attached since her infancy. Sud- 
 denly, when not more than fourteen years old, she ran away 
 with Mr. Duke." 
 
 " I had heard Mrs. Toliver say that Mr. Duke's first wife 
 was her niece, but she mentioned no circumstance of the 
 connection." 
 
 " No one had suspected that they had any special liking 
 for each other until their actual marriage. Mr. Duke was 
 in the State of Virginia, where he had been in the habit, 
 for four or five years, to resort for the purchase and sale 
 of negroes. Just before his return Albert Semmes, a bache- 
 lor, neighbor and warm friend of Mr. Langston, whose only 
 daughter had always been his pet, died, leaving a bequest 
 of a considerable estate of land and negroes to her. Within 
 a month after Mr. Duke's return he and the girl ran off to- 
 gether and were married. She died within a few months, 
 
60 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 in Virginia, whither Mr. Duke had again repaired ; and, 
 about a year after that return, he married his present wife, 
 and has not been engaged since in negro speculations. He 
 administered on his wife's estate, and, as the law then al- 
 lowed and does still, obtained it all. The mills where you 
 were to-day are on the tract, a very valuable one. Ammon 
 Duke, Mr. Kinsey Duke's father, had been long desirous of 
 obtaining it for the purpose of erecting these mills, but, 
 poor man, he did not long survive their completion. The 
 mother of the child broke down under her affliction and 
 died a year afterward. Mr. Langston, however, bore him- 
 self up, being then, as now, the very firmest, best man I 
 ever knew. 
 
 " It was touching to observe the effect of all this upon Mr. 
 Eiddle. For a period of considerable duration it was evi- 
 dent that he suffered from his disappointment to a degree 
 that excited everybody's sympathy. He rallied, however, 
 after some time, and with the rally came a decided change 
 in deportment, and apparently in character. From being 
 uncommonly silent, shrinking, even of a religious turn, he 
 became loquacious, pronounced, and, although continuing 
 ever to be a man of excellent principles and habits, grew 
 to be rather fond of being considered wild and reckless of 
 others' opinions. He never liked Mr. Duke, but I am sure 
 it was, more than any other reason, because he believed 
 that the latter did not treat Mr. Langston altogether as he 
 should have done. He had never had another love, though 
 in ladies' society he professed himself quite a beau. What 
 influences may have been exerted upon him, Lewis, lately, 
 which made Eliza somewhat uneasy, is to be seen hereafter. 
 She — Baldy's only confidante — I fear would lose her faith 
 in the permanency of true love if he should ever forget 
 Emily Langston." 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CKBEK. 61 
 
 " That is not possible, colonel," she answered, " to any 
 trial to which he — at least, very lately — has been sub- 
 jected." 
 
 The next morning, after breakfast, Rebecca retired to her 
 chamber for an hour or so. Eliza spent the while in chat- 
 ting with her father and Lewis about matters in the school 
 and town generally, and especially about their guest. 
 
 " And, oh, papa ! Miss Woodbridge is the religiousest 
 person you ever saw, I expect, although you see her laugh 
 and talk, and play dancing tunes, and go on so ; and she 
 says more prayers, everybody says, than anybody in town, 
 not even excepting of old Missis Catlin. And, oh ! you 
 ought to of heard Uncle Reuben laugh once at old Aunty 
 Toliver's a-saying that, by good rights, them two ought to 
 say more prayers than the rest, because, not being of Bap- 
 tises, they needed 'em more." 
 
 " Good !" cried the colonel, he and Lewis both laughing 
 heartily. They were neither of them Church members — as, 
 unfortunately, was the ease with very many leading country 
 gentlemen. They had, however, profound respect for the 
 Church. 
 
 " I hope, Eliza," said her father, after his laugh, " that 
 you don't neglect your prayers. You need them, I think, 
 my dear, though, on the whole, a right good, and certainly 
 a very dear, little darling." 
 
 "Of course I do — every night, and sometimes, 'most 
 always, of a morning. And it's to be hoped that you and 
 Lewis do sometimes. But I'm not certain, as Pve never 
 caught you at it, neither one of you." 
 
 "You hear that, Lewis?" 
 
 " Oh, Lizy prays for me," answered Lewis. 
 
 " Indeed I do. But that ain't going to do you any or 
 not much good without you pray for yourself." 
 
62 OLD MARK LANGSXON : 
 
 " Bring him up, Lizy," said her father—" bring him up ; 
 or, rather, bring him down." 
 
 Then he grew serious. 
 
 " I am glad to know, darling, that you do not omit your 
 prayers, and that yon pray, as I supposed you did, for 
 Lewis. That is right. Whenever Lewis prays I expect he 
 prays for you, though I never inquired of him about his 
 prayers. We do best, I think, my daughter, when we pray 
 and say little or nothing about our prayers or those of 
 others. Your Aunty Toliver, as you call her, is one of the 
 best women in the world, and Mrs. Catlin is as good as she 
 is. Miss Woodbridge seems to promise to be as good as 
 either. I am sure, however, that the more any one of 
 them prays, and the less she concerns herself about the 
 prayers said by others, the more acceptable to Heaven will 
 be her own." 
 
 Eliza would now have grown very serious herself but 
 that Miss Woodbridge came forth, bright as the morn- 
 ing. They spent the forenoon in chat, and in reading aloud 
 from books and the last weekly newspaper. Once they 
 strolled around the quadrangle, on the sides of which were 
 the negroes' cabins, every one with its shade-trees in front 
 and its small garden behind. The visitor was pleased with 
 the order of all, and the evident happy condition of these 
 dependent beings. There were rude seats beneath several 
 oaks in the grove between the mansion and the public road. 
 On one of these, after dinner, when the colonel had led 
 Eliza to another, Lewis and Miss Woodbridge seated them- 
 selves and conversed until the hour of departure. 
 
 " Mr. Sanders and myself, Miss Woodbridge,'' said the 
 colonel, " thank you cordially for the honor and pleasure 
 of this visit, and I enjoin upon Eliza to beg you to repeat 
 it soon and often." 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 63 
 
 " A fine woman, Lewis," he said, when she was gone. 
 " A Catholic. But what difference does that make ? My 
 sister tells me that she is a model in all particulars, even 
 religious." 
 
 " She seems so, indeed," said Lewis, following the car- 
 riage with his eyes. 
 
 Chapter VIII. 
 
 MR. DUKE'S UNFORESEEN INTEREST IN THE JAREELLS. 
 
 His easy manners, his cheerful temper, his faculty of ac- 
 commodation to various tastes, gave to Barney Jarrell early 
 access to the good opinions of all. Being a man-of-all- 
 work, who worked cheaply, he must grow to be considered 
 a convenience in the community. He did not profess to 
 be a carpenter. Yet, Mr. Duke having mentioned one day 
 in his hearing his need of a new smoke-house, Barney 
 proposed, unless Mr. Duke saw how he could do better, to 
 put it up for him, especially as the pay he would receive 
 would go a reasonable way toward defrayal of rent. What 
 were the preliminaries we cannot say, but the work was 
 done by Barney, and apparently to the satisfaction of his 
 employer. 
 
 The job led to more familiar acquaintance of these two 
 than seemed likely to occur otherwise. For the Dukes, as 
 we have seen, were particular persons about such things, 
 though Mr. Duke felt himself secure enough in his high 
 position to ignore the differences in social rank. 
 
 During the process of construction Mr. Duke could not 
 but remark how volubly Barney could converse in the midst 
 of his work, and yet omit none, even the minutest, of itsi 
 
64 OLD MABK langston: 
 
 details. Himself had never been a fluent man in conversa- 
 tion, not even among his inferiors. Yet somehow he suf- 
 fered himself to be drawn ont by this cheaply working me- 
 chanic, and was surprised by the amount of information 
 he was led to impart about the origin of Dukesborongh 
 and the things that had made it known in history. 
 
 And who was Barney ? he condescended to intimate his 
 desire to know. -Whence was he, and what were his proj- 
 ects and expectations? Barney, without intermission of 
 his hammer or his saw, answered with a freedom he had 
 not employed with those less entitled than his landlord to 
 know his antecedents. Indeed, he told some things about 
 his family which, he said, he preferred, at least for the pres- 
 ent, to be regarded as confidential. Mr. Duke responded to 
 this confidence readily, and exhibited an interest that per- 
 sons of Barney's rank in the village would not have sup- 
 posed him capable of. 
 
 "You say the child's mother and father both dead?" 
 asked Mr. Duke one afternoon. 
 
 " Keep the board even with the gauge, Dave," Barney 
 said to a negro of his employer who was assisting. " There, 
 that will do. Yes, sir, Mr. Duke." 
 
 " Your brother's or your sister's ?" 
 
 "Brother's. (Don't put your nails out of a line with 
 those above them.) His wife died ten years ago, he five 
 years after. On his death-bed he gave Amanda to me, with 
 a request." 
 
 Then Barney, the lumber for weather -boarding being 
 exhausted, set Dave to work to prepare more. Taking his 
 hat, as if about to suspend his work and go home, he re- 
 marked, 
 
 "Amanda's mother, Mr. Duke, was an orphan, whose 
 family were unknown to her and her adopted father. Noth- 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 65 
 
 ing could be found out about them by my brother in his 
 lifetime ; but before he died he commended to me the 
 pursuit he had followed to no purpose." 
 
 " What was the name of your brother's wife ?" 
 
 " Even that was not precisely known, Mr. Duke. She 
 was known as Amanda Perkins, whose parents had been 
 supposed to have dwelt in South Carolina, though some 
 said they suspected them of being of this State. Did you 
 ever know any of that name ?" (" Ho there ! Dave, be sure 
 to saw those boards, when you have planed them of the 
 right length and straight") 
 
 " My brother could never trace his wife's parentage in 
 that State, and lately we have heard that some of the name 
 were in Georgia, and well-to-do. One would suppose that 
 if they knew that a poor girl like Amanda was close kin to 
 them they would take some interest in her." 
 
 " Was that in South Carolina?" 
 
 " No, sir ; in Virginia, where my family then resided." 
 
 "There some o' that name in Georgia, especially over 
 betwixt Oconee and Ocmulgee. Some of 'em got prop'ty, 
 I think. I've heard my father say there was many of that 
 name in Virginny. People might lived there, and didn't 
 want known about their child." 
 
 " There was no doubt of that, Mr. Duke," said Barney, 
 carefully brushing the sawdust from his hat ; " at least, on 
 the part of the man who left her, and who claimed to be 
 her father." 
 
 " What about the mother ?" 
 
 " She died in the neighborhood, at a camp where she, 
 her husband, and two servants had stopped for the night." 
 
 " Man make no provision for her child ?" 
 
 " Yes, after burying his wife decently he left with an inn- 
 keeper near by the child and some money, and went away, 
 
 5 
 
66 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 saying he was going to his home, about a hundred miles 
 away, and would return in a few weeks with his widowed 
 mother, who would take the child. He was never heard of 
 afterward." 
 
 " You say that was in Virginny ? I thought you were 
 from South Carolina." 
 
 "I am immediately. But I am a native of Virginia. 
 I lingered in South Carolina on my way." 
 
 "Heard nothing about what wanted to know ?" 
 
 "I did not." 
 
 " What you say the man's name was ?" 
 
 " He called himself Perkins. I did not expect to get 
 any information there. Circumstances, possibly of not very 
 great significance, led me to suspect that perhaps the man 
 I sought was, if living, a Georgian. I was led to place 
 more importance in them from having heard that Middle 
 Georgia especially had been settled in great part by Vir- 
 ginians, and that many of these traded in the old State. 
 And then I had been thinking for some time of removing 
 to this fine region and settling in it, thinking I could do 
 better in a new country than an old." 
 
 " And come to Dukesborough, eh ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir. Amanda needed more schooling, and even 
 as far as Augusta I heard of the fine school here." 
 
 "Don't suppose the man 's living yet, do you? Must 
 have died, seems to me." 
 
 " He was represented as a young, hearty man, and the 
 probabilities seem to me in favor of his being yet living. 
 If he can ouce be identified, don't you suppose, Mr. Duke, 
 that when he sees what a fine girl Amanda is he would 
 recognize her ?" 
 
 "Don't know so well about that. So long ago, Mr. 
 Jarrell." 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CKEEK. 6*7 
 
 " And he may have made other ties, eh 2" 
 
 "Just so." 
 
 " At all events, I shall give him the opportunity, if I 
 should find him." 
 
 "Long hunt, seems to me, Mr. Jarrell. People of that 
 name, as I told you, live over t'other side the Oconee ; but 
 I doubt if you'll find your man among 'em ; but you might 
 try." 
 
 " I have no idea, Mr. Duke, that that was his name, but 
 that he assumed it for the purpose of misleading those who 
 might institute search for him." 
 
 " Name o' God, man, what '11 you have to go on ? If 
 the man is a-living I can hardly think he was the father 
 o' the child, to leave it that way." 
 
 " It would indeed seem so, Mr. Duke," said Barney, sad- 
 ly. " God knows how it all was, and how it stands now. 
 I cannot but trust somehow that He will bring it out some 
 time or another." 
 
 Mr. Duke looked at the young man, and seemed to feel 
 sympathy with his case. He spoke with a cordiality not 
 common with him, commended prudence, and proffered 
 such assistance as Barney might need in any of his pur- 
 poses. He had known, he said, where matters of the sort 
 that now interested him, which persons for family reasons 
 had tried to conceal, when they were at last discovered, had 
 had no effect but to subject parties to regret that they had 
 not remained in ignorance concerning them. People ought 
 to be extremely cautious, especially after so long a time had 
 elapsed, and make no positive, declared movement without 
 the clearest testimony, such as would stand in the courts. 
 
 Barney received his admonitions and offers of aid with 
 thanks. The subject was not broached between them dur- 
 ing the continuance of the work on the lot, nor for a con- 
 
68 OLD MARK LANGSTON : 
 
 siderable time afterward. Barney continued the habits with 
 which he had begun — working, picking up acquaintances, 
 and making himself agreeable with all whom he met. 
 
 Chapter IX. 
 
 A EETIBED MAGISTRATE. 
 
 Among the acquaintances that Barney Jarrell had made 
 was one which in time he found more interesting than he 
 had foreseen when obeying the suggestions, partly charita- 
 ble, that led to it. In a one-storied house, ancient-looking, 
 but mainly from neglect of painting and other repairs, half 
 a mile east of the village, dwelt Jesse Lines, his wife, and 
 his daughter, Doolana, his only offspring, now about twenty- 
 five years of age. In his early manhood he was for some 
 years a justice of the peace for that militia district. Al- 
 though the jurisdiction of that order of magistrates was 
 then limited in money claims to thirty dollars, yet these 
 sometimes aggregated very largely. Judgments being ren- 
 dered thirty days after the bringing of suits, whereas those 
 in higher courts required six months, creditors — especially 
 those who, as well as their debtors, resided in the country, 
 at considerable distances from the county-seats — were ac- 
 customed to have promissory notes, of whatever amount, 
 taken in what were called " small notes," for the debt. 
 Added to this jurisdiction, these officials gave attestation 
 to legal instruments, divided with ministers of the Gospel 
 the solemnization of marriage contracts, and sat on prelim- 
 inary trials for the commitment, bail, or release of persons 
 charged with criminal offenses. 
 
 Squire Lines, though he made money, did not attain 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 69 
 
 great reputation, except for undoubted capacity in his judi- 
 cial career. His administration having been contemporary 
 with one of the State's most notable judges, Thomas Dooly, 
 he had named his daughter in honor of him. Even before 
 his retirement from the bench he had bought from Amnion 
 Duke, on reasonable terms, as was supposed, this mansion, 
 with three hundred acres appertaining, and, from Kinsey, a 
 family of negroes that were parcel of those bequeathed by 
 Albert Semmes to Emily Langston. How he could have 
 accumulated all this property within a time so limited there 
 had always been speculations, but none entirely satisfactory. 
 He was a favorite, even an honored, magistrate with both 
 the Dukes ; and Kinsey was heard to say, after his removal, 
 that the district in choosing to go further than Jesse Lines 
 might fare worse. 
 
 Without dreaming that such was the case Jesse Lines had 
 married well with a woman a year or two his senior. The 
 last twenty years of his life had been spent, besides a gen- 
 eral direction given to his farm, mainly in speculating on 
 a limited scale with horses, wagons, trumpery of various 
 sorts, purchased at executors', administrators', and insolvent 
 debtors' sales, including promissory notes of doubtful sol- 
 vency. It was always a wonder with what speed he could 
 brighten up a broken-down piece of property and sell at a 
 .good margin. As for collecting of bad debts, the truth is, 
 that whenever a debtor, however trifling in himself and in- 
 visible his means, found that Jesse Lines owned his paper, 
 df he did not find means to pay up the whole, for the sake 
 of avoiding ceaseless and relentless pursuit, as a general 
 thing he would propose a compromise that would yield a 
 high profit on the risk. His activity in trade continued 
 long after he had beeu disabled in one of his legs by the 
 kick of a horse, that he had pampered too luxuriously after 
 
10 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 getting it, for almost nothing, an exhausted jade, from a 
 wagoner. This infirmity having proved incurable, had kept 
 him for the last fifteen years at or about home. He 
 usually lay upon his bed or a cot, and nursed his lame 
 leg with care that, in the lapse of time, grew into affec- 
 tion and tender commiseration. It had often been said of 
 this leg that, instead of hindering, it assisted its owner in 
 matters of worldly interest, as if from remorse for the suf- 
 fering it inflicted on its owner or gratitude for the kind- 
 ly treatment it received. For the pity he extended to it 
 could not but sometimes excite corresponding emotion in 
 others' breasts. While making a trade, either at home or a 
 neighborhood sale — whither he would manage to have him- 
 self hauled in a spring-wagon — he would pat his " orphing," 
 as he called the invalid member, with touching softness, and 
 look as if, and would so declare, that but for its poor sake 
 he would never even think of trying to get any more of 
 the perishing goods of this miserable world. 
 
 Sometimes this wagon would take him and the "orphing" 
 to the house of a debtor, where his small negro boy would 
 drive him to the gate, or, if the latter were large enough 
 for such ingress, to the very door. Being invited to alight, 
 he would or would not, according to his satisfaction with 
 the answers received to the questions he had put, and the 
 inspections he had made of the portable property on the 
 outside of the dwelling. At such times he would carefully 
 note down in his memorandum-book, among other things, 
 the suggestions that the wife or other ladies present would 
 make touching salves and liniments for the wounded and 
 afflicted, thankfully promising to try them ; and seldom did 
 he fail to carry or send word that he had done so ; and, 
 although they of course could not cure, yet they had cer- 
 tainly helped him. Such visitations were apt to be followed 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CKEEK. 71 
 
 very soon by sending Mm some money, if even a small 
 amount ; for it was well known that otherwise the consta- 
 ble would seize if only a wheelbarrow or a mangy calf which 
 the creditor had seen with his own blessed eyes and knew 
 to be subject to levy and sale. 
 
 He had now grown old, and, although eager as ever for 
 the accumulation of property, yet his fondest ambition had 
 become now to see his daughter suitably married during his 
 lifetime. From her very infancy he had tried to inspire 
 this daughter (whom he had named in the pride of his 
 connection with the Judiciary of the State, and in special 
 honor of its renowned representative) with ideas that, to his 
 mind, seemed of the loftiest. Latterly, as the care of the 
 only ward he had ever had seemed to be telling more sen- 
 sibly than heretofore upon him, he had been growing ex- 
 tremely anxious for such a consummation of this daughter's 
 destiny in the line he had proposed as would serve to smooth 
 the decline that he foresaw to be at no vast distance from 
 its end. With all his ambition Jesse Lines knew himself to 
 be a man of judgment, and he had often said to himself 
 that it would be a mistake in him to look too high for his 
 daughter's settlement. Yet, like some other parents domi- 
 nated by such a passion, sometimes he inwardly, as if in 
 dreams, vaulted to the very highest. Lucius Woodbridge 
 had been making such progress in reputation, and especially 
 in getting and laying up money, that for a while he had 
 thought of setting a trap for him. The young man occa- 
 sionally visited at the house. Jesse was sure that he knew 
 mainly why. He kept his trap and made his triggers, but 
 somehow the settiDg was delayed, for reasons considered by 
 himself sufficient. 
 
 For many years the only regular visitor he had had was 
 Kinsey Duke. Eicher though the latter had constantly 
 
72 OLD mark langston: 
 
 grown, he had never ignored his father's and his own friend. 
 Always friendly, always obliging, always sympathetic, al- 
 ways patient with his moroseness, Mr. Duke had been. Not 
 a very cheerful visitor, for he was never a very cheerful 
 man. Very lately his want of cheerfulness had seemed 
 more noticeable. Jesse Lines ruminated. 
 
 Barney Jarrell was not a man to be satisfied with resid- 
 ing so close to a man, especially one aged and invalid, with- 
 out making his acquaintance, and rendering, if possible, 
 such service as was due to one in his condition. He there- 
 fore called upon Mr. Lines not very long after he had set- 
 tled, saying to him, in his kind, candid way, that, having 
 heard of Mr. Lines being somewhat of an invalid, he, being 
 his nearest neighbor, had called to pay his respects and of- 
 fer any service that the behests of good neighborhood might 
 demand. A suspicious person always, it was also policy 
 with Jesse to behave abruptly, especially with strangers, in 
 order to conceal the art he possessed in getting from them 
 what he wanted. He knew they would attribute such con- 
 duct to his age and sufferings. He looked at Barney pity- 
 fully for a while. He had heard of him, and his wife and 
 daughter had told him of the favorable impression that the 
 whole family had made upon the community. 
 
 " I don't know, mister — What you say your name were?" 
 
 " Jarrell. I sign myself, Mr. Lines, ' Barney Jarrell.' " 
 
 "Sign yourself that?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." Barney reddened a little at the emphasis the 
 old man employed in the word "sign," and looked him stead- 
 ily in the face. The latter winced, slowly and deliberately. 
 
 "Umph — umph! Well, I don't know, Mr. Jarl, what 
 your aims is in a-comin' to see me. I sposen you've got 
 some, somehows or somehows else, because nobody, except- 
 in' of a mighty few, ever comes here 'ithont they've got 'em, 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 73 
 
 of one sort or another. Sometimes, that is, I used to could 
 sometimes tell what people was arfter; but I can't now 
 like T used to could ; and as for you, you entirely oversizes 
 my information. Tell me, now, squar, right up and down, 
 what your aims is. Because you see my fix. You see for 
 yourself that I'm old and feeble — a old person, a 'flicted 
 person, and a po' person — and for tharfore and wharfore I 
 natchelly ain't a person that can 'fend myself ofi'n people 
 that has the consate and has the desires t' impose on me." 
 
 " I assure you, Mr. Lines," answered Barney, cordially, 
 " that I am perfectly sincere in my wish to serve all my 
 neighbors, especially those who are not very strong. Having 
 been brought up on a farm, I have learned to do reasonably 
 well work upon farm buildings and working tools, and for 
 such I have never charged payment from those of my neigh- 
 bors who are straitened in health or other circumstances." 
 
 It was but a brief period before he was out at the gate 
 (which was ready to fall from its hinges) and calling for a 
 hammer and some nails. When they were brought he went 
 to work and speedily adjusted it. The host neither thanked 
 him nor invited him to come again, but at parting looked 
 at him imploringly, as if he hoped the young man would 
 not have the conscience to bear too hardly upon one in the 
 condition he saw him to be. But Barney repeated his visits 
 at decent intervals, partly from suggestions of his own mind, 
 and partly from those of a friend he had made, whose 
 counsels he found to be prudent and valuable. In a few 
 weeks Mr. Lines seemed to like him, at least as well as such 
 a person could be expected to like any outside of himself 
 and his family- If he suspected any motive of the visita- 
 tions ulterior to those Barney had first avowed, he never 
 again so intimated. He let Barney do for him such trifling 
 jobs as were found to be needed, and meekly acquiesced in 
 
14 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 his persistent refusal to accept compensation beyond the 
 lukewarm thanks that were expressed. They came to have 
 talks together on various topics, such as the first settlement 
 of the country, the perilous adventures consequent on resi- 
 dence in close proximity to the Indians, and others; and 
 Jesse soon grew to like, rather than not, his new neighbor, 
 or at least seemed disposed to do so. 
 
 Chapter X. 
 
 THE SCHOOL-MASTER CONTEMPLATES RETURNING TO HIS 
 OLD PROFESSION. 
 
 Lucius Woodbridge being, in some degree, a public 
 man, seemed to feel it to be his duty to make at least occa- 
 sional visits to those who might be called his constituents. 
 A genuine man was he — brave and generous as sombre and 
 retiring. He had succeeded more by being what he was 
 than by doing what he did. A ripe scholar, he maintained 
 the hold he first gained by showing that he was a gentle- 
 man besides. Before the advent of Barney he had visited 
 Jesse Lines on a few occasions, partly from a sense of duty 
 to him, and partly for the sake of his daughter, whom he 
 much respected. Lately he had made several visits in rather 
 quick succession. Jesse, who believed that men did nothing 
 except from prospects or hopes of good to themselves, cog- 
 itated upon them, and, like old Polonius — who, whatever 
 were the words of Hamlet, suspected him of " ever harping 
 on my daughter" — was inclined to assign them to Doolana. 
 Bnmor had reached him, as we have seen, that the school- 
 master was laying up carefully and snugly, and, on the fail- 
 ure of higher ambitions, he had been thinking what he 
 might say if the young man should solicit of him the priv- 
 
A TALK OF DUKE'S CREEK. 1o 
 
 ilege of being his son-in-law — partially considering, that is. 
 For he was a man not apt to under-estimate a piece of his 
 own property, and whenever he sold demanded a full price. 
 Not that he was one to stand out obstinately against all 
 offers when none came up to his figures ; but he had studied 
 the capacities and possibilities of buyers, and he could coolly, 
 confidently press one of these to the wall and get for any 
 piece of property the last dollar. But he thought he knew 
 when to press and when to hold on to what was valuable. 
 The more eager a purchaser seemed, the more deliberate 
 was he, though ever watchful of limits that might not be 
 passed. From time to time Woodbridge had obtained a 
 good deal of information as to the first conquests of the 
 Indians, and the forests, and other matters incident to the 
 splendid civilization that was now apparent on all sides. 
 
 "This Mr. Ammon Duke," said Woodbridge, one day, 
 " he must have been a remarkable man, Mr. Lines." 
 
 " Oh, remockable — remockable. "When this militia dees- 
 trict was first laid off nothin' would suit the old man but 
 for me to be a jestice o' the peace. He had me 'pinted, 
 and him and me, with old Jedge Dooly, we rigerlated 
 things about here, Mr. Woodige — I can tell you that." 
 
 " Justices of the peace were important officials in those 
 days, so I've been told." 
 
 " Yes, bless your soul ! In them days, Mr. Woodige, a 
 jestice were a jestice. Fact, a fellow might sassarar* his 
 proceedances, and car' 'em up to the S'perior Cote. But it 
 were a time when all cotes was friendly and more intimate 
 than in these days, and people minded how they kicked 
 agin 'em ; and with sich jestices as me, who made it a pint 
 to know the law, and to understand the law, mighty few 
 
 * The writ of certiorari was so pronounced by unlettered persons. 
 
16 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 cases was sent back on me. And as for old Jedge Dooly, 
 him and me was thick, you may say, as the sayin' is, as 
 three niggers in a bed. Oh, the times — the times that him 
 and me used to have, jes' the old jedge and me ! But as 
 for bein' of a jestice in these times, Mr. Woodige, I 
 wouldn't give a flip o' my flap for the office." 
 
 Then he waved far from himself all thoughts of an office 
 that had so far declined from its ancient powers and re- 
 nown. 
 
 " It is, no doubt, very pleasant to you to recall the old 
 times. I observe now that these magistrates seldom solem- 
 nize marriages. That is and was one of their functions, 
 was it not ?" 
 
 " You mean the marryin' o' couples, don't you ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 Jesse smiled blandly as he answered, 
 
 " Yes, or ruther I mout say no. You know, Mr. Wood- 
 ige, the marryin' o' couples by a jestice o' the peace is a 
 old Firginny piece o' business, and it were first fotch about 
 because them old Firginny preachers usened to charge sich 
 high figgers for the couplin' o' two people together when 
 the law, as it stood then, 'lowed nobody but them to tend 
 to that kind o' business. Well, now, Mr. Woodige, poor 
 folks was in old Firginny jes' as they is here, and as they 
 is everywhar else that I've ever knowed about, and it ain't 
 every poor man that can roll up his hogshead o' tobarker to 
 a preacher's door when he want to marry. And, besides all 
 that, Mr. Woodige, people is sometimes in a hurry when 
 they take it into their heads to git married, and they got 
 no time for the publishin' o' banes, nor not even for hitchin' 
 up a wagin to haul the weddin'- fee to the preacher. And 
 so, you see, them old Firginny people they ups, they do, 
 and they changes the law, and makes it so that other peo- 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. Tl 
 
 pie besides of preachers mout tie, 'em together. So when 
 them same people, or leastways a part of 'em, moved down 
 to Georgy they fotch that law with 'em. But it ain't used 
 like it used to be, that's a fact. For because, in the first 
 offstart o' the case at bar, so to speak, jestices not by a 
 long shot they ain't what they was in me and old Jedge 
 Dooly's time ; and then the common run o' preachers, sich 
 as we has now, is too poor theirselves to try, as it were, to 
 come the gougin' out, so to speak, of a poor fellow's very 
 eyes out wheneversomever he feel like of takin' to hisself a 
 companion. The preachers, sich as we has now, leastways 
 the common run of 'em, ain't like them old Firginny preach- 
 ers that was 'pinted to their churches by the Legislatur, or 
 some big somebody, and rich in the offstart, and didn't keer 
 for poor folks no more'n so many frogs in Jook's millpond. 
 But them — that is, the preachers I'm now a-talkin' about, 
 now you mind — they know how it is theirselves, and they'll 
 put up sich a job for whatsomever they can git — from a dol- 
 lar to three dollars — with a good weddin' supper flung in. 
 And then, you know, Mr. Woodige, as a country git more 
 settled young couples don't run away like they used to. 
 They're genilly a longer in courtin', and parrents is more 
 consulted, though my expeunce is, that when a young fellow 
 and a young gal has made up their minds to jine poplars 
 nuther parrents nor t'other people, genilly speakin', needn't 
 put their mouths in agin it. Parrents knows that, and so, 
 when they see they can't hender 'em, they jes' lets 'em rack, 
 bakes their cake, sends for the preacher, pays him what 
 they please, gives 'em a weddin' and a infar, and lets 'em 
 go splurgin' along the best they can, root pig or die." 
 
 " I have heard that Mr. Duke once had a runaway match 
 with Mr. Langston's daughter. Were they married by a 
 justice or a minister of the Gospel 1" 
 
78 OLD MAKE LANGSTON: 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Woodige," answered Jesse, with a somewhat 
 melancholy smile, " thar you too hard for me. When Mr. 
 Jook runned off with the old man's daughter — fine man, 
 Mr. Langson : Mr. Jook '11 tell you that hisself — fine, good 
 man — but sharp was the word and quick the motion, as 
 the sayin' is. They went a-kitin', and they went clean off. 
 I don't 'member, Mr. Woodige, as I ever heerd who it 
 were that tied them two together." 
 
 Then he looked into his visitor's face humbly, as if it 
 pained him to acknowledge that himself had not only no 
 official connection with but not even preliminary knowl- 
 edge of this early adventure of Dukesborough's leading 
 citizen. 
 
 " I have heard persons say, Mr. Lines, that the commu- 
 nity were surprised at the event, especially as Mr. Duke had 
 never asked Mr. Langston for his daughter, and that the 
 old gentleman had not been aware of his wish to marry 
 her." 
 
 Jesse smiled the smile of a man who knew of things 
 more interesting than occur in this generation. 
 
 "Curouser things than sich as that's happened in my 
 day, Mr. Woodige. As for the Jooks — now, the Jooks was 
 always fine, good, smart people, but they was also and al- 
 ways a quick-movin' people, and they wasn't much usened, 
 when they wanted anything that they knowed they had the 
 right to git without askin' if they could — they wasn't much 
 usened to be a-stoppin' and studyin' up what sort o' words 
 to put together to go about a-askin' for it. It were so with 
 the old man Hammon — oh ! a rusher he were, but a mon- 
 stous fine, smart man — and his son, our Mr. Jook, though 
 he could never quite ekal his par in rushin', yit he's been a 
 rapid man in his young days, and a peert one yit, as to that. 
 But, you see, Mr. Woodige, Mr. Jook — our Mr. Jook, I'm 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CKEEK. 79 
 
 a now talkin' about, you mind — were then a-speckerlatin' 
 on niggers, and he were here and he were thar, and he 
 thought, I supposen, that Mr. Langson mout 'a' gin his 
 consent, but then agin he moutent — not, I mean, at the 'first 
 ofistart, ontwell he could of over-persuaded him, and that he 
 knowed would of took time ; and so I jes' supposen — them's 
 jes' allays been my 'spicions — he thought he wouldn't stop 
 to be projeckin' and a mealimouthin' about it. Defernt 
 men, you know, Mr. Woodige, does things defernt and in 
 defernt ways. I've been of a-noticin' of that endurin' of 
 all my life, and I've knowed warous people in my time." 
 " It was a great affliction to Mr. Langston, I have heard." 
 "Oh yes — oh yes," answered Jesse, after a prolonged 
 wink. " But 'flictions comes on to everybody, or a'most 
 everybody, one way and another — leastways, them that 
 lives long enough. Look at me, for instant. Jes see the 
 fix I'm in here. Flat o' my back. When t'other peo- 
 ple 's up and goin' about wharsomever they pleases I has 
 to lay here and nuss my orphing leg and fight flies ; and 
 when they ain't none o' them about, to have to consate 
 they're here, and so keep myself a-flippin' and a-flappin' jes 
 the same as if they was. It's the lot o' some people, Mr. 
 Woodige, seems to me — it's jes the natchel lot o' some 
 people to be 'flicted." 
 
 " It does seem so indeed, Mr. Lines, and I do not doubt 
 that afflictions are allowed by the good God for purposes 
 of mercy to those who are afflicted. In your case, however, 
 he has tempered it by suffering you to keep your wife and 
 daughter. Mr. Langston has had to live alone for very 
 many years. But he has accepted his affliction without 
 complaint, and been compensated by being resigned to 
 God's will. I do not think I ever knew a person as free 
 from unhappiness of any kind as him." 
 
80 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 The old man looked at his visitor with an expression 
 doubtful between resentment and satisfaction. He was not 
 fond, as he often expressed it, of being preached at, and 
 possibly he suspected the young man's words to be intended 
 to hint that he ought to take Mr. Langston's example as a 
 lesson. If this was the fact he concealed his thoughts, and 
 answered, 
 
 " I'm truly glad the old man Langson have done as well 
 as he have. Fine, good man — none finer, to my opinion. 
 And as for Doolana" (his face now brightened), "well, 
 now, I jes' tell you, Mr. Woodige, they ain't no tellin' all 
 what that child have been to me, and what — a reasonable 
 speakin' and a dilicate speakin' I am now, Mr. Woodige, 
 and I'm a-goin' on to say they ain't no tellin' at some 
 futur' day what that child mout be to some other people 
 when and arfter my head git cold." 
 
 He almost closed his eyes as he furtively looked at the 
 young man. 
 
 " Indeed, Mr. Lines, everybody must heartily endorse any 
 praise you might utter of Miss Doolana." 
 
 "Nobody know that child, Mr. Woodige, exceptin' o' 
 me. / know her, as by good rights, a-bein' of her father, 
 I ought to. Them that gits Doolana — it's Doolana Lines 
 I'm a-talkin' about now — them that gits her '11 git more'n 
 they think, in more ways 'n one ; and she'll be a person 
 that'll be monstous hard to git, to my opinion, and her 
 father's consents '11 be the main powosoe in that contrack 
 — people may 'pend on that, Mr. Woodige." 
 
 Judge Dooly could not have laid down a judgment of the 
 Court with more solemn emphasis. 
 
 " That would be exactly as it should, Mr. Lines. Miss 
 Doolana will doubtless feel so, if ever she thinks of enter- 
 taining a proposition of the kind. Such a proposition, to 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S GREEK. 81 
 
 be entertained, ought to come from none except whom, not 
 only herself but her father will recognize, if not worthy of 
 her, as one who of all her acquaintance comes nearest to 
 being so." 
 
 Jesse accepted this compliment to his daughter with a 
 prolonged, gratified, trembling sniff. He was not quite 
 ready with his trap — he might be soon — but he would 
 now merely cast the bait around and near where it was to 
 be set. 
 
 " Our new neighbor, Mr. Jarrell, seems a clever man, Mr. 
 Lines," said Woodbridge, after a pause in the conversation. 
 
 "TJmph — umph!" answered Jesse, his mind evidently 
 still lingering on Doolana. " Is he a marryin' man ?" 
 
 " Oh, not that I know of. At least, I should hardly sup- 
 pose that one thus recently come would so soon have his 
 thoughts directed toward matrimony — that is, in this neigh- 
 borhood. I merely spoke of him as your closest neighbor, 
 and as one who had impressed me very favorably." 
 
 " Ef he's a marryin' man, I should say that any exceptin' 
 of the poorest kind o' chance of a girl would do a slim 
 business to take up along of a man with jes one nigger, and 
 got a child of his own, or leastways adopted, to s'port be- 
 sides hisself. He seem a good, easy, good-hearted fellow, 
 though, and monstous conversanal. I heerd him and you 
 was a good deal together. Make much out of him ?' 
 
 " As I remarked, Mr. Lines, he has impressed me favor- 
 ably." 
 
 " Doolana say his daughter *s a oncommon fine child." 
 
 " She is, indeed, a child of much promise." 
 
 When the visitor rose to depart he remarked, carelessly, 
 
 "The marriage of Mr. Duke was not, then, published in 
 the newspapers, eh, Mr. Lines?" 
 
 "Not as I 'members of," answered Jesse, extending 
 6 
 
82 OLD MARK LANGSTON : 
 
 his hand resignedly. " Farwell, Mr. Woodige. My ricollec- 
 tion ain't like it used to be. I'm a-gittin' of old, and I'm 
 a-gittin' of feebler and feebler. Wish you mighty well, 
 Mr. Woodige." 
 
 Withdrawing his hand, he turned his face away, and 
 Woodbridge departed. 
 
 Chapter XI. 
 
 MB. DUKE VISITS THE SICK. 
 
 One Sunday afternoon, not long after Rebecca Wood- 
 bridge's visit to Colonel Porter's had ended, Jesse Lines, 
 longer, lanker, dismaller- looking than ever, from lapse of 
 time and other causes, was lying on a cot in the piazza. 
 The bed-clothes and his own, though home-made and plain, 
 were scrupulously clean, showing that deft and careful were 
 the hands that ministered to him. Near his head stood a 
 small table, evidently a companion piece of furniture with 
 that whereon, whether bed or cot, he was accustomed to 
 He. A long, brown leather pocket-book lay on his breast, 
 and he was reading some ancient-looking manuscript pa- 
 pers, which he held in both hands before him. Hearing 
 the sound of a horse's feet, he glanced up the road lead- 
 ing to the village; then, folding up the papers, replaced 
 them in the pocket-book and drawer, closed and locked 
 the latter, placed the key under his pillow, drew the table 
 closer, laid one hand feebly by his side, and with the oth- 
 er lifted a singular-looking instrument. It was a slender 
 stick of hickory, about thirty inches in length, holding, in 
 a split at one end, a thick piece of leather the width of a 
 man's hand. This he waved slowly and continuously, turn- 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 83 
 
 ing his eyes in one and another direction to points imme- 
 diately around him, as if intending to defend himself as 
 well as he could with his only weapon against intrusion 
 and attack. He had been speculating in his mind more 
 than usual of late. The school - master's recent frequent 
 visits had somewhat intermitted ; his daughter, Doolana, 
 though relaxing nothing in devotion to himself, had ap- 
 peared to him to be a little more thoughtful, even sadder, 
 than had been her wont ; and, upon the whole, Jesse felt 
 himself to be discontented in his mind. 
 
 He looked at the visitor, who had hitched his horse to a 
 horse-shoe nailed to one of the oaks before his gate, and was 
 walking toward the house, and his countenance, instinctive- 
 ly, as it were, assumed that piteous, mildly complaining ex- 
 pression which we have often seen depicted in the face of 
 the sick on the approach of the physician, when they have 
 suspected either that his diagnosis, from want of becoming 
 carefulness and sympathy, has not been entirely accurate, 
 or his prescriptions not as efficacious as promised. 
 
 " Well, Jes," said Mr. Duke, beginning, as always, with 
 cordiality, " how you, my friend, and the orphan ? Lively, 
 I hope. Warm weather come on us sooner 'n common this 
 season." 
 
 "Jes toler'ble, Mr. Jook — jes only toler'ble. The flies, 
 seems to me, they've come sooner this season, and thar's 
 more of 'em, and they're more troublesomer than I've never 
 knowed of 'em a-bein'. And, somehow, I hain't got my 
 hand in yit in the flappin' of the dog-goned things, and 
 which what they was made for Godamighty know ; least- 
 ways a body I sposen got to sposen he do by good rights. He 
 ought to know — i" don't. I used to could in gener'l lay 'em 
 out toler'ble handy ; but my head nor nuther is my hand 
 studdy like it used to be. Time, or somethin' else, is a-be- 
 
84 OT,D MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 ginnin' to tell on me, Mr. Jook, let alone of sickness and 
 'fictions. You looks monstous well, Mr. Jook — I mout 
 say monstous, powerful well. And how is all your family 
 like?" 
 
 " Well as common, Jes. As for me, I'm jest moderate, 
 like we say sometimes, 'twixt ham and shoulder, middlin'. 
 Time tellin' on me too, Jes, old friend." 
 
 " You, Mr. Jook ! Why, you're nothin' but a boy, or at 
 leastways a young man, comparrd to me. I 'members when 
 jes a boy you usened to come to my cote along o' your father 
 every second Sadday in the mont. Oh, them times ! them 
 times ! Then, Mr. Jook, you hain't had no bodily health, like 
 me — bodily health : them's the things that fetches people 
 down. You've never had them, nor you've never had your 
 limbs waounded a-tryin' to get a s'port for your fambly, as I 
 have. Because you've alters been rich — borned, as the sayin' 
 is, with a gold spoon already in your mouth — not even a-wait- 
 in' and a-wantin' for nobody to put her thar along 'ith its 
 con-tents ; while as for me I've been allers po', and am yit. 
 It seem to me only jes yisterday when you was a right 
 young man, jes' married, and married twicet — prop'ty both 
 times handrunnin'. And I've heerd it said that Am are to 
 marry Reuben Quillian's daughter; and, from what he'll git 
 thar, and what you can give him, jes' only to start with, 
 he'll start rich in the very offstart. Dog-gone you !" he 
 ejaculated to a fly that had strayed within reach of his flap, 
 " I got you, certin. You won't pessicute me no more, any- 
 how. Some o' the rest may try it, a-knowin' how old and 
 feeble I am ; but some o' them I'll git too, if they don't 
 mind, and ain't monstous particklar." 
 
 The visitor made no reply to these remarks, but cast his 
 eye toward the interior of the house. 
 
 " My wife," said Jesse, " she's in the back-yard, a-readin' 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 85 
 
 to old Vilet; and Doolana, she went up for a while to Jarl's. 
 I wonder you didn't see her as you rid by. Maybe you 
 did, and forgot it." 
 
 "Yes — yes. Saw her in piazza, her and Jarrell, and 
 daughter. Look monstous well, Miss Doolana." 
 
 " I supposened you mout o' saw her as you rid by. Poor 
 thing! she restless here lately, appearantly — restlesser 'n 
 common — with nobody but jes two old, 'flicted people for 
 company, and a few niggers, and some o' them, leastways 
 one of 'em, 'flicted herself, and not worth, not nigh, of her 
 vittels and clothes. It 'pears like I jes natchelly feels sor- 
 ry for Doolana, although I has 'casion, 'pear like, to feel 
 sorry enough for myself, 'ithout stoppin' to be sorry for 
 t'other people ; and I jest couldn't afford it, exceptin' o' 
 their bein' o' my own blessed and onlest child." 
 
 He made a feeble stroke at a fly that had alighted on his 
 knee ; but, sufficiently forewarned, it easily escaped. He 
 followed it with his eyes, and said, with meek, despondent 
 resentment, 
 
 " You little villions, you 'pose on me because I'm po' and 
 feeble, and then you flies off and laughs at me, does you ? 
 Well, I'm gittin of usened to that, and I can't blame you 
 not so mighty powerful much. For you has to make your 
 livin' somehows or somehows else, and you hain't no better 
 sense nor no better feelin' than to 'pose on po' old, 'flicted 
 people, not you hain't." 
 
 " Jes," said Mr. Duke, in a low tone, " what you mean 
 by such talk ? Who's imposed on you ? You don't mean 
 — you don't mean me, Jes ?" 
 
 Jesse raised his flap and looked around vaguely. Then 
 he answered, humbly and deprecatingly, 
 
 "I never said that nobody in particklar had been a-'posin' 
 on me, Mr. Jook. At leastways, I never named nobody's 
 
86 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 name — that is, not that I 'members of. It were mosely 
 them dog-goned flies I were a-talkin' to, or leastways a-try- 
 in' to warn off'n me." 
 
 Then he feebly waved his withered hand — the more feeble 
 as if, apparently, the sudden reflection upon the moral irre- 
 sponsibility of his insect enemies, and their adroitness in 
 making their escape, had rendered angry and active resist- 
 ance both unbecoming and unnecessary. 
 
 "Jes Lines,'' said Mr. Duke, after laying upon the table 
 a small bag he had drawn from his coat-pocket, " been best 
 friend you ever had. Always liked you, because thought 
 you liked me, and were friend to me." 
 
 Jesse fixed his eye upon a fly that had settled upon one 
 of his feet too far to be reached by his weapon or fright- 
 ened off by its waving. The insect remained still, and 
 seemed to be intent only on enjoying a rest. 
 
 " Oh, you've got enough outen me, has you ? And you 
 jes comes back thar, and you keeps your distance, and you 
 jes stands and looks at me, to see how I stands the racket. 
 You see I ain't dead yit — not quite, I ain't — and you mout 
 as well be keerful." 
 
 The little insect, disregarding these admonitions, rose, 
 and, flying, lighted upon the "orphan's'' knee. The guar- 
 dian, carefully poising his flap, made a sudden stroke that 
 laid him low. 
 
 " Ah ha ! Oh ho ! I told you so, 'member ; but yit you 
 ris, you did, from whar you was and you jes come and lit, 
 you did, jes in good retch o' me." 
 
 Then turning to Mr. Duke, as if during this interlude he 
 had forgotten his presence, he said, languidly, 
 
 " Hain't been to see a po' feller not so often lately, seems 
 to me, Mr. Jook." 
 
 " Why, Jes ! I've been oftener." 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 87 
 
 "Has you, in fack? Don't seem like to me. I know 
 I'm old and forgitful ; but as a man git old, and 'specially 
 if he's 'flicted into the bargain, he natchelly feel that his 
 desires is for people to come to see him, 'specially them 
 that he sposens mont not, and by good rights oughtent to, 
 want to fling him off jes because he's old and feeble and 
 good for nothin', and while they theirselves was alive and 
 kickin', and a-gittin every day of abler and abler to kick 
 down all o' Godamighty's creation, so to speak. Though 
 as for me, it 'pears like that I know enough, and by good 
 rights ought to know enough, about kickin' already to not 
 be keepin' on a constant of bein' kicked, because now I'm 
 old and 'flicted, and can't git out o' the way." 
 
 He closed his eyes momentarily, as if to submit himself 
 unresistingly to the heels of whatever animal, beast or hu- 
 man, might incline to lift them against him. 
 
 "Been your friend always, Jes. Am yet. What can I 
 do for you now ?" 
 
 Mr. Lines turned himself slightly upon his side, adjusted 
 his head so as to see Mr. Duke's face distinctly, and said, 
 
 " You're yit certain in your mind, Mr. Jook — positive, I 
 mean — that the gal died ?" 
 
 With the look and tone of one wearied of having again 
 to answer a question that often and often had been asked 
 and answered, Mr. Duke said, 
 
 " Of course she died, Jes. Not a doubt about it." 
 
 " You didn't see it yourself, you know, Mr. Jook ; least- 
 ways, not with your own eyes, so you told me, and both 
 tharfore and wharfore it have always been — maybe jes my 
 consate — I've been allers jubous about it, and I've been 
 a-thinkin', and specially here lately, of how, powidin' she 
 didn't die, what a likely gang they mout a' been by now. 
 For she were the likelest and the smartest o' the whole 
 
88 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 gang, as far as I could see, and I took a monstous notion 
 to own her. And then, though bein' of a nigger, and sich 
 evidences not allowed, yit she knowed, I sposened, some 
 things which, ef the evidence could be 'lowed, would be too 
 walible to keep a'most anybody from usin' of it, ef they 
 knowed how, and when and whar." 
 
 "You know, Jes, that I were sued for damages about 
 her dying, and had to compromise." 
 
 " Yes, yes, Mr. Jook, I know. Staples he f otch the suit 
 agin you for them speckerlaters ; and I knowed, when he 
 fotch the suit, you could git a compermise, and shore enough 
 you did. And you did How for her to me. But I'd a heap 
 rether had her than the money, because she were jes so 
 likely, and then because ef she'd a-been my own blessed 
 nigger, as the sayin' is, I'd a never felt no oneasiness about 
 her keepin' of her mouth shet. Well, well, Mr. Jook, it 
 look like a pity, to be "shore. I has often, and 'specially I 
 has often jes here lately, a-layin' on my bed, or on my cot, 
 a flat o' my back a by myself, I has jes laid here and 
 thought o' them childern. I've jes laid here and been 
 a-ponderin' and a-ponderin'. I've frequent ast myself how 
 Godamighty could a-cut 'em off so young in the very spring 
 o' the year, as it were. And, and " — he went on, with mild 
 remonstrance and resignation — " but it weren't my lookout. 
 I ain't responchible, and it ain't none o' my business, yit 
 somehow the older I git, and the more 'flicted, seem like, 
 it 'pears to me, my mind runs on them childern." 
 
 He looked with all the eagerness his bleared eyes could 
 evince into the face of his visitor, and derived that sort of 
 comfort which is possible for such a man to get from the 
 sight of anxiety greater than his own that he knows his 
 words have produced. Jesse Lines was now preparing for 
 a trade the most important and delicate, requiring more 
 
A TALE OF DUKE S CKEEK. 89 
 
 caution and more audacity than any he had ever before en- 
 gaged in. 
 
 Mr. Duke sat and, alternately turning pale and red, look- 
 ed upon his host, upon the floor, upon the world outside — 
 far, far outside — but answered not a word. 
 
 " l&ou've saw a good deal o' that feller Jarl, Mr. Jook. 
 I don't know when I've seen as conversanal a feller. Every- 
 body like him, they tell me." 
 
 " Yes ; put up smoke-house for me. Talky fellow," an- 
 swered Mr. Duke, cheerfully, as if gratified to change the 
 subject of conversation. 
 
 " 'Pears like he want to git all the information he can 
 pick np about the neighborhood, but he ain't a powerful 
 hand to talk about hisself, I noticed. He's a 'commodatin' 
 sort o' chap, and have patched up right smart o' one thing 
 and another for me, and not charged for it. That sort o' 
 doin' I ain't used to, and it make me keep my eyes skinned.' 
 But he's a polite feller, and my wife and Doolana says 
 everybody speak well of all of 'em. He know how to git 
 information by askin', or leastways by inwitin' people to 
 talk, and to keep on talkin' when they git farly sot in. One 
 way and another he have got about all I know about the 
 Injans, and the first settlement here, and the Quillians, and 
 the Porters, and the old man Langson, and I don't know 
 who all. But somehow he never ast much about you, Mr. 
 Jook. I sposen that a-livin' in one o' your houses, and 
 a-workin' for you, maybe he mout have a dilicacy about 
 askin' about yon, 'specially when in course he 'bleeged to 
 heerd people talk a-plenty anyhow about the top man o' 
 the neighborhood. He ast me if I knowed anything about 
 any Coxes. I told him I didn't. He said that reason he in- 
 quired were, once when he were in old Firginny he heerd 
 about some people that had a good many year ago married 
 
90 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 down somewhars in Georgie somebody that was other a 
 Cox or kin to the Coxes." 
 
 " Glad he let my name alone. May be good enough fel- 
 low, but too much tongue for me. Got no use for him. 
 Rises too fast. Know too many people. Wants to know 
 too many more.'' 
 
 "You don't supposen he were a-inquirin' about of the 
 old lady Toliver's husband, does you, Mr. Jook !" 
 
 "S'pose not, of course," answered Mr. Duke, quickly, 
 with a twitch of uneasiness in his countenance. 
 
 Jesse smiled. " They ain't no tellin'," he said. " Some 
 things is like fire. You may kiver up, and kiver up, and 
 you b'lieve it's all out and dead, and go away and leave it, 
 and bimeby you see a smoke, and you go thar, and its kin- 
 dled up agin from somethin', nobody know what, and it 
 have to be stomped out agin, and you ain't shore it's out even 
 *hen. But I never let on that I ever heerd o' that Cox." 
 
 There was another pause. 
 
 " The school-marster's made monstous headway among us, 
 Mr. Jook. Some people 's been a-talkin' about his thinkin' 
 about gittin' above school-keepin' and goin' to the practis- 
 in' o' law. It seem he were a lawyer before he come here." 
 
 " Know nothing of his ideas. Know one thing : gettin' 
 above hisself. Going to quit my house, I s'pose, after all 
 the advice and help I've give him, which he never could 
 a' got along without, not to save his life. Quillians and 
 Porter spilet him and sister to boot." 
 
 " His sister ! She's one o' them heathens that worshes 
 up of idles, ain't she ?" 
 
 " Something like that ; don't know exactly what she is. 
 No business bringin' her here. Thought so at start ; but 
 thought I'd let 'em have their way about it." 
 
 " Goin' to quit boardin' long o' you, is he ?" 
 
A TALE OP DUKK'S CREEK. 91 
 
 "Seem like it. That ain't all. Talk about Am and 
 Har't Quillian, Jes : Woodige put in thai- hisself." 
 
 Jesse turned to the speaker and exclaimed, " Hah ! that 
 so ?" with a smile which, while it indicated profound satis- 
 faction, was meant to be regarded as indicative of indig- 
 nation. Not a shrewd man was Mr. Duke in such reading, 
 but he comprehended, and he writhed with pain. Jesse 
 Lines also felt all the resentment that a man like him 
 feels when he finds that he has made a decided mistake re- 
 garding the sentiments of another on which he has been 
 speculating, with a view to a possible profit to himself. 
 "Why, what do sich percedances — what does people mean 
 by sich percedances? They seems to me like old Jedge 
 Dooly used to say, ' Quod hoc, nung pro tung dehorse the 
 recorde ' o' the case at bar. A desatef ul son of a — What 
 does them percedances mean ? and what does they pint to, 
 Mr. Jook?" 
 
 "Don't know, except — " Mr. Duke was never so volu- 
 ble of speech as when in the utterance of oaths and im- 
 precations. 
 
 " Jesso — jesso. Well, now, Mr. Jook, that man have 
 been a-usin' round here, and 'special sence that feller Jarl 
 come here. They're sorter thick, they tells me. But he — 
 that is, the school-marster I'm now a-talkin' about — have 
 always been a kind of a wisitin' corspondent among us, so 
 to speak. And do you know, Mr. Jook, here lately I've 
 been a-consatin' in my mind that he were hankerin' arfter 
 Doolana? Not, you mind, Mr. Jook, that my opinions 
 about Doolana ain't that her idees, and mine too, is above 
 sich as him; and if he was to come out here a-barkin' he'd 
 mighty quick find he were a-barkin' up the wrong tree." 
 
 Low, grovelling in his mind as Jesse Lines was, his pa- 
 ternal heart could not but feel some delicacy, or at least 
 
92 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 some shame, while thinking of his daughter in the midst 
 of the scheme that just now had taken full possession of 
 his mind, endeavors to the execution of which he had at 
 last determined to commence. His daughter was the only 
 being he had ever loved. If it were left with himself en- 
 tirely he would have bargained for her settlement as he 
 would have traded a jade of a horse or an insolvent's prom- 
 issory note. But he knew her simple, native modesty and 
 integrity ; and, without being able to account for them 
 satisfactorily, loved her the more because of them. Yet, 
 because of them he had ever felt that she was the more in 
 need of his politic hand in shaping her destiny. The influ- 
 ence he was conscious of exercising over Mr. Duke — greater 
 now than ever, because of the position that, to Jesse's mind, 
 had grown to be the very highest in the county, from which 
 he felt sure an immense sacrifice could be gotten, rather 
 than he would be degraded ; the sight of Mr. Duke's anxie- 
 ty about Jesse's own real or pretended qualms regarding 
 transactions in which each, but apparently Mr. Duke as 
 principal, had had a part; and of the sense of humiliation 
 evident in the latter at the preference by Harriet Quillian 
 of Lucius Woodbridge over his. son Ammon — these made 
 Jesse determine to strike one audacious blow for his beloved. 
 More than once he was on the point of telling Mr. Duke 
 in plain words what were his desires and his demands ; but 
 her image rose before him, and he was silent before the 
 look it gave. Finally, however, he waved it away impa- 
 tiently, as one dismisses an unreasonably complaining child, 
 and thus abruptly broke out : 
 
 " Looky here, Kinch Jook : that little bag o' silver'you've 
 sot thar on the table, you may take it back. It don't begin 
 to pay. Them chips and whetstones, I calls 'em, they've 
 sorter kep' down the intrust, but the principal *s there yit; 
 
A TALE OF DUKES CREEK. 93 
 
 and — and — well, now, Kinch Jook — I ain't now a-talkin' 
 about prop'ty, but, Kinch Jook, man for man, fambly for 
 fambly, me and my fambly 's as good as you and yourn, 
 and — well, now, the fact o' the business is, I'm a-gettin' of 
 a ole man now, and money, jes money dry so, it ain't the 
 objeck with me it used to be. Ef I can see — " his face 
 could not but flush through its pallor as he waved again 
 that image that had come again, and, red with blushes, and 
 sad with shame and humiliation, silently pleaded to him 
 to spare both it and himself. "Yes, sir," he continued, 
 speaking through bis closed teeth, " ef I can see Doolana 
 settled before I die — well, the settlement o' Doolana in a 
 way to satisfy both me and her is what I walies now 
 more'n money — yea, and niggers." 
 
 " Name o' God, Jes ! what you mean ?" 
 
 Jesse Lines raised his flap, brought it down with unerr- 
 ing precision, first upon a fly on his left, then one on his 
 right ; then, poising carefully for a stroke at one upon his 
 leg, he paused, smiled, and, shifting the instrument to his 
 left hand, stole the other down rapidly, silently as the glid- 
 ing of a snake, and caught the intruder. Holding it up 
 by a leg, he spoke to it thus : 
 
 " Now, dog-gone you ! you see I could o' killed you, 
 and I kin kill you. Now, of a nowithstandin' and of a nev- 
 er o' the less, you've been a powokin' o' me and a pessecut- 
 in' o' me, I'm agoin' to let you off, jes to see ef you got 
 the sense to take a gentle hint to stop your powokins and 
 your pessecntions, and your makin' your livin' off'n t'other 
 people 'ithout a other payin' for it or a askin' for it." 
 
 Having said these words he released it. Other conversa- 
 tion they had, with occasional interlocutory remarks of Mr. 
 Lines to the few insects that ventured near, the purport 
 of which will appear in time. 
 
94 OLD MAKK LANGSTON : 
 
 Chapter XII. 
 
 DOOLANA LINES. 
 
 After his visitor had left Mr. Lines lay upon his bed and 
 indulged his mind in reflections and anticipations. It had 
 been a struggle between them. But, bad as he knew his 
 own case to be, he felt that he had had the advantage, both 
 in the merits and the presentation of his side of the bargain. 
 For the first time he recognized that his daughter's destiny 
 could be brought within fulfilment of his loftiest ambition, 
 provided its control were submitted to his guidance. So 
 there he lay, waving his flap, not angrily, but, as it were, 
 in mechanical accordance with long usage, and mused how 
 he would talk with his daughter, whose return from her 
 visit to the Jarrells he was momentarily expecting. This 
 daughter was the only being whom he had ever loved, and 
 he loved her with the intensity of those who love but a sin- 
 gle object. He had never noticed in her the slightest re- 
 semblance to himself. On the contrary, she had ever been 
 meek, piously inclined, like her mother. Perhaps the con- 
 trast had endeared her the nearer to his heart, as he noticed 
 conduct and sentiments that any man, however reprobate in 
 himself, may be proud to see in his children. The reflec- 
 tion of such things is sometimes grateful, and seems to re- 
 sist effectually many an assault of remorse. Jesse had given 
 her as good an education as the neighborhood could impart. 
 Industrious from childhood, for the last eight or ten years, 
 on account of the declining health of both parents, she had 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 95 
 
 had the chief conduct of domestic affairs. In that small 
 family there was yet another invalid, old Aunt Vilet, moth- 
 er of the family of negroes obtained from Mr. Duke many 
 years before. The aged negress had been treated by Doo- 
 lana with an assiduity, if not as affectionate, as careful and 
 constant as that bestowed upon her mother. 
 
 The probability of Doolana's marriage had seldom been 
 mentioned in the family, and whenever it had been she 
 had disposed of it summarily by saying that, in existing 
 conditions, such a subject should neither be talked nor 
 thought about. 
 
 Somewhat above medium height, spare, yet of comely 
 figure, her face was pale when at rest. Her dark hair was 
 long and abundant, her dark eyes soft, loving, and religious, 
 so that sometimes she looked almost beautiful. 
 
 As her father grew older the thoughts of a becoming set- 
 tlement for her troubled his mind much. These thoughts 
 within the last few months had become more anxious, be- 
 cause within this period he had imagined that she was 
 rather more serious than had been her wont. With what 
 little sly humor he possessed he had occasionally alluded to 
 one and then another of the young men in the neighbor- 
 hood, when she would reply in some such words as these : 
 
 " Oh, pa, please don't mention young men to me. No- 
 body knows better than you that not one, especially of 
 those whom you name, is for me." 
 
 Occasionally he had believed that he saw tears in her eyes 
 when on this subject. Coarse, avaricious, selfish, deceitful, 
 yet his heart, ever yeanling and ruminating, felt a sympa- 
 thy for her that often amounted to anguish. As he lay on 
 his couch, ever waving his flap, by day and by night, when- 
 ever not asleep or reading the newspaper or old manuscripts, 
 he was planning for his daughter, or revolving in his mind 
 
96 OLD MAKK LANGSTOJS : 
 
 and weighing possible alliances. Not that he even ad- 
 mitted the possibility of her going away from him. That, 
 he felt sure, would finish him straightway. His idea was 
 to provide her with a husband — a young man of some 
 property and great promise — bring^him and his goods here, 
 and himself manage for all as long as he should live. That 
 was his policy, and he regarded it as eminently paternal and 
 wise. From among the men whose fitness for this purpose 
 he had been considering, at last, as well (so he regarded) by 
 another fortuitous conjuncture of circumstances such as had 
 often befallen his speculations hitherto, as by an extraordi- 
 nary exertion of intellect, vigor, and courage, he had made 
 his selection. 
 
 There he lay that Sunday afternoon, in the soft, mellow 
 spring-time, awaiting with confidence that was calm if not 
 entirely cheerful, yet quite this side of being entirely satis- 
 factory, the coming of Doolana. In a little while she came, 
 walking with the brisk step of one who, seldom leaving the 
 objects of solicitude for the purpose of relaxation or out- 
 side employment, is wont to hasten the period of return. 
 Almost running up the steps, she approached, smoothed his 
 pillow and the bed-clothes, took a chair at the foot of the 
 bed, looked affectionately toward him, and said, 
 
 " Been lonesome, pa, while I was gone ? Not very, I 
 suppose, as you've had company.'' 
 
 "Meet him, did you, Dooly?" 
 
 "Mr. Duke? Yes." 
 
 " Say anything to you ?" 
 
 " Only ' Good-evening,' and that he thought you looked 
 better, at least stronger and more active, than common." 
 
 " Them's what he said, was they, Dooly? Shore in your 
 mind he said the word 'active?'" 
 
 " Yes, pa, quite sure." 
 
97 
 
 " Umph — humph !" said Jesse, with calmest, thoughtful- 
 est ejaculations, slowly, lowly, almost interrogatively. Af- 
 ter a short pause he continued : 
 
 " Yes, I were ruther lonesome. Your mother been most- 
 ly a-readin' to old Vilet, and, ef she hadn't, she no company 
 for me. As for the company o' Kinch Jook, that don't 
 never, or at least it don't sildom, take the lonesome out o' 
 me, a-powidin' it's thar when he come, as it were, this even- 
 in' like." 
 
 It was a part of his policy to speak disparagingly of Mr. 
 Duke, in order to hinder Doolana's suspicion of his sub- 
 serviency, and excite within her mind a sense of equality 
 with the Duke family which himself did not feel. 
 
 " I've been a-layin' here this evenin' like, flat o' my back, 
 and a-thinkin' — jes a-thinkin' and a-thinkin', and a-wishin' 
 I weren't so old and cripplety, and good for nothin' like." 
 
 " Why, pa, you are not so old ! Uncle Mark Langston, 
 for instance, he's nearly ten years older than you are. But 
 for your leg, and your not being able to get up and go 
 about — why, I've heard you tell persons yourself that, but 
 for these, you feel nearly as young as you did twenty years 
 ago." 
 
 " Mark Langson ? See the old man lately, Dooly ? I 
 hain't saw him in I don't know when." 
 
 " Saw him this very afternoon. He's been spending last 
 night and to-day at Mrs. Toliver's, and he stopped for an 
 hour at Mr. Jarrell's on his way home. His sister wanted 
 to send him home in her carriage, but he would not con- 
 sent. ' What,' he said, ' do I want with a carriage for three 
 mile over a stumpy road? Kather foot it, anyhow.' He 
 asked very kindly after you, pa." 
 
 "Did, did he?" Then he struck violently upon the bed 
 with his flap. 
 
 1 
 
98 OLD MAltK langston: 
 
 " Why, there was no fly there, pa '." said Doolana, laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 " Weren't they ? My eyesight's a-failin' monstous pow- 
 erful fast." 
 
 She rose, went to his chamber, brought a comb and hair- 
 brush, and proceeded to use them tenderly on his head; 
 then, sprinkling Cologne-water upon his handkerchief, and 
 applying it to her parent's face, sat down, saying cheerily, 
 
 " There, now ; you look bright as a man of fifty. Feel 
 better — I know you do." 
 
 He looked at her with grateful fondness. Never had he 
 felt for her greater love, and never so great hope. 
 
 " Move your cheer further up here, Dooly. Further yit. 
 Thar." 
 
 Turning his head on the pillow so that he could well 
 study her face, he said, 
 
 " I want to talk to you, Dooly. Is your ma out o' the 
 house yit?" 
 
 " Yes, I saw her from the window of your room. She is 
 reading to Aunt Vilet. What secret can you have for me, 
 pa, that ma must not hear?" 
 
 " Not yit, Dooly — not quite yit. Bimeby. Women ain't 
 not — I mean, as a generl thing they ain't — not but what 
 you're a woman yourself, Dooly, and all that, and have good 
 jedgements — that is, so to speak — 'bout matters and things 
 in generl, but, and which women in generl — not as a gen- 
 erl thing they ain't. No, not yit — not quite yit, Dooly. 
 Bimeby." 
 
 Doolana looked with surprise at his evident erabarrass- 
 menWthe first in all her life that she had seen him exhibit. 
 Heretofore always voluble of speech, he was now silent for 
 several moments, meditating what words to begin withal. 
 Then, with impatience, he thus broke forth : 
 
A TALE OF DUKES CREEK. 99 
 
 "Dooly, it's no use a-talkin' and a-mealiraouthin' about 
 it. The fact is — and they ain't no deny in' of it — I'm a- 
 gittin' to of bein' of a old man, and a monstous powerful 
 feeble one at that ; and so's your ma also and likewise old 
 and feeble, and she have already hung on fur t'other side o' 
 what anybody mout 'a' expected a many a year ago." 
 
 He paused a moment, apparently revolving his disappoint- 
 ment at the unlooked-for prolongation of the life of his 
 conjugal companion. 
 
 " Well, pa, everybody has to die, you know, when the 
 time comes. We are all but of the dust, and the good 
 Lord—" 
 
 " Lordamighty, Doolana ! you supposin' I don't know 
 that ? Now, don't — please don't — don't begin on me with 
 the cotin' o' Scripter, like I were a heathen and never 
 heerd o' Scripter, and didn't know, Scripter or no Scripter, 
 that people 's all got to die, some time or 'nother." 
 
 He moved his head back, and fanned himself with his 
 flap. She sat silent until he turned toward her again. His 
 mind, fluctuating amid conflicting emotions, not all of which 
 he well understood, he began again : 
 
 "Doolana, you're my child, and the onlest I've got. I 
 want to talk 'long with you, 'ithout your lecterin' and 
 a-cotin' o' Scripter on me. I know I ain't no Christan per- 
 son ; but that needn't to keep me, by good rights, I hope, 
 from 'spressin' o' my opinions on subjecks I've studied and 
 know all about ; and Scripter ain't — not at the present it 
 ain't — what it's my desires to talk to you about. Time 
 enough for that, I hope, for, ef not a wery long, at least- 
 ways a good smart o' stretch o' time yit; and, 'ithout a 
 man's jes a-gittin of ready to let loose all the holt he have 
 got, and drap right in too the grave, it don't look right to 
 try to make a man feel older than he natchelly do, and 
 
100 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 plough up his feelins, and — No, it's not me, and it's not 
 your ma, that it's my desires to tali about Ibis evenin' like, 
 but it's you, Doolana, jes by your lone self, and which I 
 desires, and natchelly would desires, to make some perwis- 
 ion for you, and see some perwision made for you, and you 
 a-settled in the same perwision before and when your ma 
 and me — both her head and mine — gits cold." 
 
 He delivered these words in his fondest, pitifullest tones, 
 bestowing the while upon Doolana looks compounded of 
 artfulness and boundless affection. 
 
 " Well, pa, you can make your will, though I believe you 
 generally keep one in your drawer ; and, after leaving ma 
 the property for her lifetime — " 
 
 " What !" cried Jesse, his eyes staring with astonish- 
 ment and disgust. " That I hain't, and sha'n't. Do you 
 supposen, Doolana, your ma, 'flicted as she is, and been 
 'flicted long as she have, goin' to outlast me, because — jes 
 because one o' my legs is so I can't use it to no 'vantage, 
 and your ma older 'n me to boot ? The Lordamighty !" 
 
 Doolana regarded him with loving, painful compassion, 
 but answered not a word. 
 
 "No, indeed, Doolana," he went on, after a pause of 
 some duration — " no, indeed, my child, not by a good 
 ways, I'm a-hopin'. But it's not as to who'll git what little 
 prop'ty I got when my head do git cold, but it's as to who 
 it'll be that'll help her to take keer of it, and a-keep on to 
 addin' to it. Them's what's on top o' my mind. Thar's 
 prop'ty enough here for you to start with, Dooly. I've 
 worked, and projecked, and 'conomized, and turned over 
 until I've piled up right smart more 'n people knows of. 
 What my desires is now, for to ease my mind, it's to see 
 my only and onlest child settled along with — ahem! — 
 aheme! — in course my meanins is, so to speak, of a person 
 
101 
 
 o' the sect and sections of a man who can help my said 
 daughter, as aforesaid, to take keer o' what she'll git, and 
 not, be the powisor be understood, but. what I should de- 
 sires and expect that the said person o' them sects and sec- 
 tions, as aforesaid, would take up right here, in this very 
 house, along 'ith us all, as it were, and which would be 
 not only 'fectionate but convenant; and we'd all be, as it 
 were, united and jinded together, and be pintedly 'fection- 
 ate and happy, all natchelly together, ontell your ma's head 
 first, and then my head, got cold, and then jes you and the 
 said person o' the very same sect and sections a-havin' the 
 whole kit and bilin of what you'll have and what he'll fetch, 
 jes natchelly by yourselves and one another, together in 
 pardnership and cahoot. That 'd be my desires, natchelly 
 and in cose, matter not whomsomever that person of them 
 sect and sections mout be, in cose a reasonble speakin', 
 even, as I one time thought, maybe mout — it mout of been 
 Mv. Woodige, as I see him a-usin and a-hangin' and a-hank- 
 erin' round here right smart ; or, ef not him, then some 
 smart, good-lookin' — I'm for looks, too, Dooly ; your old 
 pa ain't so old and cripplety that he don't yit run none on 
 looks — yes, some smart, good-lookin' young man that have 
 prop'ty in hand now, and more in the basket, so to speak. 
 But which " — the old man now put into his look and into 
 his tones a confidingness intended to be understood as claim- 
 ing to be listened to with eagerness and held to with scru- 
 pulous caution — " but which now my idees is underwent a 
 change — and my idees has went fur and beyant sich a man 
 as the school-marster. And I don't say but what it can't 
 be managed, a-perwidin that people is keerful — a-keepin' o' 
 their eyes on the hind sight, as the sayin' is — and a-mindin' 
 o' what they does and what they says, and a-keepin' o' their- 
 selves not too nigh ner too fur, and a-leavin' o' people o' 
 
102 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 expeunce and obserwation to manage the ropes — loosen 'em 
 and draw 'em, draw 'em and loosen 'em, as the case mout 
 be, in the warous conditions o' — o' the plantuff and the 
 'fendant in the case at bare, as it were in old Jedge Dooly's 
 time, who I named you arfter, and who, of all the sassararers 
 that was ever car'd up to him from my cote, my ricollection 
 is he never went back on me but twicet, and oh ! — and oh !" 
 
 Thus he drawled along apparently in senile garrulity, but 
 really with studied carefulness, though in the midst of em- 
 barrassment. During the greater part of this speech and at 
 its close he had withdrawn his eyes from her, except an 
 occasionally quick glance. Doolana, grown still paler, sat 
 immovably silent, awaiting the climax. Turning to her, 
 her sad eyes looked into his so beseechingly that he turned 
 away again, then, raising his flap and pointing to the ceil- 
 ing above, said, with the solemnity and confidence of the 
 boldest conspirator, 
 
 "Yes, it's away up thar; it's the only and the onlest 
 son o' the richest and the powerfulest man in the county." 
 
 Lowering his arm, laying down his weapon, as if, having 
 conquered the world, there was no farther need to wage 
 warfare, he awaited his daughter's judgment of this last 
 great conquest. 
 
 She leaned both elbows on the cot, but when she com- 
 prehended whither he was intending to lead covered her 
 face with her hands. When she saw that he was expecting 1 
 her answer she lifted her tearless eyes and calmly said, 
 
 " Pa, if ever I should marry it will not be with either of 
 the men you allude to. Mr. Woodbridge, if he desires to 
 marry, is not looking, and is not likely to look, for that 
 purpose to this house. As for Mr. Ammon Duke, whom 
 I cannot doubt you intend b} 7 your last allusion" — then sha 
 rose — " he would no sooner marry me than — " 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CEKEK. 103 
 
 " Doolana, my daughter " — eagerly, with exquisite sly- 
 ness in bis low, almost whispering tone — " my daughter, 
 you don't know. I don't adzactly say I know ; but I know 
 more'n you do. Kinsey Jook 's a rich man, and a high 
 man, and a strong man, and a proud man, and I'm nothin' 
 but jes sich a po' creeter as people sees me. But listen to 
 me, Doolana : Kinsey Jook know hisself, and he know 
 Jesse Lines, and, what's more, he know that Jesse Lines 
 know him ; and, what's more yit, he know that thar's a set- 
 tlement that's got to be had betwixt him and me, ef I say 
 so, and which it won't do to put it off ontil it'll be too late 
 to do you any good, and which it look like — Oh, my 
 Lord ! it do look like a man's only and onlest child ought 
 to listen to him and let him rigerlate sich perwisions for 
 her, when she 'bleeged to know she haven't the expeunce 
 ner the obserwation to rigerlate 'em for herself." 
 
 He had raised himself and was reclining upon his elbow, 
 but emotion caused his arm to totter beneath its burden, 
 and he again sank back upon the cot. 
 
 " Pa," said Doolana, solemnly, her face now of the color 
 of the snow-white sheets on which he lay, " you did not 
 hear me through. I said, or intended to say, that Ammon 
 Duke would not marry me in any circumstances." 
 
 " And which," he interjected, impatiently, " I know, or 
 at leastways I think I know better." 
 
 " And I was going to say that in no circumstances that 
 are possible to occur during his -lifetime and mine would 
 I consent to marry him." 
 
 " My Godaraighty,. child ! what do you mean ?" 
 
 " Exactly what I say, pa." 
 
 As she erected her slender form, her eyes dilated and the 
 color returning to her cheek, nobody who had seen her but 
 would have pronounced her beautiful. 
 
104 OLD MARK LA.NGSTON: 
 
 " What, not ef he was to come right into the house here 
 and cote you squar', pine-blank, out and out?" 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 " The child's distracted !" said he, looking hopelessly out 
 into the road as far as vision extended. 
 
 "Not at all, pa — nothing of the kind. I've thought lit- 
 tle of marrying, pa " — she paused a moment, blushed pain- 
 fully, then continued — " but I've always known that I never 
 should marry a man unless I should become attached to 
 him for his own sake, and not for what people call advan- 
 tages. As for Ammon Duke, if he were to offer himself to 
 me — which he has and will have no more idea of doing than 
 I have or will have of making an offer to him of myself — 
 I should reject it, if he were the very last man upon earth 
 and I the last woman." 
 
 "Yes," said Jesse, laying his arms down flatly, feebly 
 by his side, " no doubt about it, not the slightest — dis- 
 tracted, ravin' distracted !" 
 
 She walked up and down the piazza two or three times ; 
 then, stopping, and looking upon him with a look in which 
 both affection and shame were visible, she continued, 
 
 " Well, pa, if I am distracted, as you say, it is not more 
 than I have been always. There has never been a time 
 wherein I should not have felt upon that subject as I feel 
 now. I have been to school with Ammon Duke, and I 
 know him to be selfish, overbearing, often brutal in his dis- 
 position. Let that go. He has no idea of me, and I hope 
 never to hear again his name mentioned in such connection. 
 Oh, pa ! I don't know what it is between you and Mr. Duke 
 that has made you and him so intimate, when it is plain 
 that neither of you likes the other cordially, as a friend 
 likes a friend, which makes him more polite and obliging 
 to you than he is to other men, and which leads you to 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 105 
 
 bint of having a control of bim that is known only to you 
 both. I don't know what all this means. I hope it is noth- 
 ing wrong — that is, very wrong. I hope that neither owes 
 the other what cannot be paid in a way that is honorable. 
 If it is a matter that ought to be settled in your lifetime, 
 don't leave the settlement to me — if I am to outlive you — 
 without letting me know beforehand what its consideration 
 is, so that it may be collected or paid in good, fair, honest 
 money. And, father, if it is a debt that cannot be paid in 
 money — if it be a matter that it is indispensable should be 
 settled in other ways before the great day of account — I im- 
 plore you not to postpone. Oh, my father ! I fear and I feel 
 that the time is not far off when — But I remember you 
 don't wish me to give you a lecture, as you call my most 
 loving remonstrance. Now I must go to ma, and see 
 about supper." 
 
 She left him, and he resumed bis meditations. 
 
 Chapter XIII. 
 
 MB. RIDDLE'S EARLY MOTIVES AND OBSTACLES IN LEARNING 
 HIS ART. 
 
 Between Baldwin Riddle and Lewis Sanders existed a 
 hearty friendship. After his disappointment in love the 
 former had tried, as if he believed it a duty to himself, to 
 become misanthropic. Such result had been prevented by 
 his natural health of body and simple uprightness of heart. 
 He did become, during the first year, somewhat blase, but 
 to a tone that brought neither great unrest to himself nor 
 trouble to others. Consolation came from several sources 
 from which such as he might draw, but most especially from 
 a discovery unexpectedly made at the time of his partial 
 
106 OLD MARK LANGSTO> T : 
 
 relinquishment of work on his farm, that he had a talent 
 for music. In those times, when the two religious denom- 
 inations that were leading in that section combated with 
 each other with sufficient acrimony concerning doctrine and 
 rites, both agreed in denouncing, among other things con- 
 sidered sources or occasions of evil, the fiddle. In his 
 youth Baldy, though not a church-inember, would not have 
 dreamed of attaching himself to this carnal instrument. 
 Not a church-member, yet he was so steady in deportment, 
 so habitual in attendance upon Sunday meetings, and even 
 Saturday conferences, that hopes had been entertained that 
 at no very distant day he would apply for membership. 
 The frustration of his matrimonial hopes threw, as he w;is 
 wont to express it, all that fat into the fire, and it was some- 
 what in defiance of the sentiments of the religious portion 
 of the community that he bought himself a fiddle and began 
 trying to learn an art which, the fact was, he recognized as 
 thoroughly a worldly, and indeed a rather devilish, piece of 
 business. His widowed mother, fond of him as devout to 
 her pious obligations, sorely grieved for his disappointment 
 and the downward way in which it seemed to be leading 
 him. But she was consoled and well advised by her friend 
 and spiritual brother, Mark Langston, who, though his own 
 affliction was greater, submitted to it with becoming resig- 
 nation. As for the fiddle, Mark argued, well, the fiddle 
 was nothing, you may say, Sister Riddle, but some pieces of 
 wood glued together and small strings, mostly of cat-gut, 
 with some horse-tail hair for the bow, and a very little piece 
 of rawsom. That was what the fiddle was, just by itself — 
 dry so. It was not the fiddle, therefore, but it was the 
 objectionable use made of the fiddle, that his church was 
 mainly against. As for his part, Mark — he must confess it 
 — had rather admired the sound of the fiddle : When fiddle- 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 107 
 
 playing and such things had been brought into the church 
 — well, Sister Eiddle, we, and specially with young people, 
 have — we natchelly have — to be mild and lenient. For he 
 had observed that when young people had been jes drove 
 out o' the Church for such it had not seemed to work well, 
 either for the driven or the drivers. Anyhow, fretting and 
 scolding would do Baldy more harm than good. 
 
 Such counsel subdued much of the mother's anxiety, and 
 never a word of complaint did Baldy get from her. When, 
 after a considerable period, he had learned to play one tune 
 she could not but be gratified at his exultation. During 
 that incipient time how he did labor! Of his experience 
 therein he used, in after-years, to speak with the calm fond- 
 ness of eminent artists in general when they recur to their 
 early struggles. He would say : 
 
 " To git to be a fiddler — a prevous shore-enough fiddler — 
 for I ain't a-talkin' about gourd-scratchin' — it take work, 
 and it take time, and it take genus. It were weeks on weeks 
 before I got so I could chune her, and which some people — 
 and there's a heap of people that don't know that that's one 
 of the mainest things about fiddlin' — and then It were 
 months on months before I could fetch out a chune — that is, 
 a rale live chune — reg'lar and perpendicklar, so to speak. I 
 could scratch a few notes at the offstart, and I could pick 
 up a few 'long towards the windin'- up ; but the balance of 
 'em would fly from me, spite of all I could do to retch 'em 
 and ketch 'em. But I were jes natchelly determed to see if 
 any man was in me, and which somehow I were very jubous 
 whether there were or not. But I knewed this : I knewed 
 that fiddle were my fiddle, because I'd bought her and paid 
 for her. So I worked at her before breakfast and arfter 
 breakfast, before dinner and arfter dinner, before supper 
 and arfter supper, in the house and out o' the house, down 
 
108 OLD MAEK LANGSTON: 
 
 by the spring, up by the cuppin. For ma she taken it 
 into her head that she were beginnin' to git deef ; and I 
 'lowed maybe my fiddle were too heavy for her; and I spent 
 most o' my time, exceptin' of arfter supper, a-most out o' 
 doors. And oh, boys !" he would blandly add, " you 
 ought to 'a' saw the chickens, and the geese, and the pea- 
 fowels, and the turkeys — specially them gobblers — and even 
 the calves, when they all see me a-comin' in them prevous 
 times ! Why, the hounds, and even ma's little fice Dock ; 
 Dock that were no manner of account, exceptin' that he 
 had been pa's squir'1-dog, and she wouldn't let nobody pes- 
 ter him — they all sot up a-cacklin', and a-blatin', and a-how- 
 lin' as if them too were agin the fiddle. I were oncon- 
 cerned no more for them than t'others ; and when at last 
 I found I could fetch out a chune reg'lar and prevous I 
 didn't keer — not I didn't — 'a Continental shin-plaster for 
 their predigices nor their perlapsities, and I bid defiance to 
 man and beast. That chune were ' Days of Absence.' It 
 were a monstous powerful slow chune. But arfter tryin' of 
 ' Jenny Wiggins ' and sich, and not bein' able to ketch up 
 with her and them, the kernel's old Jim — dead now old 
 Jim is ; but, for a fiddler, he were one of 'em in them days 
 — he showed me, one note at a time, how to lay out that 
 chune. .He 'vised me, old Jim did, to jes keep at her on- 
 tell I got her same as countin', and to play her faster and 
 faster. I done it, I did, and it weren't so powerful long 
 before I got so with old ' Days ' that I made mighty nigh 
 a dancin' chune outen her. Then farwell, world ! I give 
 the old fellow a twist o' tobarker, and I let him go. And, 
 boys," he would conclude, with proper seriousness, " I tell 
 you all now that the reason that fiddlers is so hard to come 
 up with is, that, in the first place, they hain't the genus, and 
 in the next place they hain't the industry. And as for the 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 109 
 
 1 Walls o' Jericho ' — " But this sentence his modesty would, 
 never permit him to conclude. 
 
 Having devoted some years mainly to the study of his 
 art, and conquered the difficulties before its most consum- 
 mate ends, Mr. Riddle's mind became in a measure calmed, 
 and, to his mother's great comfort, he resumed his interest 
 iu practical affairs, and became one of the very best farmers 
 in the neighborhood. To his fiddle — named, in an interval 
 of special fondness, " Miss Nancy " — he paid through thirty 
 years his faithful duty, and seemed to be satisfied with 
 what this, his second love, had borne him from that first 
 prolonged, difficult, painful parturition, the innocent "Days 
 of Absence," down to that Titanic birth, as one might call 
 the " Walls o' Jericho." 
 
 Mr. Riddle would frankly admit that he was gayer at fifty 
 years old than he had been at eighteen. But what was the 
 difference? He had never yet found the person of any sect, 
 sections, or conditions, male or female, female or male, dea- 
 con, common church-member, exhorter, preacher, or world- 
 ling, that could answer that question. So he kept on grow- 
 ing slowly older, speculating anon with mild, painless sadness 
 upon the general passing-awayness of sublunary affairs, and 
 showing, almost only in his legs, that any considerable time 
 had lapsed with him since the period of extreme youth. 
 His music, it is due to him to say, he cultivated now less 
 for his own entertainment than the gratification of his 
 friends and acquaintances, especially the youthful. For 
 their sakes he, without very much solicitation, would dis- 
 course " Billy in the Low Grounds," and his likes ; but- no 
 amount of coaxing or pleading would bring the " Walls o' 
 Jericho," unless there were present some elderly, thought- 
 ful person who could comprehend and sympathize with its 
 varied yet, for the most part, solemn intentions. 
 
110 OLD MAKK LANGSTON : 
 
 There were but two men in the neighborhood whom he 
 did not like, to one of whom it had always been difficult to 
 avoid showing his hostility openly and avowedly. Not, as 
 he always protested, and most honestly, because he had 
 been supplanted by him in the affections of Emily Lang- 
 ston, but for his subsequent treatment of her father, whom 
 Baldy had always reverenced beyond the rest of mankind. 
 He invariably contended that there was a mystery in the 
 whole affair — the hasty marriage, the early death of the 
 bride, and the undutiful conduct of the bridegroom toward 
 her father. Not a church-member, and living, as it were, 
 in defiance of Church authority, at least to the extent of 
 playing on the fiddle, yet he was a firm believer in Provi- 
 dence, and he sometimes declared his opinion — seldom, how- 
 ever, to any except Lewis — that It would overtake Mr. Duke 
 some day, in spite of his rapid course. 
 
 He had been wont to ride to the store two or three times 
 in the week and sit in the piazza for an hour or so. These 
 visits were generally in the afternoon. On the Monday morn- 
 ing following the visit of Miss Woodbridge to Colonel Por- 
 ter he put in an appearance — an uncommon event. What- 
 ever had been the suggestion, whether the encountering Mr. 
 Duke at the mill on the Saturday before, or that the ac- 
 quaintance with Miss Woodbridge had revived a sentimental 
 interest in young womanhood, and carried him back to his 
 youthful and more serious time, at all events, during a pri- 
 vate chat, he spoke to Lewis of his early love, and with 
 more feeling than ever before, as follows : 
 
 " I loved the child, Lewis, as for that matter, when she 
 weren't more'n nine or ten year old. For, exceptin' o' Lizy, 
 she were the beautifullest child I ever see. When old Ab 
 Semmes left her all that prop'ty, I knowed, in course, it 
 wouldn't be worth while with a fellow like me to run agin 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 1 1 1 
 
 the list of 'era that I knowed that prop'ty would bring 
 arfter her. And yit a fellow, you know, Lewis, when he 
 do love a girl out and out, prop'ty or no prop'ty, and have 
 been a-lovin' of her a prevous long time, he can't — makes no 
 odds how little he think of hisself natchelly — he can't quite 
 quit a-hopin' that his hopes is on reasonable grounds, ef not 
 on risin' grounds. I knowed her pa would be willin' to it, 
 though I never as much as peached the transactions to him. 
 But I jes knowed that the perlapsity of his mind would be 
 that way, and his folks and our folks like brothers, and 
 the plantations a-jinin'. And, Lewis, in them days I were 
 studdy. You wouldn't believe that, Lewis, arfter seein' o' 
 me so wild, and seem like gallio-like, and a-playin' o' the 
 fiddle, and sometimes, when I git mad, a-cussin', though I 
 don't make a practice o' that. In them days, Lewis, I were 
 studdy, and I knowed nothin' and I keerd nothin' about 
 the fiddle, and I went to meetin' every meetin'-day — least- 
 ways of a Sunday meetin'-day — and the fact of the business 
 is, Lewis, I were a-thinkin' of jindin' o' the Church soon as 
 I thought I were good enough, and could tell a expeunce 
 which it mont be fittin' for people to listen to, in and 
 about the operations and the transactions o' grace in my 
 heart, wheneversomever I could git to understand how a 
 body had to go about a-gittin' and a-fetchin' in o' them 
 operations and transactions, and which — and— well, Lewis, 
 when that child — for she weren't no more'n a child — when 
 she got over-persuaded by Kinsey Duke, and runned away 
 with him, it seem to me that them things jes flung me 
 back on the natchel reg'lar grounds o' badness and devil- 
 ment ; and so I dropped my expeunce transactions, and I 
 jes flung myself away. And, Lewis, seem like I had to 
 take it out some ways, and so I took it out in fiddlin'. It 
 seem like that I were obleeged to have somethin' to agger- 
 
112 OLD MAEK LANGSTON: 
 
 tate my mind, I were that lonesome thar, with nobody but 
 me and ma, and Uncle Mark him a-comin' over sometimes 
 a-consolin' o' her, and he, I knowed, a-needin' o' consolation 
 more'n she did. People, Lewis Sanders, that ain't been 
 along them roads may laugh at other people and make 
 game of 'em, but they don't know whar the shoe pinches 
 and the collar hurts the shoulder, and, strictly speakin', it 
 ain't t'other people's business. Yit, whethersomever and 
 howthersomever the case mout be as to me, that ain't what 
 set me agin Kinch Duke ; for I ain't a man that goes about 
 a-makin' of mouths at people that's whipped him or flung 
 him down farly, and which I hain't never yit denied were 
 done by him. But, mind you, Lewis, in the first place, 
 thar weren't no use in him a-runnin' away with the girl. 
 Uncle Mark never liked the Duke family, yit he'd a-never 
 been streenious fn his opposin' of his daughter of a-marryin' 
 of him, when he found it was her wishes ; and he knowed 
 it ; and if he'd 'a' been a prevous gentleman he'd 'a' ast 
 Uncle Mark for her, and not 'a' jest runned off with her, like 
 a mean rogue that ruther steal what he want, matter not 
 what it is, than for it to be give to him. But then, Lewis, 
 to never fetch her back to see her parrents, nor them to see 
 her, and to bury her away off yonder where she died, instead 
 o' fetchin' of her back — to put her away thar out of any- 
 body's ever knowin' whar to find her grave ef they'd a mind 
 to go thar, ef they could some time, and see if it was paled 
 in and had a rock apiece at the head and at the foot ! Now, 
 Lewis Sanders, the question with me have been, who Kinch 
 Duke were a-runnin' away from when he runned away with 
 that child, and what made him runned away; and another 
 'joltin' question to my mind is, when he got back as a wid- 
 derer, why he didn't go to Uncle Mark and beg his par- 
 don, and have to be ast everything about ef his onlest child 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CKEEK. 113 
 
 had died a easy or a hard death, and ef she sent him any 
 partin' words, and who preached the fnnil ; and not to 
 fetch him some of her har, or some little somethin' she 
 had on when she died." 
 
 He rose from his chair, took out his handkerchief, 
 squeezed it in his hand, and walked several times up and 
 down the piazza of the store. 
 
 "And, Lewis," he continued, resuming his chair, "the 
 way him and his old father treated Uncle Mark about the 
 prop'ty, by pouncin' upon it as soon as Kinch got back ! 
 As for that old daddy of his'n, he were the oaudaciousest 
 old cuss you ever saw. Why, sir, the news weren't here- 
 more'n a week before he were gittin' ready to build his 
 mills. He had his old mean heart sot on them in Albert 
 Semmes's lifetime ; but old Ab wouldn't let him have the 
 sites for love nor money. People said that him it were 
 that pushed Kinch after that child, for he — that is, Kinch 
 — they said, had a ambition to marry among the Quillians ; 
 but he never had no more chance thar than a stump-tail 
 bull in fly-time. And, sure enough, the mills weren't scace- 
 ly up and sot agoin' before old Am Duke were called off, 
 the hunt. Let him go, the poor old fellow ; I got nothin' 
 to do with him, as he's dead and goned. But as for Kinch. 
 Duke, he mout have divided with Uncle Mark, at least- 
 ways for Uncle Mark's lifetime, if the law did give him all 
 the prop'ty. He offered Uncle Mark some sort o' perwi- 
 sion — I don't know exactly what — but Uncle Mark, onsus- 
 picious man as he is, he see through Kinch Duke, and he 
 let him take it all, and would have nothin' exceptin' o' the 
 honse, which by good rights were his'n anyhow, as me and 
 many another of the neighbors had often heard old Ab 
 Semmes say that he had give it to him for his lifetime. 
 Yit, ef he had of treated Uncle Mark right, and he'd 'a' 
 
 8 
 
114 OLD MAKK LANGSTON: 
 
 showed he were in yearnest in his offers, Uncle Mark would 
 not of had to work for his livin' as he have always done 
 and do yit. Now, I tell you, Lewis Sanders, that sich 
 transactions ain't prevous, and they're what I call the trans- 
 actions of a mean man ; and my opinions always has been 
 that nobody but Godamighty know all the meanness that 
 Kinch Duke's done in all them transactions. Godamighty 
 know ; nobody's ever fooled Him yit. He's sometimes a 
 long time in tellin' on people that's tried to run agin him. 
 He don't keep almanics, like t'other people; but when he 
 do git ready he tell, and he tell so out and out, so pine- 
 blank and plain, up and down, that they ain't no use in 
 disputin' of his evidence. It's been now thirty year, 
 and it seem to me ef anything in them transactions is 
 blacker 'n what showed itself it's about time to fetch it out. 
 But it ain't none o' my business, and yit my opinion has 
 been that if old Jes Lines were cotch up and squeezed 
 like a grasshopper the molasses 'd come from his mouth 
 that would 'stonish people and make Kinch Duke sick to 
 see. That thar's a understandin' o' meanness betwixt them 
 two I've never had no more doubt than that you and the 
 kernel's pardners in this stow — But, confound Kinch 
 Duke !" he said at last, breaking suddenly off. " Let him 
 go till his time come. But ain't Miss Woodridge a star- 
 gazer of a 'oman ?" 
 
 " A fine woman indeed, I think, Baldy." 
 
 " Fine ? she's superfine. By Juberter, ef she didn't strike 
 me in the pathetics ! Splendidest one of her sections I've 
 saw. Talk with her much yisterday ?" 
 
 " Some, Baldy — a good deal." 
 
 " I see she struck you, too, dodgy as you are and hard 
 to hit. That music o' hern! them marches, and them 
 'Walls,' and them — what did she call 'em — roundabouts?" 
 
A TALE OP DUKE'S CREEK. 115 
 
 " Rondeaus, Baldy, were their names, if I remember." 
 
 " Somethin' like that. I didn't know sich music could 
 be fotch out o' that mahogany box. I liked them ' Battle- 
 berry Walls ' powerful ; but, Lewis, I don't think they're 
 quite up to the ' Walls o' Jericho ' — at leastways not as 
 solomcholy as them." 
 
 " Perhaps not, Baldy ; but I think that, in other respects, 
 they might be considered about next to them." 
 
 " That they mout. Then, my gracious ! Lewis, what a 
 talker ! The 'oman ain't so powerful monstous pretty — not, 
 I shouldn't say, as Harr't Quillian, nor 'specially what Lizy'll 
 be when she git her growth. But them ways o' hern, and 
 that mouth ! When she talk and when she laugh, blame if 
 them don't play supple as a wagin-whip." 
 
 Chapter XIV. 
 
 MRS. TOLIVER HAS A CHAT WITH REBECCA WOODBRIDGE 
 ABOUT BOARDERS. 
 
 Mrs. Toliveb, as was her wont with those about her 
 whom she loved and trusted at all, came to love and trust 
 Rebecca Woodbridge fully. She could not be induced to 
 receive her brother, and on the night of her boarder's re- 
 turn from the Porters one of the reasons of her persistent 
 refusal appeared. After supper, availing themselves of the 
 warmth of the sweet spring evening, which sometimes comes 
 so early in that genial clime, they were sitting in the piazza. 
 The hostess had already been told the principal items of 
 the visit, and, after a brief allusion by the young woman to 
 her disappointment at not having her brother in the same 
 house with herself, Mrs. Toliver said, 
 
 " The sections of men persons, Miss Arbecca — as for the 
 
116 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 sections of men persons, they are, and they always has been, 
 beyant me, and I ain't afraid ner ashamed to acknowledge 
 it. I has never had in my house nobody o' them sections — 
 nobody reg'lar, I mean, you understand — exceptin' o' my 
 two husbands, and them, in course, not both of 'em to- 
 gether, but one of 'em at a time — that is, Miss Arbecca, 
 not sence Mr. Jook he stoled Br'er Mark's daughter, as you 
 heard tell about at Kernel Porter's. And I'll tell you for 
 why. And I wants you to 'member I ain't a-talkin' now 
 about my husbands, ner how a person o' my sect and sec- 
 tions, and them of women in gener'l, has to turn, and twist, 
 and projeck to keep them from bein' dissatisfied, or makin' 
 out like they're dissatisfied with all a body can scuffle about 
 and do for 'era. But at the present I'm a-talkin' aBout 
 another one o' them t'other sections, and his name it were 
 Jareld- Fitzjarald, and which they in gener'l called him 
 Fitz. He were as lovely a boy to look at, and he 'peared 
 to be as nice and biddable a boy, as a body ought never to 
 keer about meetin' up with. As for old Sister Catlin, she 
 loved that boy the same as ef he'd 'a' been her own kin, in- 
 stead of her husband's kin. His father — and who he lived 
 away in the uppest part of Firginny — sent him down here 
 one fall o' the year, because he were oneasy about a bad cough 
 he had, and he boarded along with Mr. Catlin, who were 
 his kind o' second cousin; and he went to school at the 
 place whar the 'cademy is now, but which they didn't call 
 it then no 'cademy, and it were no sich buildin' as what it 
 is now ; and they wasn't no town here not ontell long arfter 
 that. I lived then, you mind, Miss Arbecca, about a mile 
 down on the A'gusty road, and the Catlins they lived a mile 
 yit further down. Now, Emily Langston, Br'er Mark's 
 daughter — and which she were one o' the prettest childern 
 you ever see in your whole blessed life — she boarded along 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 117 
 
 'ith me and my first husband. Well, her and that boy Fitz 
 was jes like br'er and sister, and they actilly called their- 
 selves ' Buddy ' and ' Sis.' That boy, 'peared like, he got to 
 lovin' o' me like he do his Aunty Catlin, as he called her. 
 He come by for Emily every mornin', and he toted her books 
 and dinner-bucket to school and home agin, same as ef he'd 
 'a' been her brother — and samer 'n some brothers. For some 
 o' them, I've often noticed, is politer and obleeginer to 
 t'other girls that ain't no kin to 'em than their own blessed 
 sisters; but which that ain't neither here nor thar, and I 
 sposen it's owin' mostly to which way defernt people is 
 raised. Howbeever, that's jes like them childern was. Now, 
 as for Mr. Jook, he never not so much as noticed Emily 
 Langston, not tell old Albert Semmes died and left her all 
 that prop'ty. Then, lo and behold ! him and his old father 
 — and he was one of 'em, Miss Arbecca — they goes to mak- 
 in' much of Emily and Br'er Mark, and before anybody 
 knowed about it they was done gone. And now," she con- 
 tinued, re-settling herself in her chair, " what I were comin' 
 to, and what I'll come to arfter a while, ef you'll set still 
 and not interrnp' me, is this here — right here. When the 
 spring o' the year come for that boy to go back home, 
 instead o' bein' of glad, it 'peared like, or at leastways he 
 made out like, he were sorry, because he had got to love us all 
 to that that he declared, he did, that jes as soon as he could 
 git off from his pa he meant to come back and spend his 
 days here along with us. For the boy have stayed nigh 
 about as much at my house as he have with his aunty, sich 
 were the thickness of the families ; and which I never could 
 tell how it were that I've allays thought so much of that wom- 
 an, and she nobody but a Methodis, and I know I shouldn't 
 exceptin' of her bein' natchelly one of the best women and 
 the best neighbors in spite of it all ; and which, Miss Arbec- 
 
118 OLD MASK LANGSTON : 
 
 ca, that boy kissed and he hugged me the same as his aunty 
 when he left us, and he cried fit to kill hisself ; and he made 
 me cry too, which I were never a person to make no mon- 
 stous great to-doo a-partin' with people when the time come 
 and it can't be helped. Yit I cried because I see him a-cry- 
 in', and I jes natchelly loved the boy. Well, now, lo and 
 behold ! when he told us good-bye he went on to Br'er 
 Mark's, because Emily she hadn't been well for more'n a 
 month, and her ma had took her home, and that boy went 
 by thar on the 'tense like of tellin' of her good-bye. And 
 now, Lord bless my soul ! when he have told her parrents 
 good-bye, Emily she put on her bonnet, she do, and she and 
 her little pet of a nigger gal she been keepin' with her to 
 wait on her ever sence before old Albert Semmes died, and 
 she say she'll walk out a little piece o' the way with that 
 boy. Her ma see her a-cryin, and — for I tell you, 'oman, 
 them two been like br'er and sister — and she didn't see no 
 harm in her takin' a little short walk a piece o' the way. So 
 they goes on, and, bless your soul, honey ! them childern — 
 nary one of 'em — was never saw agin here, nuther dead ner 
 alive. Mr. Jook — they hadn't got hardly out o' sight be- 
 fore thar he were, with his carry-all and two horses, and 
 they lights intoo it, and off they goes. They whips around 
 ontell they got to the A'gusty road ; they scoots on, and 
 at A'gusty or somewhars thar, or somewhars else — nobody 
 ever knowed whar — Mr. Jook and the poor girl gits mar- 
 ried. The boy writ a letter frora thar to me, and Emily 
 writ to her father, a-askin' our pardons, and him a-sayin' 
 that it wouldn't be so very long before all 'd git back, when 
 all 'd be right. Old Am Jook he sent word to Br'er Mark 
 that very night o' the runnin' away to keep Br'er Mark 
 from bein' of too oneasy, and which, as for him, he never 
 keerd about Br'er Mark ner nobody else bein' oneasy, but 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 119 
 
 jes made 'tense like, because he knowed how much every- 
 body thought o' Br'er Mark. He sent word to Br'er Mark 
 to 'member that they was all young and foolish, and so him 
 and Br'er Mark had been young and foolish, and as for him, 
 he knowed nothin' of it ontell they was done gone, and all 
 sich. But he never sent word which road they tuck, and 
 which he needn't, for Br'er Mark wouldn't of made hisself 
 redickilons by a-runnin' about and fussin' about what he 
 knowed he couldn't stop." 
 
 Then, sinking into a compassionate tone, she continued : 
 " Poor children ! they knowed monstous little of what was 
 a-comin'. The boy got drownded before he got home ; and 
 it weren't so very long before Mr. Jook he writ that poor 
 Emily she were dead. Me and Sister Catlin, both of us, 
 has always hoped that they both had time to repent and be 
 forgive for all their sins. As for Emily, in spite of all that, 
 she were a Christon child. Poor thing ! Runnin' off and 
 marryin' in them days weren't so oncommon, and I s'pose 
 she got over-persuaded by Mr. Jook, who didn't want to 
 wait and stand the chances. As for that boy Fitz, Sister 
 Catlin say he said his praars night and mornin' reg'lar as 
 she did ; but which he weren't nuther Babtis' ner Meth- 
 odis', but a 'Piscapolian, as they calls 'em, and which, from 
 what they tells me about them, they don't make not much 
 more claims to bein' of Christons than them folks you be- 
 longs to. But he were a monstous pretty boy, and I never 
 should of b'lieved he'd 'a' been so desateful, and which I 
 shall allays b'lieve he never 'd 'a' been ef he'd been a Babtis'. 
 It never pejuced no fallin' out betwixt me and Sister Cat- 
 lin, because it cut one bad as t'other. Mr. Jook said arftei - ' 
 wards that his drowndin' come mighty nigh of killin' of 
 his father, and, sure enough, the old man did die before 
 long. How the boy were so long time a-gittin' home as 
 
120 OLD MAEK LANGSTON: 
 
 he were we never knowed — for it were four or five months 
 arfter he left when his father writ to Mr. Catlin a-tellin' of 
 his drowndin' in the Rapidan River when he were tryin' 
 to cross it in high water. He writ that Mr. Jook had been 
 to see him sence, and had told him how the people here 
 liked his son, which was some consolation, the poor old 
 man said. Mr. Catlin he died too before so mighty long; 
 but in course I don't mean for you to understand that that 
 killed him, nor neither my first husband, Mr. Cox. But, as 
 to that, I've lost two o' them, Miss Arbecca Woodige ; and 
 as to that furthersomeore, everybody got to die when their 
 time come, young or old, female or male — makes no odds 
 what their sections ner their conditions. Everybody know 
 that from their own expeunce, by good rights a body 
 'bleeged to supposen." 
 
 " It was a very sad case, Mrs. Toliver," said Rebecca. 
 " I heard at Colonel Porter's that Mr. Duke seemed much 
 cast down when he returned, and could not bear to speak 
 either of his young friend or his wife." 
 
 " Yes, yes, so Br'er Mark said ; and as for Br'er Mark, 
 he were not a man to harbor nothin' agin nobody. Yit 
 Mr. Jook never felt so bad that he didn't, him and his old 
 father together, they didn't take all the prop'ty, and they 
 put up their fine mills ; and scacely had they got 'em a-run- 
 nin' before the old man he died, he did, and had to leave 
 'em ; and, besides, Mr. Jook mighty soon got so fur over 
 his mournin' as to get another wife. Not that I've got the 
 right to talk agin the second marryin' o' people, for I know 
 that people can be sometimes over-persuaded to it when 
 they not expectin' nor hain't been believin' they're wantin' 
 to marry agin ; but I've often consated, Miss Arbecca, that 
 if I had of been in Br'er Mark's place — But that's a-sup- 
 posin' what's onpossible, and I will stop it. I ain't no man 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 121 
 
 person, and, ef not thankful, I'm at leastways riconciled that 
 my sections is what they are and has been always; for as 
 for the sections of men persons, I jes tell you agin they're 
 beyant me. From the day that boy fooled me so plump I 
 made up my mind to not to take no more boarders of no 
 sections; but somehow Br'er Quillian and Br'er Woodige 
 they overpersuaded me about you, and I hain't had no 'ca- 
 sion to complain ; and, ef the truth got to be told, you've 
 been a heap o' company to me, and a heap o' help to me, 
 and 'specially poor little Polly. As for Br'er Woodige, ef 
 he and Mr. Jook can't make it out to stay together, my 
 ricommends is for him to go to Hallier's. He'll be more 
 indepent thar ; and as for linn', Hallier's have the riputa- 
 tion above ary 'nother tavern in all this section o' country." 
 
 " That Mr. Sanders, whom I met at Colonel Porter's, is 
 quite handsome and agreeable." 
 
 " Thar it is. I knowed you'd say that ; and as for Lewis, 
 Br'er Mark say he don't know his ekal for sense and busi- 
 ness, and — ways in gener'l, by and large. As for looks — 
 well, Miss Arbecca, somehow I keers less for looks than I 
 used to. Both o' my husbands — one at a time, o' cose — was 
 good, or leastways pleasant-lookin', men persons; but I've 
 often consated that Lewis Sanders were a man person that 
 young women mout say were handsome. He do have mon- 
 stous pleasant ways, sich times as I seen him, but that's 
 been sildom, for he ain't a man that circulate from home 
 much, and 'specially in the sections o' females." 
 
 " Do you know his family ?" 
 
 " Fambly ? Child! He's got no fambly. He's a bach- 
 eldor." 
 
 " I mean," said the young lady, laughing, " his parents 
 or his other family connections." 
 
 " Oh, that, indeed ! No, I don't, nor I don't know any- 
 
122 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 body that do. I've never heerd o' his saying anything 
 about 'em, and I has heerd it 'spicioned that it won't do 
 to go too fur back a-inquirin' about them. But that's be- 
 twixt me and you. As for Lewis, he stand as high as any 
 young man in this settlement, and he got it by standin', 
 like ary 'nother tub, so to speak, on his own bottom. Ker- 
 nel Porter think the world o' Lewis. And you meet up 
 with Baldy Kiddle, too, you say ?" 
 
 " Yes, indeed." 
 
 " And aiu't he a genus ! That what I call him — a genus, 
 with that old Miss Nancy, as he call his fiddle." 
 
 " You've never heard him play, Mrs. Toliver ?" 
 
 " Not in twenty year. That playin' seem like too 
 kearnal for me, not only the chunes but also the very 
 names of 'em. Could you stand 'em 1" 
 
 " Oh, yes. I was delighted with them and him. All 
 out there like him very much, including your brother, I 
 heard." 
 
 " Oh, yes. As to that, Br'er Mark feel to Baldy like he 
 were his own child. You know, the poor fellow loved poor 
 Emily, and her runnin' away a'most killed him. He were 
 studdy before that, and arfter that he jes look as if he 
 keerd for nothin', and went to fiddlin'. He ain't been about 
 me for long time, because, I s'pose, he know I don't hold 
 with sich, though I like the poor fellow, for sake of Br'er 
 Mark and Emily. Last time I see him I told him he'd 
 never quit any younger sich ways o' livin', and so he don't 
 come 'bout me. But I told him the truth, and he know 
 it." 
 
 " He plays one tune at least that he calls religious." 
 
 " What's that ?" 
 
 " ' The Walls of Jericho.' You ought to hear that, Mrs. 
 " Toliver — I declare you ought." 
 
A TALE OP DUKES CEEEK. 123 
 
 " Well, I never heerd of a fiddle a-havin' anything to do 
 with religion." 
 
 " Oh, yes, indeed, my dear friend. Some of these days, 
 if you don't object, I mean to invite him here, and to play 
 for us." 
 
 "What would old Sister Catlin say to that?" and the 
 old lady laughed heartily at the idea. 
 
 Chapter XV. 
 
 LEWIS SANDERS. 
 
 For fifteen years Lewis Sanders had lived a life almost 
 undisturbed by the uncertainties that surrounded his infancy, 
 and which had never been explained. Under the benign in- 
 fluences which had been upon him during these years he had 
 ceased to feel at least painful concern about a question which 
 had been searched in vain by those who had brought him 
 up. Coming to an early sense of necessity to rely for suc- 
 cess solely upon his personal conduct and endeavor, he had 
 become a first-rate man of business. Going little into so- 
 ciety — wherein his uncommon fine parts would have shown 
 to much advantage — he was content with the life he was 
 leading. He made money, invested judiciously, in the in- 
 tervals of work read books of various kinds, and was as in- 
 telligent as business-like. To live a contented bachelor, and, 
 after a life reasonably spent thus,, die, had been his only 
 ambition. 
 
 The meeting with Kebecca Woodbridge wrought a swift 
 change. Of all changes wrought upon a man those re- 
 sulting from woman's influence are the quickest and most 
 momentous. Not resistless as fate — they are fate. Scarce- 
 
124 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 ly had she gone out of sight on that Sunday evening when 
 Lewis felt a longing for her return. That night he brooded 
 long over his mysterious origin, and, with a keener pang 
 than he had ever felt before, blushed at the thought that 
 it might not have been even honorable. 
 
 A month passed. During that period he had resisted a 
 constant impulse to visit Miss Woodbridge — a duty, indeed, 
 of which he needed no reminder from Colonel Porter that 
 he ought not long to delay the payment. But he had deter- 
 mined sternly to repress the feeling whose indulgence would 
 be disastrous. It had been arranged between Eliza and 
 both her teachers that, on a Sunday evening, instead of her 
 being sent back to school as usual, they would drive out in 
 Mrs. Toliver's carriage and bring her along with them. For 
 Eliza had heard the old lady more than once scolding be- 
 cause these two so seldom availed themselves of her oft-re- 
 peated desire that they should use her carriage and horses 
 as if they belonged to them, and the child had employed 
 this superior influence in compassing her project. As they 
 were seen coming up through the grove Eliza said to 
 Lewis, 
 
 " Although you wouldn't call upon her, and so disgraced 
 yourself, I just know you are dying to see her." 
 
 The afternoon was spent much as the former — beneath 
 the trees — and somehow it was that Lewis and Rebecca 
 found themselves, not long after the arrival, together on 
 the same seat they had occupied a month before. 
 
 " I am glad to see you here again, Miss Woodbridge. The 
 colonel, you know, had your promise to repeat your visit." 
 
 " Yes, and you see how promptly I have kept it. Broth- 
 er wished to pay his respects to the colonel, and acknowl- 
 edge in this way his hospitality to us both ; and he, Mrs. 
 Toliver, and Eliza all said I must come with him. What 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 125 
 
 an interesting man the colonel is ! I have not known his 
 superior anywhere. And what a sweet place this is ! I've 
 thought of it often since I was here before." 
 
 She looked around through the thick shade toward the 
 mansion, the orchards, and the public road, beyond which 
 the forest far extended. 
 
 " The colonel," answered Lewis, " has a fine estate here. 
 This grove is considered the fairest in the county. Mrs. 
 Porter used to have the growth and the grounds well at- 
 tended to, and he still pursues her regime." 
 
 " Her death must have been a sore loss." 
 
 "Most grievous. Brave man that he is, his memory of 
 her is as sacred and as fond as on the day of her death. 'I 
 miss her sorely. She was one of the very best of earth, 
 and was as a mother to me." 
 
 " You have long been intimate with the family, Mr. San- 
 ders, have you not ? Mrs. Toliver so told me." 
 
 " Yes, indeed ; but there is no family connection." 
 
 He looked upon the ground, and she was embarrassed 
 that her words had led to the disavowal. 
 
 " No, Miss Woodbridge," he said, lifting his eyes, after a 
 few moments, "lam not a relation. I became acquainted 
 with the colonel fifteen years ago, when I was a boy and a 
 clerk in Augusta. Happening to want one himself, he en- 
 gaged with me, and I have been here ever since." 
 
 " Yet you seem as one of the family." 
 
 "I have ever been so treated. It is the only home I 
 have, and the only — at least, the best I've ever had." 
 
 " Your parents, then, are not living ?" 
 
 In spite of her consciousness that these words nor their 
 tone were perfectly sincere, they yet seemed to be the only 
 words suited to the occasion. 
 
 " I suppose not, and, so far as I know, never were." 
 
126 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 He smiled sadly, and Eebecca blushed with regret. Ha 
 was touched by her embarrassment, which hastened a pur- 
 pose that had been forming in his mind since her previous 
 visit. 
 
 " Miss Woodbridge," he said, his face indicating earnest 
 desire, and with it a doubt of the propriety of what he had 
 said and would farther say, " mine is a brief history, inter- 
 esting to none but myself; yet, if you will suffer it, I will 
 tell you what little I know of it." 
 
 " Would you rather, or not, Mr. Sanders ?" 
 
 "Bather. The colonel, Mr. Langston, and Baldy know 
 as much as I, and so did Mrs. Porter. I don't know why 
 it should have been so, but so it was, that I had a greater 
 comfort in the thoughts of her acquaintance with it than 
 the rest. If you will not take it amiss I will say that, since 
 her death, you are the only woman I have met to whom I 
 felt a disposition to speak of my origin. I know you will 
 say candidly whatever you feel." 
 
 The tinge upon his cheek, the sadness implied in his 
 words, the tremor that evinced his perception of the embar- 
 rassing delicacy of the case, made him appear, as indeed 
 he was, one of the handsomest and manfullest of men. She 
 answered immediately, 
 
 " By all means, Mr. Sanders. You could not have paid 
 me a more grateful compliment than by thus associating 
 me with the memory of such a woman." 
 
 " Thank you, Miss Woodbridge — from my heart, thank 
 yon. If a man in my situation, in the midst of the exist- 
 ence I lead at this delightful place, cannot be said to stand 
 in need of consolation, yet it will be an added gratification 
 to feel that a woman of sense and delicacy knows what 
 may sometimes induce a melancholy with which he believes 
 she sympathizes. My history, as I said, is a brief one, and 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 127 
 
 I shall make a brief narrative. Once upon a time — to begin 
 in proper and authorized form '* — he proceeded, archly, to 
 subdue the constraint of both, " there lived in the town of 
 Norfolk, Virginia, a man named John Sanders, a retired 
 seaman, who kept a small notions-shop. He had several. 
 children, of whom, until I was eleven years old, I had be- 
 lieved myself to be one. He and his wife had ever behaved 
 toward me as if I had been, especially in the matters of 
 kindness and even affection. This man, from having been 
 remarkably strong and healthy, sank into a rapid decline. 
 A few days before his death he had me called to his bed- 
 side, and nothing could have so astonished me as what he 
 said. I was not his son. My name, as far as he knew, was 
 Lewis. I had been consigned to him when an infant, ap- 
 parently only a few days old, by a man styling himself John 
 Lewis, of the town of Lynchburg, who claimed to be my 
 father. This man had stated that his marriage with my 
 mother had been clandestinely consummated, because of the 
 fierce hostility to himself on the part of her family, who 
 were rich and of aristocratic claims, and its fact had not 
 yet been known to her parents, who were quite aged. Far- 
 ther concealment had rendered jny temporary removal ne- 
 cessary. He seemed most solicitous about my security; and 
 having met Mr. Sanders several times at that town only a 
 few days before the ship to which he was then attached was 
 to sail on a voyage of several months, the latter and his wife, 
 after some hesitation, agreed to receive me. I was to be call- 
 ed for within a year. The man deposited with Mr. Sanders 
 some hundreds of dollars, and directed with much urgency 
 that he should write, or have written, frequent letters to 
 him at such post-office as he should thereafter designate by 
 letter. Himself was to write often, giving directions in my 
 behalf, and to visit whenever it should be practicable and 
 
128 OLD MAKK. LAXGSTON: 
 
 safe. A person named Granger then resided in Portsmouth. 
 He was a hrother-in-law of Mr. Sanders, and was witness to 
 the transaction in my behalf. From him, however, Mr. 
 Sanders had not heard, at the time of his death, for more 
 than a year, he having removed, not long after my arrival, 
 to the town of Richmond. They had never corresponded 
 theretofore, except at long intervals, being persons un- 
 learned in letters. Never a word was heard from Mr. 
 Lewis since his departure, not even by letter in answer to 
 those addressed by his direction, and all inquiries regarding 
 him were without result. This sounds," said Lewis, with 
 assumed gayety, "as if I were something of a hero ; not, 
 certainly, like one in classic legend, but at least co-equal 
 with some in modern romance." 
 
 " What you say, Mr. Sanders, interests me deeply." 
 " Again I thank you, Miss Woodbridge. Colonel Porter 
 has often suggested that I should make other efforts besides 
 what had been made in search of more of my antecedents ; 
 but I have been so contented here, and what previous ac- 
 tion in that behalf made had been so without result, that 
 I have forborne to inquire into matters which, for reasons 
 of their own, those most interested in me, or at least most 
 responsible for me, seemed to have desired to be forever 
 unknown. I say, farther, in brief, that when I found that 
 I was not of this family of the Sanders, after a season of 
 poignant regret, and another of cordial grief for the death 
 of one whose kindness to me was such as easily led me to 
 suppose him to be my father, and of sympathy with his 
 widow and children, I desired to get away. Mrs. Sanders, 
 who was an Irishwoman and a Catholic, complied faith- 
 fully with her husband's dying request to assist me in the 
 purpose which he seemed to foresee I would have. I would 
 accept nothing but a small sum of money sufficient to de- 
 
129 
 
 fray my expenses until I could find employment. When 
 I left the good woman shed many tears, and then she gave 
 me this, which she called an agnus, and said, 'Lewis, your 
 parents, as far as we know, were not Catholics, nor was 
 Mr. Sanders ; but it won't hurt you to wear this, and I ask 
 you to do it. When the covering and the string wear out 
 you can get others.' " , 
 
 He took from his, vest-pocket the agnus, encased in mo- 
 rocco leather, with a loose covering of silk cloth, attached 
 to a string of twisted silk. The young lady's eyes bright- 
 ened, and she asked, in surprise, 
 
 " But you do not wear it in your vest-pocket ?" 
 
 "No; I wear it as requested, though you are the first 
 person to know that. I put it, in my pocket this afternoon 
 in expectation of your coming, intending, if I should find 
 opportunity, of showing it to you; knowing, you were a 
 Catholic, and asking you to explain its meaning." 
 
 Holding the trinket in her hands, she asked, . 
 
 " Do you never hear from your supposed mother 1" 
 , "Once I heard, and only once. She was a woman of 
 little education. I received one letter — a brief one — which 
 reached me in the town of Danville, whither I found myself 
 a few weeks after leaving Norfolk, and from whence I had 
 written to her. In that she spoke of her intention of re- 
 turning to her native country, without mention of what 
 special location. In a few weeks I wrote again, directing 
 to the old address. Again I wrote from Raleigh; but I 
 have never heard from her again ; and after a third failure, 
 made long afterward in Augusta, I wrote no more. In re- 
 membering those times I often wonder how free from de- 
 spondency I was. I felt confident, of my ability to get a 
 respectable living. I worked my way, always with unfal- 
 tering hope, through the lower counties of Virginia, through 
 
 9 
 
130 OLD MARK LANGSTON : 
 
 North and South Carolina. In the latter State I remained 
 two years. Then I went to Augusta, in this State, where I 
 was engaged with a merchant named Campbell, when Colo- 
 nel Porter, who happened to be there and wanted a clerk, saw 
 me and engaged me. Here have I been ever since, and here 
 I have had an existence singularly free from pain or anxiety. 
 But pray, Miss Woodbridge, what is an agnus V 
 
 " The agnus, Mr. Sanders, is a small part of wax taken 
 from an image of a lamb that has been blessed by the Pope. 
 It is worn by almost all Koman Catholics, as a preventive 
 against accidental harm, especially physical." 
 
 "And is such a thing supposed to be efficacious in that 
 behalf?" 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 "At least, Mr. Sanders, Catholics believe that wearing it 
 serves to remind the wearer, oftener than might be other- 
 wise, of the faith they should have that God will avert such 
 harm as to him it seems best not to occur." 
 
 " Yet does not the good God do that for all?" 
 
 " God is indeed immeasurably and ineffably good to all 
 his creatures — to those who know him as those who know 
 him not, or imperfectly. Yet I trust you will continue to 
 remember what the good woman said to you, that this will 
 do you no harm." 
 
 Then she passed it back to him. 
 , " I was sure of that. At all events, I should have worn it 
 for her sake, ignorant as I have been until now of its inten- 
 tions. I am a sort of heathen, you must know, Miss Wood- 
 bridge, especially since the death of Mrs. Porter. She was 
 a deeply religious woman, but of an acutely sensitive spirit; 
 During several years an invalid, she seemed not to gather 
 comfort from her religion, but became despondent to a de- 
 gree that distressed the colonel sorely. However, she rallied 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CEEEK. 131 
 
 considerably at the last, and her end was very peaceful. She 
 was ever concerned about my spiritual welfare, and upon 
 her death-bed exacted of me a promise to say a prayer of 
 some sort every day." 
 
 "And you've kept. your, promise?" 
 
 "I have." 
 
 " She did well to exact it. God will reward her for it, if 
 he has not done so already." 
 
 "Oh, I am sure that if there is a heaven her spirit en- 
 tered there instantly after its release from her body." 
 
 " 'If there is a heaven,' Mr. Sanders !" she repeated. 
 
 "You, then, have no doubt of that?" 
 
 " I might have doubt," she answered, looking around, " of 
 all this fair scene, and the persons who enjoy it, but never 
 of heaven, nor of God's invitations, implied and expressly 
 and repeatedly made known to mankind,- to go thither." 
 
 They looked into each other's eyes. She saw that he 
 was gratified by the interest with which she had listened 
 to his narrative, and that his own in what she had said was 
 cordial and sincere. 
 
 " And so you kept the name of Sanders ?"' 
 
 "Yes. Small as was my title, it was kindly bestowed, 
 and it is the only one I have ever known. I have had to 
 follow the precedents, of the foundlings of fable and accept 
 with gratitude adoption from the good shepherds who 
 saved me from wild beasts and the flood." - « 
 
 " Eight !" she exclaimed, in hearty accord, as she rose 
 from the' seat; — "right! A man should be not only fond 
 but proud of such a name ; and, unless it be replaced dur- 
 ing his lifetime by the true, give instructions, when he comes 
 to die, that it be inscribed in bold relief npon his tomb." 
 
 They rejoined the rest, and soon afterward the visitors, 
 with Eliza, departed. 
 
132 OLD mark langston: 
 
 Chapter XVI. 
 
 A CONVERSATION AT DUKE'S MILL. 
 
 A good shot and a fair angler was Barney Jarrell ; and 
 occasionally, with his rifle and fishing-rod, either with others 
 or alone, he resorted to the woods around the Ogeechee and 
 Duke's Creek. One morning, when he had found himself 
 at the head of Duke's mill-pond — opposite which, on the high 
 ground, Mark Langston dwelt — he bethought himself to 
 pay a visit in acknowledgment of the old gentleman's call. 
 Whenever a visitor came, Mark, who was usually found in 
 his workshop, suspended his work, invited him into the 
 dwelling, or, when such invitation was declined for brief- 
 ness of the tarry, offered a bench-seat, took one for himself, 
 and talked as long as the visit continued. He accepted 
 with proper thanks and remonstration part of the game that 
 Barney offered. He was an interesting talker, and as they 
 sat there in the shop Barney listened with pleased atten- 
 tion to his answers to questions concerning the early settle- 
 ment of the country. Said he, while speaking of the Dukes, 
 
 " Ammon Duke, father of our present Mr. Duke, it Was 
 always said, came from North Carolina. But he was too 
 busy a worker to talk much about where he came from, or 
 anything else excepting of what he had on hand at the 
 time. A rusher he was,^to work and make money. Work- 
 ing, active man as Mr. Duke is — Mr. Kinsey Duke, I mean 
 — he ain't equal to what his father was, not nigh." 
 
 "I've been told that Mr. Duke's first wife was your 
 daughter, Mr. Langston." 
 
A TALE OP DUKE'S CREEK. 133 
 
 "Yes — Mr. Kinsey Duke, you mean? — yes. She were 
 very young at the time — too yonng, I thought — and she 
 didn't live long after that. They went off straight to Vir- 
 ginny, and it wasn't more 'n four or five months before 
 news come that she was dead. Mr. Duke, when he come 
 back, not long arfter, said she hadn't never been well sence 
 she married, and, indeed, she had been rather complaining 
 in health before." 
 
 " Were they married in Dukesborough, sir ?" 
 
 " Oh, no. They married unbeknown to me. Mr. Duke, 
 I suppose, thought maybe I "or the child's mother might 
 have been against him, or a-wanted to put it off ; and he 
 had business in Virginny, and so he run off with her. He 
 looked like he felt much cast down when he got back, 
 a-concluding, of course, that our feelings had been hurt, and 
 'specially by his never writing to us enduring the whole 
 time, and the child never writing herself but once, from 
 Augusta, where, or soraewheres nigh there, I suppose, they 
 got married. I couldn't help from being sorry for him, he 
 looked so cast down. He never said much about her. He 
 was never a man but of few words, not even when he was a 
 boy; and people used to say that he never had no peace of 
 his mind in his father's lifetime, and that the old man was 
 monstous hard with him, as he was with all his family, 
 white and black. No — no ; they never got married in 
 Dukesborough. The old man Ammon told me they were 
 married by some jestice o' the peace or another somewheres. 
 down there near Augusty. I suppose they both felt sort o' 
 ashamed to go to a minister of the Gospel, and she a-run- 
 ning so young from her parrents." 
 
 "I doubt not that the whole affair was a sore affliction 
 to the family." 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Jarrell, it hurt me, and it hurt the child's 
 
134 OLD MAKE LANGSTON: 
 
 mother yet more, it seemed like. Such things, I suppose, 
 bears harder on mothers, and, if they do, they bears very 
 heavy. She took the child's death so hard that, as I've 
 always believed, the good Lord took her out of her trouble. 
 The child had been raised to be Christian, and I can but 
 have a good hope in my mind that she died prepar'd. Mr. 
 Duke told me she did." 
 
 He paused awhile, and continued : 
 
 "As for me, I've stood it somehow these thirty years, 
 both her and her mother's dying, and leaving me, you may 
 say, alone by myself. What a man can't hender, Mr. Jar- 
 rell, and can't help, he has to bear ; and the Scripter tells 
 us that them that bears trouble for Christ's sake won't be 
 let lose in the long run. There's hundreds and thousands — - 
 of a heap, a long ways better men than what I am — has had 
 to bear heavier things than what I've had, and, being more 
 submissive, have got more good out of 'em, though I've 
 tried not to complain, and I'm thankful that things has 
 been better with me always than I've ever deserved of their 
 being. What a nice, well-behaved child your little girl is, 
 Mr. Jarrell, to be sure! She seem as affectionate and 
 good-mannered a child as little Lizy Porter. I don't won- 
 der they run together so much. Both her parrents dead, 
 they told me." 
 
 " Yes, sir. Her mother died shortly after giving her 
 birth, her father five years ago." 
 
 "Well, Mr. Jarrell, people, young as well as old, are 
 obleeged to die whenever God appints their time. The 
 thing is to try to get ready for it." 
 
 After some farther conversation on unimportant topics 
 Barney took his leave, gratified by the invitation to repeat 
 his visit whenever he felt like it. Descending the margin 
 of the pond, pausing occasionally to angle in a hole that 
 
A TALE OF DCKE's CEEEK. 13p 
 
 seemed to ternpt him, a cloud arose, and grew rapidly so 
 threatening that he made for the saw-mill for shelter fronj 
 the coming rain. Mr. Duke had just ridden up in a gallop, 
 and, removing the saddle and saddle-blanket from his horse, 
 hitched the latter to the limb of a tree near by, and the two 
 met just as the rain began to descend. 
 
 "Do, Mr. Jarrell? Both come near gitting a wetting. 
 Been hunting, fishing — both, I see. Don't seem to had 
 much luck." 
 
 " I've not done very much, Mr. Duke, but somewhat bet? 
 ter than appears. I carried a few squirrels and fish to Mr. 
 Langston. Since then I've been loitering along the pond, 
 and not looking out much for game." 
 
 "Been to see Mr. Langson? Didn't know you was 
 'quainted with the old man. Found him well, I hope ? 
 Good man — none better of my knowledge." 
 
 " He seems an excellent man, and, for his age, in good 
 state." 
 
 " Talk much with him ?" 
 
 " Not a great deal. I made a short visit in answer to his 
 call upon me." 
 
 " Wish let me do more for him. Poorer than good man 
 like him ought to be. Found him at work, did you ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Tried often to help him. Won't let me, except, staying 
 in one of my houses." 
 
 "Ay? Is it your land he resides on, Mr. Duke?" 
 
 " Cert'nly. Part of this tract I got from— first wife, Mr. 
 Langson's daughter." 
 
 "It seems to me that I had heard that your first wife 
 was his daughter. Did she leave any child, Mr. Duke ?" 
 
 Mr. Duke regarded Barney with the look of a man who 
 was partly surprised, partly indignant, that he should be 
 
136 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 ignorant, however lately come into the neighborhood, of 
 the facts in the family history of its most leading citizen. 
 
 "J, Mr. Jarre]], have but one child. Everybody but you, 
 seems, knows he's son of my present wife." 
 
 " Please excuse me, sir, for not having taken pains to be 
 informed more accurately upon such important points." 
 
 Barney's coolness, as such does always, brought Mr. Duke 
 to a halt in his passion. 
 
 " My first wife, Mr. Jarrell, didn't live but a few months 
 after her marriage." 
 
 " Ay ?" Barney had on his face the imperturbed expres- 
 sion of one who believed it was neither strange nor danger- 
 ous to have been in ignorance of the fact. 
 
 " Mr. Langson say anything about his daughter ?" asked 
 Mr. Duke, after a moment's pause. 
 
 " He did allude to her, sir." 
 
 " Say anything about me ?" 
 
 "I should not consider that quite a fair question, Mr. 
 Duke, in ordinary circumstances," answered Barney, with a 
 smile, though reddening somewhat. "But such a man as 
 Mr. Langston, I doubt not, would be willing for all persons 
 to know whatever he says about them. I answer, therefore, 
 that he did make mention of your name, as he must have 
 done in connection with that of his daughter's, and he spoke 
 of you in terms of respect." 
 
 " Didn't ask him if his daughter left child ?" 
 
 "I did not, sir. Perhaps if I had, and been answered 
 satisfactorily in the negative, I should not have repeated 
 the question to yourself." 
 
 Barney smiled broadly as he spoke thus, while Mr. Duke 
 looked hardly upon him. 
 
 "Mr. Langson know anything about your man Per- 
 kins?" 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 137 
 
 " He was not my man, Mr. Dnke, or, if living, is not. He 
 was a man who seemed to have regarded himself as belong- 
 ing exclusively to himself, without responsibility to others. 
 I did not ask Mr. Langston about him to-day, but I may do 
 so some time hereafter." 
 
 " Never catch up with him, Mr. Jarrell, I'm thinking." 
 
 " Perhaps not, Mr. Duke ; but I do not despair." 
 
 " Seems to me a man better give such as that up as a 
 lost ball, and go to work to make a decent living for him- 
 self and adopted child." 
 
 Barney laughed heartily. 
 
 " Why, Mr. Duke, this Mr. Perkins, if ever found, might 
 prove to be a rich, powerful man. In such case, might it 
 not be easier to fasten ourselves upon him than work and 
 drudge in a warm climate like yours here, where a man can 
 scarcely get thoroughly chilled once -before the thaw of 
 your spring begins ? What is he to expect in summer, the 
 main season for work ?" 
 
 " Why, Mr. Jarrell," said Mr. Duke, as if feeling in him- 
 self all the disgust of his class for the vain ambitions of the 
 lower, "you don't suppose that if you was to find such a 
 man — and I tell you now, my opinion is, it's too late to 
 start out looking for him — you don't suppose he'd acknowl- 
 edge hisself, and take in them he knows nothing about and 
 cares nothing about ?" 
 
 " But then," persisted Barney, " might he not be touched 
 by the sight of Amanda, bright as she is innocent, and 
 needful of opportunities to be developed into a fine wom- 
 an? Don't you suppose he might be led at least into a 
 compromise ? Say acknowledge her as his offspring, and — 
 keep the bulk of his property for himself and those he loves 
 best ? That is just what my brother would have proposed, 
 and what I would be satisfied with." 
 
138 OLD siakk. langston: 
 
 Mr. Duke looked incredulous. 
 
 " Why, you 'pear to be a man of monstous little prop'ty, 
 and a-prowling and projccking about a-hunting and a-fish- 
 ing ain't going, seem to me, to make it much bigger fast. 
 That's the way your case strike me. Now, if you'd move 
 further on, 'cross the Oconee or the Ocmulgee, where lands 
 is cheaper and speckerlatin 's better, you might do some- 
 thing. Seem to. me that's what / should do." 
 
 " I may do that after a while. But mine and Amanda's 
 wants are not many. She is very young, and I am not 
 what one could call old. Then I like this neighborhood, 
 and especially the school. You did a good thing, Mr. 
 Duke, when you founded that." 
 
 " Think so myself. Folks say so. People ought try do 
 some good, Mr. Jarrell, in the world." 
 
 " True, Mr. Duke. I am inclined to believe that was the 
 main reason of our being placed in it." 
 
 The heavens having now cleared, Barney took his gun 
 and fishing-rod, and, bidding Mr. Duke good-day, set off 
 toward home. Mr. Duke lingered awhile. He watched 
 Barney's retreating form. Then he turned and looked 
 toward the knoll whereon, surrounded by oaks, was the 
 mansion of Mark Langston. He sighed. Was he saddened 
 by the sight of the vigor and the heartiness of the youth 
 who had just gone, or by the serenity of the aged man 
 who, dwelling alone in a house not his own, calmly awaited 
 whatever it might please God to award ? 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 139 
 
 Chapter XVII. 
 
 A CASE FOR THE RETURNING LAWYER. 
 
 Deliberate, easy -going, even indolent, sometimes, as 
 Barney Jarrell seemed, yet he was resolute in furtherance 
 of any serious purpose, vigilant, cautious, brave. He had 
 come to Dukesborough with the hope of reaching the ter- 
 mination of a search which had long interested his Jiamily, 
 and until lately had been fruitless. His new hopes had 
 had, since his coming, a diversion that made yet more pro- 
 found the sadness he had felt before their inception. Many 
 years before, hi» mother, who had had some sorrows of her 
 own, having gone with her two children, both boys, on a visit 
 to Surry, one of the counties in the south-eastern portion of 
 Virginia, saw a young female child who had been adopt- 
 ed by the family of an innkeeper with whom she had tar- 
 ried for a night. The child, the man said, had been brought 
 there an infant five years previous by a man who, claim- 
 ing to be her father, represented that his wife had just died, 
 at his camp, three miles from the village, leaving this infant, 
 only a day old. He begged that it might be taken care of 
 for two or three days until he could repair to his sister, who 
 resided in the next county above, who would return with 
 him and take the child to her home. He had left imme- 
 diately after obtaining assent to his request, and had never 
 returned nor been heard of since. Attracted by her come- 
 liness and apparent promise, Barney's mother easily pre- 
 vailed upon the innkeeper and his wife to let her have her. 
 
140 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 The latter, when grown up, was married to her elder son. 
 On his death-bed he, who had sought far and near for the 
 discovery of his wife's parentage, commended the search to 
 Barney. Within the last twelve months circumstances had 
 taken place which led Barney to believe that the solution 
 of the mystery was to be obtained, if anywhere, in Georgia. 
 Leaving his mother, therefore, as soon as he could get away, 
 and taking Amanda and one servant, the woman Aggy, he 
 set out for Dukesborough. He had been there but a short 
 time when what facts he had ascertained about the marriage 
 of Mr. Duke and Emily Langston threw his mind into great 
 confusion and induced most painful apprehensions. It was 
 a case, he saw, that required the exercise of much patience, 
 caution, courage, and the counsel of a lawyer. 
 
 A friendly intimacy, as we have seen, soon grew up be- 
 tween him and Lucius Woodbridge. Finding that the lat- 
 ter had Once been a practising lawyer, and was contemplate 
 ing a return to his profession, he communicated to him his 
 case and asked his assistance. At first Woodbridge con- 
 sidered Barney's apprehensions regarding the difficulties well- 
 founded. At all events, he felt, and so said to Barney, that 
 he could undertake no active part in his behalf while he re- 
 mained a boarder in Mr. Duke's family. It was not long, 
 however, before he concluded that there might be more mer- 
 its in the case than then appeared, and that, whatever his 
 counsel might be worth, he owed it, especially to the or- 
 phaned Amanda, to bestow it. He had resolved already, at 
 all events, to leave Mr. Duke's house as soon as a sufficient 
 opportunity should be presented. He had come to believe 
 with Barney that Amanda's mother was the daughter of 
 Emily Langston, and he was shocked with what appeared to 
 have been the abandonment by Mr. Duke of his offspring, 
 however born, and his suffering her issue and Mark Lang- 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CHEEK. 141 
 
 ston to be deprived of all usufruct of the handsome estate 
 that his wife had possessed. 
 
 What was best to do sorely perplexed the young men. 
 Barney had grown to partake of the reverence and affection 
 that were universally paid to the old man, and he pondered 
 how in the solitude of his age he would feel if the discovery 
 that Amanda was his descendant should be joined with that 
 of her having not only forsaken her parents but dishonored 
 them. Yet Barney was a man who loved the truth for its 
 own sake, and he had a counsellor who loved it not less. 
 This counsellor assured him that, so far as Mark Langston 
 was concerned, he would receive this gift, if Amanda was 
 of his blood, as thankfully as if there were no stain upon 
 her own or her mother's birth. Amanda was the only one 
 to consider in that view of the case. Tq this Barney an- 
 swered that it had, been his brother's wish that every search 
 should be pushed to all possible ascertainment. 
 
 " And you accepted the, trust," said Woodbridge, " and 
 feel that you ought to execute his testament ?" 
 
 "L do,", answered, Barney, "and, with the help of God, 
 I'll do what I can." 
 
 " Such a .purpose, so undertaken, Mr. Jarrell, will have 
 His blessing bestowed in somewise. Of that I feel 
 sure." 
 
 Amanda knew only the purpose of their coming to 
 Georgia, but. not the many thoughts and projects in her 
 father's mind. She was expected to be discreet in her 
 speech and all her conduct, and, feeling secure in his guid- 
 ance, she never inquired as to his purposes. 
 
 One Saturday the two young men rode together in a gig. 
 to Gateston, the county-seat. Some unimportant business 
 there Barney, had, and while attending to it Lucius Wood- 
 bridge repaired to the office of the clerk of the Superior 
 
142 OLD MAKE. LANGSTON: 
 
 Court. He had made the acquaintance of that officer be- 
 fore. Stating that he had been thinking of returning to 
 the Bar, he asked permission to look into some of the rec- 
 ords, with the view of seeing how judicial proceedings here 
 were conducted as compared with those of his native State. 
 The clerk was very accommodating, and promised any as- 
 sistance that might be needed. The lawyer thanked him, 
 and commenced looking over the dockets of the various 
 years. He talked all along with the clerk, first upon one 
 topic, then another, the various judges and leading lawyers 
 that had served in this court. Reaching the docket for the 
 year 1798, he saw, at the April term, this case : " Lawrence 
 Palmer vs. Kinsey Duke." 
 
 : The only entry was the following, by the presiding judge, 
 made at the same time — the " Appearance Term :" " Settled 
 at defendant's costs." The name of no counsel was marked 
 for the defendant, that of George Staples appearing for the 
 plaintiff. He turned away, and, after chatting for a while 
 with the clerk on other matters — looking the while at a, 
 large case with pigeon-holes, over which labels with the 
 various years had been pasted — carelessly went to that for 
 the same year, took down the bundle contained therein, and, 
 having found the original writ in the case before mentioned, 
 read it. It was an action for damages, claiming three hun- 
 dred dollars of Mr. Duke, on the ground that, on a certain 
 date theretofore, the defendant had sold to plaintiff a negro 
 girl — Betsy by name — with usual warranties of title and 
 soundness ; and it alleged that, in a few weeks thereafter 
 the said negress had died, and of an incurable disease which 
 she had had at the time of her sale. There was no plea. 
 Acknowledgment of service and waiver of process had 
 been put by the defendant on the back of the writ. Just 
 before leaving Woodbridge remarked, 
 
A TALE OP DUKE'S CREEK. 143 
 
 " This Mr. Staples you speak of, I noticed his name fre- 
 quently on the dockets some years back." 
 • "Oh yes, indeed. He had a big practice, Staples did. 
 Not such a big man before juries as some ; but he was a 
 wiry fellow, I tell you. He knowed how to hunt up and 
 fix up." 
 
 "Many of the prominent citizens of the county employ 
 him?" 
 
 " Not as a general thing, I believe, from what I've heard, 
 leastways in big cases, excepting along with them big fellows 
 to piGk juries, hunt up and fix up evidence, and such. Yes, 
 indeed — I forgot — there was the old man Duke — old Am 
 Duke — your Mr. Duke's father — he was much of a Staples 
 man. No matter what other lawyers he might have when 
 he got scared, and thought Staples not quite equal to the 
 case, yet Staples must be among 'em, to do the still hunting 
 and the picking." 
 
 Thanking for the courtesy, Woodbridge left the office, 
 and shortly afterward he and Barney were on their return. 
 
 "The case savors of fraud on its face. This Staples, I 
 find, was the confidential lawyer of the Dukes. As sure as 
 that is the sun we see yonder in the west you have come 
 to the right place, Mr. Jarrell. Wait until I withdraw from 
 the Dukes' house. I must do that very soon. Then we 
 will take counsel together as to how to move." 
 
 Barney respected the delicacy of his friend, and the most 
 of their conversation during the journey home was upon 
 indifferent subjects. 
 
 On arriving at home that same evening an incident was 
 related to Lucius Woodbridge that led him to determine to 
 withdraw from Mr. Duke's at once. Mrs. Duke, a stout, 
 dark woman, from Broad Eiver originally, who, as we have 
 intimated, was of aristocratical claims, had long sought to 
 
144 OLD maek langston: 
 
 give tone to society, in spite of knowing that, before her 
 day, the Dukes had not ranked with some others, mainly 
 the Quillians. Observing a certain amount of coldness 
 toward persons poor and of acknowledged inferiority in 
 social position, she had sought to impress even the Quil- 
 lians with a sense of her right to lead. But the Quillians, 
 with as good blood as had ever come out of Virginia or 
 stayed there, quietly ignored such leadership, though exhib- 
 iting no disposition to assert it for themselves, and made 
 no distinctions in society except such as seemed to be re- 
 quired by considerations of prudence and morality. In 
 time Mrs. Duke had to give up her exclusiveness, and be- 
 came, or tried to become, in general intercourse with the 
 villagers, as gracious as the Quillians. When she gave a 
 little party she — Well, as to that I will let Griffin, the shoe- 
 maker, speak in his own language of one that his daughter 
 Julan attended on the Friday night previous : 
 
 " Talk about of a-prowidin' for people at parties! I tell 
 you that Misses Jook is the prowidin'est in this whole blessed 
 town. Why, Julan, when she come from thar last night — 
 well, the next mornin' the child's eyes was jes a-swelled out 
 along o' fatness, and she fotch home in her hankercher and 
 a bastel, besides of turkey and cake, ammonses and ree- 
 sins, and Am Jook had to come home along with the 
 child, and help fetch the bastel, he did." 
 
 Julan had told of these things to Harriet Quillian. 
 
 "Yes," said she, a well-grown child of twelve, "and, Har- 
 riet, he said I was pretty, Mr. Am Jook did, and he ast me 
 wouldn't I kiss him ; and I told him that par said he didn't 
 want me to kiss gentlemen, and he said 'AH right.' But 
 he were sorry, and he hoped to have the pleasure of comin' 
 home with me from another party some time. And oh ! 
 he is such a gentlemany young man !" 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 145 
 
 " Julan," said Harriet, " I am glad you did not kiss Mr. 
 Am Duke. If he asks you again, take my advice and slap 
 him in the face ; or tell your father of it, and ask him to 
 knock him on the head with his shoe-hammer." 
 
 "Oh, Harriet!" said Julan, piteously. "That would 
 be too bad." 
 
 "Then tell him, Julan, that that was the advice I gave 
 you." 
 
 Julan hesitated. 
 
 " At least, my dear child, let him know that you told me 
 of his offer to kiss you." 
 
 " I'll do that, Harriet. But I wouldn't like to hurt Mr. 
 Am Jook's feelin's. He didn't mean any harm ; and, if he 
 did, I don't know what it was." 
 
 This conversation came from Harriet, through Rebecca 
 Woodbridge, to her brother. On Monday following the lat- 
 ter, while being measured for a pair of shoes by Griffin, 
 said to him, 
 
 " I noticed Julan at Mrs. Duke's party Friday night. Did 
 she get home all safely, Griffin ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, Mr. Woodidge. I were goin' for her about 
 nine o'clock; but Mrs. Jooks sent words to my wife that 
 I needn't bother about of comin' for Julan, and she'd see 
 to Julan bein' fotch home, and, shore enough, Am Jooks 
 fotch her home hisself." 
 
 " Who brought the word from Mrs. Duke, Griffin V 
 
 "Her waitin'-boy, Sara. Mighty polite nigger Sam is." 
 
 " Yes. But it is quite probable that he either told or 
 brought you a lie." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Woodidge, I supposen not. They wasn't no 
 'casion for lies as I could see." 
 
 "At all events, Griffin, had she been my daughter, I 
 should have preferred to go for her myself. Julan is both 
 
 10 
 
146 OLD MARK I.ANGSTON: 
 
 too young and too old to be escorted home by young men 
 at night, after their parents have gone to bed." 
 
 " But, you see, Mr. Woodidge, Am he come to fetch 
 the bastet, and it were jes natchelly full and a-runnin' over 
 with cake and things." 
 
 " Did Julan telLyou anything that Ammon Duke said to 
 her?" 
 
 " Not as I 'member she didn't, Mr. Woodidge ; only she 
 said he were monstous polite, and seem to her as gentle- 
 many like as ef her father 'd been a rich man ; and which 
 he know, Am Jook, that Pm the poorest man in all this 
 town. Why, what make you ast such questions so close, 
 Mr. Woodidge 2" 
 
 " Because, Griffin, I do not consider Mr. Ammon Duke a 
 very proper person to conduct from parties at night girls, 
 except such as are much older or considerably younger than 
 Julan." 
 
 " Oh, bless my soul ! then it sha'n't be did no more." 
 
 "That's right. Make these shoes a little more loose 
 than the last pair. I am getting too old to wear tight 
 shoes." 
 
 " Old ! Too old ! Bless my heart ! Why, Mr. Wood- 
 idge, you ain't nothin' but a — I were jes about to say boy; 
 but I knowed that wouldn't do, and you bein' of a school- 
 marster. But you're young enough, Mr. Woodidge, you is, 
 for any of 'em, even some o' them that's in your school; 
 and Julan say they ain't nary one of 'em, not even ex- 
 ceptin' of Harriet Quillian, that don't love you." 
 
 "It was as improper for Julan to say that as it was for 
 her to be brought home Friday night by Mr. Ammon Duke, 
 and more absurd for you to believe it, than that Mrs. Duke 
 had sent you word not to trouble yourself about her getting 
 home. Now let me tell you, Griffin, about Julan. She is 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CBEEK. 147 
 
 very pretty, and tolerably smart ; bat do you be very care- 
 ful and very watchful about ber conduct and ber talk." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Woodidge, the child didn't mean nothin'." 
 
 " At all events, remember what I say." 
 
 At the breakfast-table next morning Lucius Woodbridge 
 made a remark which he postponed from the supper of 
 Monday, because all the family were not present, Ammon 
 Duke having come in late from one of the plantations : 
 
 " Mrs. Duke, I stepped into Griffin's yesterday afternoon. 
 They were much gratified by your sending the basket of 
 things and relieving them of the trouble of sending for 
 their daughter Julan Friday night." 
 
 Ammon Duke, who was tall, stout like his father, but 
 dark, handsome like his mother, did not wince, but seemed 
 slightly annoyed. 
 
 " Why, what upon earth can the people mean ?" said Mrs. 
 Duke, laughing in astonishment. " Well, well, I — why, I 
 don't know how the poor child got home, but — Jane, 
 call Sam here." 
 
 " Oh, it's nothing, ma," said Ammon. " I saw the child 
 was enjoying herself ; and when she told me that her father 
 was coming for her at nine o'clock — and I knew she didn't 
 want to go so soon — I told Sam to step down and tell them 
 that he needn't trouble himself about her, and that we 
 would see that she got home." 
 
 "And you did not send the basket with good things?" 
 persisted Woodbridge, looking at the lady, and not noticing 
 the interruption of Ammon. 
 
 " I made Sam put a few things in the basket, mother," 
 said Ammon. " I wonder Mr. Woodbridge could remember 
 what such people had to say about so trifling a matter." 
 
 Woodbridge flushed slightly. "Considering the very 
 brief time that has elapsed, Ammon, I don't see how it can 
 
148 OLD MARK LANGSTON : 
 
 appear very strange that I did not forget. Perhaps the 
 words were impressed upon my mind more sensibly for ob- 
 serving how grateful these poor persons were for such un- 
 expected condescension. Then, you know, Julan is one of 
 the pupils in my school." 
 
 The flush gave way to a calm smile as, after looking 
 steadily at Ammon for a moment, he resumed his knife 
 and fork. Mr. Duke stared first at one then another of the 
 party, and not another word was spoken during the rest of 
 the meal. After it was over Woodbridge politely informed 
 Mr. Duke of his intention, for some time previously enter- 
 tained, of removing his quarters to Hallier's. 
 
 " All right, sir. Do as please, sir. Eight away, if you 
 say so." 
 
 "Perhaps, Mr. Duke, on some accounts that would be 
 well. I will remove to-day." 
 
 Mr. Duke evidently felt this coolness of the young man 
 a rebuke to his ewa sudden choler. After a moment's 
 pause he spoke with mildness, and there was a touch of 
 sadness in the words with which he expressed his belief 
 that Mr. Woodbridge had had no cause to complain of the 
 treatment he had received while in his house. 
 
 " On the contrary, Mr. Duke," answered Woodbridge, 
 cordially, " I regard the service I have received here worth 
 far above the price I have paid. There are some reasons 
 why I feel it would be best to go to the hotel, one of 
 which, sufficient in itself, is that there I will be near my 
 sister." 
 
 " Hope you won't mind what Am said." 
 
 " That is of less importance than what he did, Mr. Duke. 
 However, so far as I am concerned, it is all over." 
 
 " Young men will be young men, you know." 
 
 Whether the inspiration came from her husband or not, 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 149 
 
 Lucius Woodbridge could not have said, but at dinner — the 
 last meal he was to take there — Mrs. Duke was studiously 
 reserved, and he therefore repressed much of what he would 
 have said. As he rose from the table he thanked her, in 
 such terms as a gentleman must employ, for her uniform 
 kindness. Her silence and constrained smile indicated her 
 pain and her resentment. She took the hand he extended 
 with a faint grasp, and, immediately releasing it, turned 
 away. 
 
 Chapter XYIII. 
 
 MR. HTDDLE AND BARNEY JARRELL MEET AT THE STORE OP 
 PORTER & SANDERS. 
 
 One need not be told that Lewis Sanders began to ride 
 into town much oftener than had been his wont. The fact 
 of his horse having been frequently seen tied before Mrs. 
 Toliver's gate began to be talked about in town and coun- 
 try. These visits, occurring mostly on Saturdays, operated 
 at first some disappointment upon Mr. Baldwin Riddle, 
 whose habit for many years had been to ride over to the 
 store on those days, with occasional intermediate visits be- 
 sides. It was not long before he declared that he should 
 have to take some other days until Lewis could get over 
 what he called the sickness of his friend. 
 
 " It's like the measles or the mumps," Mr. Riddle would 
 say : " a fellow 's bound to have 'em some time, Lewis. 
 Pity you couldn't 'a' took 'em when you was younger and 
 liable to let 'em break out on you, or swell up your jaws, 
 and be done with 'em. The older a fellow get when they 
 strike him the worse they give him a siege. His meat 's 
 harder, and his skin 's tougher; and sometimes 'ruptions 
 and swellin's instid of strikin' out they'll strike in, and it 
 
150 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 go hard, and sometimes it's danjous in the bargain. Yit, 
 if a fellow '11 be keerful in the offstart ner neither be too 
 skeerd ner too pushin', he may manage 'em wheneversom- 
 ever they takes him. But I tell you, Lewis, a fellow got 
 to be keerful." 
 
 Thus, half sportively, half seriously, he would talk with 
 one whom he loved most warmly. He did not inquire at 
 any time into the state of that friend's feelings ; for, in his 
 own fashion, his respect was as delicate as his friendship 
 was constant. He was never known, at least upon his reg- 
 ular days, to leave the store without taking along with him 
 some object of purchase. To have done otherwise would 
 have seemed to bim inconsistent with the fidelity of a 
 friend. 
 
 One day, in the midst of the talk of the two friends, Bar- 
 ney Jarrell, coming down by Colonel Porter's mansion, ad- 
 vanced to the store. Lewis was called within by a customer 
 at the moment of his arrival, but he was back and forth 
 during the chat of Baldy and Barney. 
 
 "The highth of this prevous fine mornin' to you, Mr. 
 Jarrell," said Baldy. " Been up to the kernel's ? I didn't 
 see you in the peazer as me and Charles Henry 'amberlated 
 by. That's him yonder, hitched to the rack," smiling, 
 pleased at Barney's momentary glance around for the com- 
 panion alluded to — " that's Charles Henry ; and we in 
 gener'ly travels together, onlest I'm a-travellin' a monstous 
 short vyage, when I takes it afoot. Been to the kernel's?" 
 
 " No, Mr. Riddle, I've been over to Mr. Langston's. Fine 
 old gentleman, is he not ?" 
 
 " None finer, sir. The kernel '11 tell you the same. 
 Uncle Mark glad to see you, wasn't he? He told me you 
 been to see him before, and that he were gratified in his 
 mind by it." 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 151 
 
 "I went to-day especially to assist my woman Aggy in 
 finding the way there. Mrs. Toliver had her to make a suit 
 of clothes for her brother, and she went to see what altera- 
 tions, if any, must be made." 
 
 " Ah ha ! She monstous fond o' Uncle Mark, and good 
 to him to boot, Misses Toliver is. Prevous fine woman in the 
 pints of fact. Your 'oman went back from thar, I supposen ?" 
 
 " She will do so. Finding that the clothes needed some 
 changes, she remained, in order to make them, and will re- 
 turn when she is through. Never having seen the country 
 between here and there, I thought I'd travel over it. What 
 an excellent body of land these two plantations — Mr. Duke's 
 and Colonel Porter's !" 
 
 "Magnanimous, sir. I've been present in person, sir, at 
 frekwent times when Uncle Mark Langston — and it's in gen- 
 er'l supposened in this community that, if he ain't a man 
 of his word, they ain't none nowhars ner nowhars else — I've 
 heard him frekwent make the obserwation, that when he 
 first come here, and the surweyors was a-surweyin' right 
 thar on the hill, whar the kernel's house is a-standin' in its 
 present location, they had to part the reeds before 'em as 
 they went along ; and as for the surweyor hisself, he had 
 to cut out his way 'mong the reeds with a hatchet. And 
 Uncle Mark say it was called the Reedy Surwey, and which 
 they ain't no sich prevous evidence o' good upland as reeds, 
 and which everybody know that." 
 
 " These gentlemen," said Barney, " have been in posses- 
 sion of these lands for many years 2" 
 
 "Yes. Kernel Porter's father settled this place as early 
 as '86." 
 
 "And Mr. Duke?" 
 
 " Oh ! Mr. Duke. He married into Ms'n — leastways what 
 you see to-day." 
 
152 OLD MASK LANGSTON: 
 
 " I've understood that his first wife was daughter to Mr. 
 Langston. The old gentleman, it seems, was formerly 
 wealthy." 
 
 "No, he never were wealthy, and, as to that, he were 
 never a man that would wish to be. The prop'ty — that 
 land you've walked over to-day — and two famblies of nig- 
 gers was left by bachelor Albert Semmes to Uncle Mark's 
 daughter." 
 
 " It seems to me that I've heard, Mr. Eiddle, that her 
 marriage with Mr. Duke was not with the consent of the 
 father." 
 
 " Not even ast for it, sir. The Dukes too grand folks 
 for that. You been here so long and not know that any- 
 body o' the Duke name never asts for anything they can 
 git 'ithout askin' any prevous questions about it ? Old Am 
 Duke, he were a riproariser fellow and a rambunctiouser 
 fellow than even his son Kinsey, and he's hard to beat. The 
 man that beat Kinsey Duke have to git up monstous soon 
 of a mornin' like. He — old Am I'm a-talkin' about now — 
 got the creek and the town both named arfter him, and he 
 never ast nobody even for them. He jes named 'em both 
 hisself, and nobody keerd enough about 'em to alter 'em." 
 
 "Yet this Mr. Duke — the present Mr. Duke, I mean — 
 seems to be well respected in the community." 
 
 " Oh, yes, he stands on toler'ble high shoes." 
 
 " You knew this Miss Langston, did you, Mr. Eiddle ?" 
 
 " I did, sir ; but that ain't nobody else's transactions but 
 mine !" 
 
 " I beg pardon," said Barney. " I did not mean to be 
 offensively inquisitive, but — " 
 
 " Oh, all right," answered Baldy, after a look from Lew- 
 is, who had rejoined them. " I sildom talks about that 
 child, exceptin' it is to Lewis here, and not so powerful 
 
A TALE OP DUKE'S CREEK. 153 
 
 mighty much to him, and not as much as I do with the 
 kernel's little gal, Lizy. I sposen you might have saw her, 
 as she seem to be ruther thick with your little girl." 
 
 " Yes, indeed — a child apparently of great promise, 
 hear you are a violinist, Mr. Kiddle." 
 
 "A what?" 
 
 " A violinist. Miss Woodbridge was at my house lately, 
 and told Amanda and me that she was much entertained 
 by your music." 
 
 " Oh, fiddle you mean. 1 'member Miss Woodidge called 
 her wi'lin, or some sich name. We down here calls 'em 
 fiddles." 
 
 " I wish I could hear you some time, and Amanda is very 
 anxious for that pleasure." 
 
 " Has you heard Miss Woodidge on the peaner ?" 
 
 " Oh yes, indeed." 
 
 " Well, sir, thar's music enough for you or ary 'nother 
 one man." 
 
 " She does, indeed, play wonderfully well. Yet Amanda 
 and I desire to hear you, when we can do so conveniently 
 to yourself. I wish you could pay us a visit some time. I 
 could borrow a viol — fiddle, I should say — for you." 
 
 Baldy looked inquiringly into the face of Lewis and read 
 the answer his friend would have him give to this polite 
 request. 
 
 " Oh, well, well, Mr. Jarrell, maybe me and Charles Hen- 
 ry and Miss Nancy will fetch up some time at your house. 
 I sildom or never plays, exceptin' of on top o' her. I un- 
 derstands her, and she understand me, and my rawsom suit 
 her bow. Miss Woodidge have sent me word to fetch Miss 
 Nancy to Missis Toliver's. She have got round the old 
 lady, I sposen, in her bein' agin the fiddle. When I do go 
 thar I'll fetch up, possible, at your house some time of a 
 
154 OLD MAKK LANGSTON: 
 
 evenin' like, and that for the sake of your little gal, and 
 which Lizy say she is a' jes a' far pink o' perfection, and I 
 has yit to live to see them that anywhar nigh her age have 
 the jedgment o' that child." 
 
 When Barney had gone Baldy said, 
 
 " That's a prevous-lookin' and conversonal fellow for one 
 that don't seem to have no particklar wocations nor trans- 
 actions. 'Pears like he want to know about the Dukes. I 
 don't keer about conversin' much about Kinch Duke — him 
 nor his'n. I got nothin' to do along 'ith him, exceptin' to 
 say to you that my opinion have been for thirty year that 
 Godamighty's arfter him. But that's his transactions, and 
 not mine, and I ruther people would not ast me about 
 'em." 
 
 " But you'll go to see Mr. Jarrell some day, you and Miss 
 Nancy ? Uncle Mark and Mr. Woodbridge seem to think 
 he is a very excellent young man." 
 
 " Oh, yes, we'll try and fetch up thar some time, of a 
 evenin' like." 
 
 Chapter XIX. 
 
 THE VISIT OP AGGY TO MARK LANG8TON. 
 
 "Jes like Nancy," said Mark Langston, when Barney 
 and Aggy had arrived and announced the purpose of their 
 visit. " She's always a-wanting to do something for her 
 old brother; and, as to that, other people too. Sister 
 Nancy is a woman, Mr. Jarrell, that natchelly loves to be 
 giving to somebody, 'specially them she thinks in need of 
 it. If I'd let her she'd be always a-giving or sending me 
 something. It's jest her nature, and she can't help it. Yes, 
 yes, she always remembers my birthday. I got so I forgits 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 155 
 
 it. I don't keep the days nohow like she do. It were 
 mighty kind in yon to fetch the suit o' clothes, and I'm 
 a thousand times obleeged to your 'oman for the making 
 of 'em." 
 
 He was well satisfied with the fit ; but Aggy, seeing that 
 a trifle of taking up here and taking off there would help to 
 improve it, said, with his permission, she would remain and 
 do the needful. In the midst of his protestations against 
 the trouble this would entail she took from her work-bas- 
 ket scissors and began to rip, leaning the while against the 
 door-sill of the workshop where they had found him. 
 
 "Oh," said Mark, "if you will do it, come into the 
 peazer of the house and take a cheer." 
 
 After half an hour's tarry, Barney, saying that, having 
 come mainly in order to show Aggy the way, he would 
 take a stroll through the interlying country to the store on 
 the public road, and that Aggy, when, she was through 
 with her work, might return alone, took his leave and went 
 on. Mark, with the instinctive politeness that he regarded 
 as due to women, of whatever condition, left his work, and, 
 taking another chair, chatted with the negress while she 
 worked. Intelligent, well-mannered, Aggy answered his 
 questions as to her own history and that of her master's 
 family with a discretion that well pleased him. She repaid 
 his interest by modestly inquiring concerning himself and 
 his. Her inquiries were so judiciously expressed that he 
 was led to talk with considerable freedom. When he spoke 
 of the daughter who had left him and died far away, ob- 
 serving the sympathy evinced by this poor slave, unwonted 
 tears came into his eyes. 
 
 " It goes hard on parrents and children, my good woman, 
 to be separated from one another, and it ain't right, if it 
 can be helped, neither with white nor black. Thank the 
 
156 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 Lord, it ain't common, at leastways with them I've known. 
 There was one case among black people that I know'd of, 
 and it were right hard. That's been a long time ago ; and 
 the child, so Mr. Duke said, didn't live long." 
 
 " Were her parrents living, marster ?" 
 
 "Oh yes. Her mother living yet, and living close by 
 you. Have you ever saw the old woman Vilet that be- 
 longs to Mr. Lines ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Aggy, laying down her work for a mo- 
 ment, then immediately resuming it. 
 
 " It were her daughter, a monstous smart little girl, not 
 more'n eight or nine year old. She were a pet of my 
 daughter, and she took her off with her. When Mr. Duke 
 got back he brought the news that he had sold her arfter 
 her mistress died, and she died not long arfter. If her 
 mistress hadn't of died I don't suppose Mr. Duke would 
 of sold her away from the family ; but he were a specker- 
 lator in them days, and I suppose he didn't feel like being 
 bothered with having to carry about with him such a young 
 one, and nobody to take particklar keer of her. There was 
 some talk among the neighbors of its being mighty hard, 
 and the child's mother took on as much as I ever see a 
 white person. It seemed like she got some better when 
 they told her little Betsy were dead. As for Mr. Duke, 
 poor man, when he got back look like he felt so bad I 
 couldn't but feel sorry for him." 
 
 Aggy listened attentively to the old man. He soon 
 turned from the subject to other matters. When she was 
 through and said she must return he rose, got from the cup- 
 board cold biscuit and chicken, and, taking a stone pitcher, 
 said he would go to the spring and fetch therefrom some 
 milk. Declaring that she would not allow him to wait 
 upon her to that extent, she took her victuals and went 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 157 
 
 along with him. Two vast white-oats grew by the spring 
 within a few feet of each other. Their trunks leaned apart. 
 Their outer branches filled spaces of wondrous extent, while 
 the inner intermingled with one another so thoroughly that 
 in the impervious shade one could not have said to which 
 the greater number belonged. Noticing the interest with 
 which the woman regarded them, Mark said, 
 
 "Fine trees, ain't they? They're mighty old. I can't 
 see but what they were as big as they are now when I 
 moved here, a'most forty year ago." 
 
 When she had eaten her lunch she returned to the house, 
 and, after mutual thanks on both sides, replaced her things 
 in the basket and took her leave. Repairing again to the 
 spring, on the return she lingered for a few moments, look- 
 ing at the oaks. An hour afterward, as she was walking 
 leisurely along, having just emerged from the road which 
 led by the mill into the public road, she heard the sound 
 of a horse's feet behind her, and was startled by the ques- 
 tion, put in a loud, threatening tone, 
 
 " Hello, you, there ! Whose nigger you 2" 
 
 She turned, stopped, and saw Mr. Duke. With his usual 
 abruptness to inferiors, especially of her race, he questioned 
 her closely whither she had been and on what account. She 
 answered timidly, and parried, with the instinct of her race, 
 his questions concerning her master's family. Mr. Duke in- 
 formed her that it was not a remarkably healthy occupation 
 for negroes to be travelling about, especially near his mill. 
 
 " Sickly place for niggers, my mill is," he said, and rode 
 on. 
 
 That night Barney had a long talk with Aggy. 
 
 " Marse Barney," she said, " I were not ezactly satisfied 
 at first that it were the same place, though I were certain 
 in my mind he were my old marster ; but I weren't satis- 
 
158 OLD MABK. LANGSTON: 
 
 fied about the place until he and me went to the spring, 
 and then it all come to me. Them big white -oaks that 
 me and the children used to play under was jes the same. 
 You hain't see such trees, Marse Barney, nowheres." 
 
 " All right, Aggy," said Barney, cheerfully. " It begins 
 to look as though the old woman Vilet — " 
 
 " My marster !" said Aggy, bursting into tears, " she's 
 my mother, as sure as God is in heaven !" 
 
 Barney sat down in the kitchen and thought and 
 thought. At length he said, 
 
 "Aggy, I'm thankful you've found her, if you have 
 found her. We'll have to be particular, or the discovery 
 will do no good, but harm, to us both. You know, Aggy, 
 that we'll have to get other testimony to prove anything, 
 as the law will not admit yours." 
 
 " Lord bless your heart ! marster, I know that, and I'm 
 going to do whatever you say." 
 
 "Better not tell Amanda, even." 
 
 " All right, marster." 
 
 " And especially not Vilet, and, perhaps — at least not yet 
 — Miss Doolana." 
 
 " I do jes what you say, Marse Barney. Oh, my mars- 
 ter ! when I heard that man's voice ! I see it plain as ef 
 it were there painted on the wall. It come a-nigh skeerin' 
 the life out o' me, and I liked to drop in my tracks. I know 
 I jes as well be in my grave as for him to find me out." 
 
 Barney looked upon her as, in her humble gratitude at 
 the discovery of her parent, she trembled with fright of 
 the powerful man whose tenants they were. "With a feel- 
 ing of some remorse he reflected how strangely her wrongs 
 had been paralleled in his own, and felt shame that those 
 had been inflicted by one of his own race. 
 
 " Aggy," said he, " this is the hand of God ! I recog- 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CBEEK. 159 
 
 nize it. I bow my head before Him. He was as wise as 
 He was good in leading you first to what you desired to 
 know. For you had suffered longest, and for least cause. 
 Now, I know you wish to go to your poor aged mother and 
 let her know who you are, and help her. If I live — God 
 hears me — you shall have full access to her before long, as 
 far as I can give it. As it is, I want you to go to her 
 whenever you wish, and do whatever is practicable; only 
 keep what you know to yourself a little while longer. 
 When I go for mother I will leave you in charge of Mr. 
 Woodbridge, who is a good man and is afraid of nobody. 
 You will find a friend too, I hope, in Miss Doolana. She 
 strikes me as being a very fine young woman." 
 
 " Who, Marse Barney ? — Miss Doolana ? She's the su- 
 perest young woman I see here, accordin' to my opinions — 
 not even of exceptin' o' Miss Woodbridge." 
 
 " You think so ? Then I or Amanda may ask her to do 
 me the favor of seeing to what you may need. Mr. Duke 
 will not molest you in my absence, I suspect. I will see 
 him on that point before I go, however. He's not a good 
 man, Aggy, although they put him at the head of the 
 school-board. If he should undertake to harm you in any- 
 wise I want you to call at once on Mr. Woodbridge. One 
 thing I do promise, Aggy : if he hurts you, I will hurt him 
 as much. Do not be afraid of him ; but be prudent, for 
 your own sake and for that of us. I won't make you 
 wait long." 
 
 " My marster, I can wait as long as you say. Miss Man- 
 dy's matter 's worth more 'n mine." 
 
 " God !" said Barney, " how Thou canst bring shame to 
 the strong by giving such strength to the weak !" 
 
 He entered the house, and, with Amanda, spent the rest of 
 the evening as was their wont when study hours were over. 
 
160 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 Chapter XX. 
 
 A SUNDAY EVENING LETTER. 
 
 " Dukesborough, Ga., June 5, 182*7. 
 " My dear Aunt, — My letters, I know, have been unsat- 
 isfactory, at least in some points. My sojourn here has not 
 been long enough to enable me to judge how I am to like this 
 temporary home, for I cannot yet quite contemplate a state 
 of things that may induce me to ' settle myself,' as they say 
 down here, except in dear old Vermont. Not that I don't 
 like things, people, and places better — much better — than I 
 anticipated. As for Lucius, he is as good to me as a brother 
 could be to a sister, and I am just delighted with the hold 
 he has obtained upon the respect, the confidence, and, I may 
 say, the affections, of the people, not only in this neighbor- 
 hood, but throughout this whole section. As to my relig- 
 ion, I am not less free of molestation in its exercise from 
 him than from the rest here, who, with one exception, are, 
 like him, all Baptists. He has taken me once to a Catholic 
 church about twenty miles north-east of this place, where I 
 found in Father Sullivane an admirable priest. This, they 
 tell me, is the oldest Catholic church in Georgia, and was 
 founded by a family named Thompson, from Maryland. 
 Their descendants, some still bearing that name, and some 
 that of Creighton and Luckett, yet reside in the neighbor- 
 hood of Locust Grove, as it is called ; and we were delighted 
 with them and the hospitality they dispensed. I expect to 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 161 
 
 go there again not long hence, and possibly in other com- 
 pany than brother's. 
 
 "And how do I like it now, you ask. Well, my dear 
 aunt, if I had been born here I should have loved this 
 region with all my heart. It is most lovely. Lucius did 
 not exaggerate its beauty or its hcalt h fulness. Of course a 
 Vermonter would like to see bolder hills, some mountains, 
 and at least one, if only a moderate-sized, lake. Yet there 
 are undulations everywhere in this which they call the hill- 
 country, among which flow streams of varying volume as- 
 limpid almost as Lake George. As for the forests — well, I 
 can't write about them so as to lead you to conceive how 
 aboundingly dense, odoriferous, and musical they are. There 
 is an area of several counties, of which this is the most east- 
 ern, containing various large bodies of land of great pro- 
 ductiveness. One of many thousands of acres this village 
 is in the midst of, with oak, hickory, and I don't know 
 what other kinds of growth, and just enough of pine (short- 
 leaf they call it, to distinguish from the more resinous far- 
 ther south) for building purposes and kindling-wood. I 
 have been with Lucius and parties of young persons among 
 these woods, not a fourth of which has been cut down 
 (though their destruction is rapidly progressing), and, while 
 amid them, the shades, the sounds, the smells — oh ! aunty, 
 didn't I tell you I couldn't describe them ? 
 
 "These notably fertile lands attracted a number of set- 
 tlers, among whom are some as pronounced in character as 
 any you have at St. Alban's or elsewhere in Vermont. The 
 leading citizens in this neighborhood, and, indeed, through- 
 out Middle Georgia, are mainly Virginians. Some of them, 
 Lucius says, were connected with the best society in the 
 old State, and left it for the purpose of repairing in a fresh- 
 er region the losses incurred in the wars of Independence 
 
 11 
 
162 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 and 1812. The heads of those families who migrated here 
 have most of them died, and their next generation, led by 
 men of fifty and upward, are less educated and generally 
 cultured than their predecessors. It is sometimes touching 
 to observe the subdued pride with which they allude to the 
 superiority of their fathers in the knowledge of books and 
 the usages of refined society. These, it seems, deteriorated, 
 necessarily, in frontier existence, wherein, even had there 
 been sufficient schools, the youth, partly from having been 
 so largely dispersed, but mainly from need of their help in 
 subduing these towering forests, could not have attended 
 them regularly. Yet with some of these is a gentility that 
 I have seen surpassed nowhere. Cultivation of the mar- 
 vellously rich lands, with economical living, has enriched 
 many of the owners fast. Consciousness of their own re- 
 lapse in intellectual culture stimulated a few families in this 
 neighborhood, mainly the Quillians and Porters, to estab- 
 lish an academy in which their children might recover what 
 themselves had lost. Of the young men of the State who 
 have received liberal education not one, they say, has be- 
 come a teacher, though many have made themselves. emi- 
 nent, especially as lawyers and politicians, among whom, 
 Lucius says, there are those whose superiors are not in the 
 whole Union. The country schools — old field, as they are 
 called — have become sources from which are drawn the best 
 anecdotes that are told among the cultured. Some of these, 
 in point of fact of real occurrences, they say, are so funny 
 that you would cry with laughter to hear them. 
 
 " I am proud to say, what Lucius did not tell us last 
 summer, that his school ranks in reputation quite the high- 
 est in all this part of Georgia, which, perhaps with the ex- 
 ception of Liberty County, near the seaboard, is said to 
 contain the best country society in the State. The Quillians 
 
A TjLLE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 103 
 
 and Porters have had excellent connections — that is evi- 
 dent. Their forbears were originally Episcopalians; but 
 that denomination has not extended jurisdiction thus far, 
 there not being yet one of its bishops in the State, I am 
 told. The first important religious movement made in this 
 region was by one Mr. Mercer, a man, from all accounts, 
 of very strong character, who, together with the Marshalls, 
 have made Baptist the greater portion among this frontier 
 people who constitute the most respectable class. Yet one 
 not acquainted with the state of things would make quite 
 a mistake to suppose that there was a considerable amount 
 of intolerance or fanaticism. On the contrary, they are tol- 
 erant, charitable to the last degree ; and as for hospitality — 
 well, dear aunt, I have never known anything like it. They 
 are not highly educated in books ; but when one goes to 
 their houses, hastily and clumsily constructed and scantily 
 furnished though they often be, one is made to feel as 
 if in a society as respectable as the best anywhere. Not 
 very much, though more than might be expected, of plate 
 is to be seen, but many a piece of china of exquisite work- 
 manship, which the father or mother will quietly tell of 
 having been in the family since the time of Governor 
 Dinwiddie. 
 
 " It would do me good, dear aunt, to have you meet ray 
 own peculiar friend and my hostess, Mrs. Toliver, now in 
 her second widowhood, the queerest and most delightful 
 of old ladies. From the first, regarding me as a heathen, 
 though a harmless one, she has been, notwithstanding, as 
 good and as affectionate to me as if I were her own child. 
 I never talk of my religious faith except with her ; for, as 
 you know, it was the understanding with Lucius and the 
 trustees that I was neither to assert unnecessarily nor have 
 to defend it. Mrs. Toliver made herself an exception to 
 
164 OLD MARK LANGSTOJSr: 
 
 this, and we laugh at each other on that line whenever we 
 feel like it. She is a notable controversialist, and occasion- 
 ally propounds arguments that I am quite confident never 
 occurred to Luther, Calvin, Melancthon, or Beza, and that 
 would have puzzled the Angelic Doctor, or Bellarmine, or 
 St. Francis de Sales to answer. Yet, under an exterior 
 rude, boisterous, sometimes apparently savage, she holds a 
 great big heart, and it is brimful of charitableness and 
 affection. The dear old lady has grown to be more fond 
 of me than I deserve — first, from the necessity of her lov- 
 ing those near her, in the absence of husband and children, 
 with her natural ardor; and then because she believes me 
 to have been of some service to her in the care of her step- 
 granddaughter, a little invalid who, next to her Baptist 
 faith, and not far behind that, is the light of her life. The 
 child, though her grandmother does not know it, is des- 
 tined to an early death ; and oh, aunty ! the poor little in- 
 nocent, though ten years old, has never been baptized ! 
 
 " She, as indeed everybody here except the Dukes, is 
 warmly attached to Lucius. The boys whom he has sent 
 to the State University have maintained so good a rank 
 that his reputation as a teacher has risen very high, and 
 some of the trustees are apprehensive that he will be offered 
 a professorship in the State University at the next Com- 
 mencement. But Lucius, in my opinion, will be lost to 
 them in another' way — by resuming the practice of the law. 
 He is already much interested in the affairs of a new-comer 
 here, a man named Jarrell (though that is a secret). What 
 these are, or their merits, I know nothing. He says it is a 
 case that will probably make quite a sensation after a while. 
 He has withdrawn from Mr. Duke's house, and is at the 
 tavern quite near me. He has never been at all congenial 
 with Mr. Duke, who is a rude, rough man, though president 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 165 
 
 of the board of trustees. He is the wealthiest man in the 
 county, and acts as if he considered that his lands and ne- 
 groes ought to more than make up for his personal delin- 
 quencies in intelligence and breeding. Lucius in politics 
 is in a very decided minority here ; yet none but Mr. Duke 
 seem to think it worth while to make any issue with him 
 in that regard. I do not know precisely how it is, but, at 
 all events, Lucius left his house lately sooner than I ex- 
 pected. He tells me that Mr. Duke, in his opinion, is a 
 worse man than he had believed, and that he will expect 
 his resentment for having left his house. He does not 
 fear, however, for he says that he has in reserve forces far 
 more numerous than he will need. 
 
 "Mrs. Duke is a fiDe woman, they say, of good family, 
 yet of some needless aristocratic claims that such as the 
 Quillians quietly smile at and ignore. Mr. Duke is coarse, 
 disposed to be overbearing when he can be, with white 
 people, and hard upon his negroes — the only case that I 
 have heard of. 
 
 " We are in the midst of great preparations for the mid- 
 summer examination and exhibition, by the latter of which 
 terms they call the winding up at night of the two days' 
 public exercises with plays, dialogues, and single speeches. 
 An immense crowd is expected, for whose accommodation 
 an arbor of green boughs is to be erected in the academy 
 grove. We are both busy as bees, and you must take it as 
 an added evidence of my love that I have devoted nearly 
 all of this afternoon to writing to you. 
 
 " Bless your dear heart ! Pray, as always, for your most 
 loving niece, Bebecca Woodbridge. 
 
 " P.8. — The person who may take me next time to Lo- 
 cust Grove (our church) is a young man named Sanders, 
 bright and very handsome. And let me tell you he wears 
 
166 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 an Agnus; not that he is a Catholic, for he did not know 
 even what the Agnus is. He resides at Colonel Porter's, 
 where I have made two very agreeable visits. The colonel 
 himself is a grand man. And oh, aunty ! I met there such 
 another character ! a man of fifty, as odd as Mrs. Toliver, 
 and as delightful. He is a fiddler, as he calls himself in 
 mock derision, a sort of Chiron from the woods, but a man 
 of gentleness of heart and high character. His music — 
 well, that is, indeed, of its own kind. You could not be 
 made to understand, without seeing him, what a unique 
 person he is. But, I repeat, he is delightful. 
 
 " See, there ! every possible place on these sheets cov- 
 ered with my chattings." 
 
 Chapter XXI. 
 
 ME. RIDDLE IN DUKESBOEOUGH. 
 
 Notwithstanding the great respect Mr. Riddle enter- 
 tained for Mrs. Toliver, both on her own account and as the 
 sister of Mark Langston, he had not often visited her, and 
 never in company with his violin. With what mildness she 
 could employ she had sometimes urged him — since, as he 
 was obliged to know, he was no longer a boy, at least in 
 years — to give up his fondness for an amusement so world- 
 ly as fiddling, and try to assume a seriousness that, in the 
 course of time, might lead to a healthier view of life in this 
 vain world. Alluding to these beseechings, in conversation 
 with Lewis Sanders, he one day said, 
 
 " I don't mind men folks a-preachin' at me, Lewis. For 
 that seem to be the callin' o' some o' them that finds their- 
 selves fitten for no kind o' business, and they jest has to 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 167 
 
 take it out in that or doin' nothin'. But I can't stand wom- 
 en's a-cavortin' around me in a way which, to my opinion, 
 that's beyond their sections, instid of makin' of shirts and 
 breeches for their husbands and children, ef they've got 'em, 
 and, ef not, for .their niggers. I may be wrong ; but sich 
 as that don't seem to me — that is, not nigh as much as 
 keepin' their mouths shet on the transactions of religion 
 and church business in general — they don't seem to me to 
 suit the perlapsities o' their sections." 
 
 Yet, having promised Miss Woodbridge to accept an in- 
 vitation which he was assured had been extended with Mrs. 
 Toliver's full concurrence, and a similar from Barney Jarrell, 
 he concluded one Saturday to call upon both. Wrapping 
 "Miss Nancy" and her bow in an indigo-dyed, home-made 
 bag, he mounted his horse Charles Henry and rode without 
 encountering impediment or accident into town. 
 
 A special seriousness was wont to evince itself in his coun- 
 tenance and gait whenever he came into a place that had 
 lately "boomed" with such acknowledged rapidity in repu- 
 tation if not populousness. 
 
 " My own brother's neighbor and very best friend !" ex- 
 claimed the old lady, in cordial greeting. " And to think, 
 Miss Arbecca, that he ain't been to see me in over a year ! 
 Lay your fiddle there, on the peanar, agin the wall, as it 
 mout fall off and git broke." 
 
 Such talk set him at ease. Yet when, after chatting 
 half an hour, he was asked to play, he became (as he after- 
 ward confessed to Lewis) " awful nonplushed." Even Miss 
 Nancy, for some unaccountable reason, was unusually coy in 
 permitting herself be put in tune. Whether it was the jolt- 
 ing on the horse in the warm June day ride, or the finding 
 herself in the house of a strictly religious person, at all 
 events, her pegs were loose and the bridge unwontedly 
 
168 OLD MAKK langston: 
 
 awry ; the bow was also less susceptible — so to speak — than 
 usual of " rawsomic " influences ; and — well, the fact is that, 
 had the musician been before an audience composed entire- 
 ly of male and worldly persons, he would have used words. 
 As it was, his feelings expressed themselves in grimaces and 
 extraordinary perspiration. 
 
 Miss Woodbridge had provided herself with one of her 
 very largest pocket-handkerchiefs, as if to match his huge 
 bandana. As he stopped occasionally to mop his forehead 
 she could not but remark that it was a warm morning, and 
 then employ both handkerchief and fan for her own relief. 
 Mrs. Toliver kept her eyes on Baldy while tuning his instru- 
 ment with a look as of one contemplating the dying struggles 
 of some innocent and not uninteresting animal (which, how- 
 ever, had brought its trouble on itself) with the compassion 
 becoming to a person of humane feelings. When it was 
 over it was evident that she partook to a mild degree of 
 the relief enjoyed by the sufferer. Once, however, when 
 matters seemed growing desperate, she rose, went to the 
 back piazza, where Polly was lying on her couch, and, no- 
 ticing that no harm had yet befallen, entreated her not to 
 be scared, as there was no earthly danger, and then re- 
 turned. 
 
 What Baldy would have done but for the stipulation 
 with Miss Woodbridge to accompany him could only be 
 imagined by regarding the spasmodic efforts of his bow 
 even as it was. Her eyes upon him, she walked or ran, 
 advanced or retreated, in submissive accord with his lead. 
 Interesting as were the races all along, thrilling was the 
 word for the home-stretches. Knowing from experience 
 that it was a vain effort to compete for attainment of the 
 goal, yet, for the honor of the piano and her sex, she 
 thought she ought to strive at least to avoid being dis- 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 169 
 
 tanced ; and when Baldy descended from the bridge the 
 little finger of her right hand still lingered against the 
 piano wall, panting and exhausted. 
 
 " Well !" said Mrs. Toliver, herself fatigued from eager 
 watching the heats, "it seem like hoss and hoss, nip and 
 tuck,, betwixt you ; but, Miss Arbecca, I think Baldy had a 
 leetle the 'vantage of you in the eend." 
 
 " Oh," answered Eebecca, with candid resignation, " the 
 musician does not live who can beat Mr. Riddle on his 
 bridge note." 
 
 Finding her boarder so well entertained, and Polly neither 
 frightened nor otherwise disturbed, but rather delighted, 
 and remembering to have heard her brother say that it was 
 not the fiddle, but rather the use to which it was sometimes 
 put, that religious persons had occasion to complain of, Mrs. 
 Toliver became so cordial that Baldy was soon at his ease. 
 Having gone through the rest of his repertoire, Miss Wood- 
 bridge suggested as a finale " The Walls o' Jericho," which, 
 in addition to its other excellences, might be deemed, if 
 not a strictly religious piece, as at least intended to illus- 
 trate a highly interesting portion of Scripture history. Feel- 
 ing the uselessness of attempting an accompaniment, she 
 rose from the piano and took a chair in a corner of the 
 room. Already Mrs. Toliver, who at first sat adjacent to 
 the musicians, had gradually backed until she was near 
 the door leading into the rear piazza, concluding, no doubt, 
 that she could hear at that distance with sufficient distinct- 
 ness and probably greater accuracy. As the piece pro- 
 ceeded, musical and recitative, Miss Woodbridge could not 
 but mark its effect upon the aged auditress. The only in- 
 terruption to the latter's absorbed attention was an occa- 
 sional quick glance behind, as if to be assured of her prox- 
 imity to the door, in the event of a hasty flight, and, possi- 
 
170 OLD MASK LANGSTOX: 
 
 bly, revolving in her mind if she might not from a posi- 
 tion outside be able to witness the great assault, yet save 
 harmless both herself and Polly from burial beneath those 
 walls which she foresaw might possibly be levelled with 
 the ground. But she retained her seat, frowned, screwed 
 her face from time to time ; and when the announcement of 
 the "walls a-falling!" was made, and Mr. Riddle, bending 
 far over, descended upon the lower strings as if he would 
 saw his instrument in twain, she shuddered, dropped her 
 arms, which had been resting in her lap, and seized with 
 both hands the rounds of her chair. When all was over 
 she turned to Miss Woodbridge — whose eyes and hand- 
 kerchief were wet with tears — and said, 
 
 "No wonder it make you cry. It's the awfullest thing 
 / ever heerd." 
 
 Apparently gratified that no one dear to herself had 
 been hurt in the fearful siege, Rebecca rose, and, laughing 
 heartily, ran to Mrs. Toliver and seized her hands. 
 
 "I knew you would be charmed, especially with that 
 piece." 
 
 The old lady looked up at Rebecca, gave a glance to 
 where Polly was lying, to the ceiling above, and around 
 generally, then answered, 
 
 " Yes, for one time ; but I ain't shore I could stand it 
 another time. Them horns — I didn't have no consate how 
 awful they was. No wonder they couldn't be stood." 
 
 When Baldy had gone her first remark was, 
 
 " Wonder what old Sister Catlin '11 think o' sich carrin's 
 on in a Babtis' house? For she were 'bleeged to hear 'era, 
 as everybody else, at both eends o' the town. Well, I'll 
 have to tell her that it were Miss Arbecca Woodige's beau." 
 
 "Exactly so, my dear friend; and you might add that 
 he played Scriptural as well as carnal tunes." 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S OKEEK. 1*71 
 
 " I s'posen so ; but law, Miss Arbecca, notwithunder- 
 standin' and neverotheless, they sounded to me — well — 
 devilish is the word, to come down flatfooted." 
 
 "Oh, my dear Mrs. Toliver! how you misunderstand 
 them !" 
 
 "Maybe I do, and then agin maybe I don't. But you 
 wanted to have him and his fiddle here, and Sister Quillian 
 said they wasn't no harm in it, and so — But, 'pon my 
 word, I was sort o' feared that fiddle 'd fling poor little 
 Polly into fits. Them ' Walls ' didn't come fur from doin' 
 it to me, seem like. But Polly say she liked it all power- 
 ful, and that she feel a heap better, poor little thing." 
 
 " I knew it would not hurt the dear child. If I had not, 
 I would not have thought of inviting him here." 
 
 " Oh yes, I know that. And you know anyhow better 
 'n me what to do for her." 
 
 " Not at all, my friend. But each in her own way can 
 help her." 
 
 "Jesso, I sposen. Yit you're so much more tenderer 
 ■with her than what I am. I tries to be tender, Miss Ar- 
 becca, but it jes natchelly ain't in some people to be that 
 like t' others. It come, sich as that do, natchel to yon and 
 Sister Quillian, and a right smart, in fact, with old Sister 
 Catlin. Well, well — Baldy's took his fiddle along with 
 him to Mr. Jarrell's. I shouldn't think he could go through 
 with all that agin this hot day. And, my conscience ! but 
 don't it make him sweat ! I were jes natchelly sorry for 
 him, he sweat so. But now, Miss Arbecca, you don't sup- 
 posen — does you or does you not? — that them were the 
 kind o' fuss them priests made with them horns ?" 
 
 " Oh, of course, Mrs. Toliver, this was intended as a mere 
 imaginary representation." 
 
 " Jes a appearin' like, as it were ?" 
 
172 OLD MARK LANGSTON : 
 
 " Just so." 
 
 " Well, as sich it mout not be so very fur wrong. I 
 never has heerd a ram's horn blowed — that is, not as I 
 know of, to the best of my ricollection. But ef they can 
 cavort like Baldy Riddle's fiddle — why, that's a rhyme, if 
 you take it in time ! — I ain't astonished but what a good 
 many of 'em a jumblin' all together at a time, and that, in 
 course, with the good Lord to help, could a' fotch down 
 a'most anything they mout be blowed at. Yes, I'm glad 
 I heerd 'em one time. But, Miss Arbecca, I feel like that 
 one time '11 satisfy me. And, as for me, I never 'spected to 
 live to see the fiddle a-jindin' — or, at leastways, a-makin' 
 out like it had a idee of jindin' — o' the Church." 
 
 She laughed heartily at this view of the subject, then 
 rose and went to look after the business of the household. 
 
 Chapter XXII. 
 
 MR. RIDDLE AT BARNEY JARRELL'S. 
 
 When Mr. Riddle's musical performances at Barney 
 Jarrell's were over — which, not being comparable with his 
 matinee, I need not describe — he and his host had some- 
 thing of a chat. 
 
 "I have become ^quite interested in Mr. Langston, Mr. 
 Riddle," said Barney. 
 
 " Shouldn't wonder if you did, sir," said Baldy, as if it 
 would be a joke to imagine that any one who once knew 
 Mark Langston could be otherwise. 
 
 " AJgnely life the old gentleman leads. Pity it is that 
 his dut^Lter, as they say here, left no child." 
 
 " Oh nb s ; but she died in a few months, Mr. Jarrell." 
 
 " Was it ever known here precisely where, Mr. Riddle ?" 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CEEEK. 173 
 
 On Baldy's face instantly came an expression of pain. 
 
 " No, sir !" he answered, almost fiercely ; " Kinch Duke — 
 But, Mr. Jarrell, I don't want to begin on him and the way 
 he treated Uncle Mark in his warons transactions." His 
 thin lips trembled as he said these words. Barney at once 
 changed the subject, and asked Baldy if he had ever known 
 any family by the name of Jones. 
 
 " Joneses !" answered Baldy, with somewhat of the look 
 of one who feels indignant at being suspected ignorant of 
 an axiomatic proposition or a universally admitted fact — 
 "Joneses, sir? Why, sir, people o' the name o' Jones is 
 strung along all over this country — and every tother one, I 
 expect — from Dan to Basherby. There's warous kinds of 
 'em, from blacksmiths up to doctors, lawyers, and preachers. 
 What kind o' Joneses was them your prevous desires is to 
 'quire about and know about ?" 
 
 "A young man of that name once came to Virginia, 
 from South Carolina, as he stated, married a very excellent 
 woman, and, after remaining with her for a short time, sud- 
 denly left her and never returned. The family with whom 
 he had intermarried some weeks after his departure ^noticed 
 in a North Carolina newspaper an announcement of the 
 death of a man of that name, William P. Jones, as of the 
 town in South Carolina (Winnsborough), where he claimed 
 to have resided theretofore. But all inquiries about him 
 at Winnsborough and elsewhere failed of satisfactory or 
 other intelligence." 
 
 "Didn't the feller leave no sort o' papers behind him ?" 
 
 " None that were ever found." 
 
 " About what prevous time were that?" 
 
 " Oh, many years — twenty-five or thirty, I suppose." 
 
 " Well, my gracious alive, man ! what's the use o' 'quirin' 
 about sich a Jones as that this time o' day ?" 
 
174 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 " A very apt question, Mr. Riddle. Within the last year 
 or two, however, a suspicion of foul play of some sort has 
 arisen in this family as to how this Mr. Jones was disposed 
 of. No man of that description was remembered by any 
 person to whom inquiries were put at Winnsborough, and 
 the publisher of the North Carolina paper announcing his 
 death could give no farther account than that a man, 
 stranger to him, called at his office, apparently in much dis- 
 tress, handed him the advertisement, paid for its insertion, 
 and immediately left. He had supposed that the advertise- 
 ment was of an undisputed fact, and so did not hesitate to 
 admit it. Concluding that he must have been an impostor, 
 his family ceased farther pursuit ; but within a year or so 
 past they have, as I learn, had some cause at least to ap- 
 prehend that he was foully dealt with." 
 
 " Did the feller car' off with him any o' his wife's 
 prop'ty?" 
 
 " Nothing considerable — a few hundreds of dollars, with 
 which, as he said, to purchase — some object or other." 
 
 " Thar were a prevous passel o' rascality away back in 
 them days, Mr. Jarrell, and, as to that, there's a-plenty of 
 it yit. I got no doubt thar's many a rascal o' the name o' 
 Jones ; but which one it were that went off with that 'Om- 
 an's prop'ty I, in course, knows none o' his transactions." 
 
 "Oh, sir, it was never certain that he was an impostor. 
 If he were, it was surprising that he did not consummate 
 a much greater cheat, for which he had abundant oppor- 
 tunity." 
 
 " Maybe not, Mr. Jarrell ; but it look like it to me. 
 "When a feller come about a-calling of hisself Jones, and 
 a-saying he were from a particular place, and he git married 
 to a respectable 'oman that have prop'ty, and, arfter stay- 
 ing awhile, put out, a-takin' along with him some o' that 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 175 
 
 prop'ty — little or much, much or little — and don't never 
 come back — him ner the said prop'ty — and nobody can't 
 find no sort o' papers, ner no trunk, nor not even no sad- 
 dle-bags, and nobody a-knowin' nothin' about him where 
 he said he come from, dead ner alive, I can't speak for 
 t'other people, Mr. Jarrell, but, as for me, /should a' smelt 
 rascality in the very a'r. Didn't they find no Joneses about 
 that place in South Carolina ?" 
 
 " Oh yes, but none answering the description." 
 "Umph — humph! I thought strange none o' the name 
 was thar, o' some conditions or wocations. Did you ever 
 talk with Jes Lines about that Jones ?" 
 
 "No, sir. I thought I might do so some time. The 
 old gentleman, however, tells me that his memory has be- 
 come much impaired of late." 
 
 "Become — what was your remarks, Mr. Jarrell?" 
 " Impaired — weakened by age and afflictions." 
 Baldy laughed aloud. " He a-weakenin' in his ricollec- 
 tions! If your Jones you talkin' about ever owed him 
 anything, and didn't pay it, he ain't forgot him. Jes Lines's 
 ricollections ain't weakenin' about anything it don't suit 
 him to forgit, or if it suit Kinch Duke for him not to for- 
 git it. He's always been a powerful ricollector, Jes Lines 
 have, for hisself and Kinch Duke." 
 
 "But, Mr. Kiddle, he does seem indeed to be very weak, 
 both in body and spirit." 
 
 " His body ? They ain't nothin' the marter with his 
 body, exceptin' of its a-beginnin' to be a pretty toler'ble 
 old kyarcass. It's his legs — or, leastways, one of 'em — 
 that's afflicted. His body 's all right enough. It's his legs. 
 One of 'em was kicked by a horse — well, twenty year ago, I 
 reckon it's been — and which that stopped his fast travellin'. 
 And if yon want to know how he got his kick, I'll tell yon. 
 
1"76 OLD stark langston: 
 
 He were tryin', in spite o' the dish face o' the horse he 
 were a-tradin', to make believe that he were gentle as a 
 dog, when the horse — look like jest to prove the lie on him 
 — up'd with his hind-foot, he did, and squashed his shin. 
 But he never minded that, at leastways in the keepin' or 
 makin' o' money a-tradin' and speckerlatin' transactions o' 
 one kind and another. He have made — Jes Lines have — 
 more money out o' that sore leg than any other piece o' 
 prop'ty he possessions. People used to 'spise him for his 
 little nigh cuts; when he got laid up they got to pityin' 
 him, and they let him cheat 'em more morackerlous than 
 he done before. That leg o' his'n Jes Lines think more 
 of than anything else, exceptin' of Miss Doolana." 
 
 " She seems to be a very fine young woman." 
 
 " None finer, sir. Miss Doolana Lines is a young 'oman 
 I call superfine, and by that I mean prevous fine. Took 
 arfter her mother, sir." 
 
 " I wonder she never married." 
 
 "Didn't want to, sir, I supposen. Been courted, sir, to 
 my knowledge (not me, I don't mean), and more'n once, 
 and some by what mout of been called good chances. 
 Kicked 'em sky-high. She always said she couldn't pre- 
 ford to change her conditions with the family so 'flicted 
 like. Her ma's always been weakly ; and as for old Vilet, 
 she's give out long ago, and would of been dead many a 
 year but for her young mistess takin' sich keer of her. 
 Miss Doolana knowed no man that keered anything for 
 hisself could stand it to live in the same house 'long with 
 Jes Lines, and none of 'em at home could stand it for her 
 to leave 'em. So thar it is, you see." 
 
 "Vilet — that's the old woman Miss Doolana tells us 
 about ?" 
 
 " Nary doubt of her bein' of the same, sir. Got her 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 17V 
 
 and her family many a year ago, her father did, from the 
 Dukes." 
 
 "Her whole family, Mr. Riddle?" 
 
 "All, exceptin' of a little gal, six or seven year old, or 
 sich a matter, that Mr. Duke took along with him when he 
 rnnned off to git married. They say she died in Virginny, 
 whar her mistess died. Anyhow, Mr. Duke never brung 
 her back. / — ef you keer to have my opinion about it — 
 I were never satisfied, not in my mind, I mean, that that 
 little nigger did die. For arfter her mistess died she were 
 'bleeged to be a inconwenience to him ; and as for a-partin' 
 her from her mother, Kinch Duke 'd thought no more o' 
 that than of partin' a pig or a young calf from their mam- 
 my. They sued him. for the damage ; but who brung the 
 case ? George Staples, who were a lawyer that jest natchelly 
 b'longed to old Am Duke, Kinch's father, and he said he 
 settled it by Mr. Duke a-payin' half o' the damages, his fee, 
 and cost of suit. Thar war a good deal o' talk among the 
 neighbors about the hardness on the little gal's parrents, 
 'specially her mammy, and I always weren't clear in my 
 mind but what they knocked up the case — old Am and 
 Staples — special to make people keep their mouths shet. 
 But that's me, Mr. Jarrell, nobody else; and if I'm right, 
 Godamighty ain't a-goin' to let it drap for good." 
 
 " I have heard it said that — indeed, Mr. Duke told me so 
 himself — that he had often wished to assist the old gentle- 
 man, and that the latter had declined his offers, except to 
 remain in the house which, he says, yet belongs to him. 
 The old man himself," added Barney, in some haste, "spoke 
 of Mr. Duke to me in terms as if he pitied him, upon his 
 return from Virginia after his wife's death, because he 
 seemed in such sore distress." 
 
 " Mr. Jarrell," said Baldy, smiling, or rather grinning, with 
 12 
 
178 OLD MAKE LAMGSTOSr: 
 
 the disgust he felt, "as I told you, I don't like to talk 
 about the transactions of Mr. Kinsey Duke in gener'l, and 
 'special o' them with Uncle Mark. Not that I'm in special 
 afeard o' Mr. Duke, because my opinion is he always know 
 what I think of him. But a man never makes nothin', and, 
 strickly speakin', it ain't never adzactly right, to be talkirH 
 about a man 'ithout aieller can prove what he's a-insinooat- 
 in' agin him. I've often wished that Uncle Mark had of let 
 me go to Firginny and see if I couldn't strike the trail o' 
 Kinch Duke, and foller him up from the time he married 
 his daughter ontell — " 
 
 Here Baldy rose, drew out his handkerchief, blew his 
 nose with a sonorous blast, sat down again, and resumed : 
 
 "Uncle Mark wouldn't hear to it, and he took Kinch 
 Duke's words for everything. It weren't none o' my busi- 
 ness, and I let 'em propound theirselves as they wanted to. 
 Uncle Mark, he were for movin' from the house. But I 
 had — Mr. Jarrell, with my own ears, and not nobody else's 
 — I had heerd, over and over, I had — I heerd old Ab 
 Semmes say that that house were Uncle Mark's enduring 
 of his lifetime, and so did others of the neighbors hear 
 him say so ; and me and them heerd him say so on his 
 death-bed; and now which you know, Mr. Jarrell, from ex- 
 peunce that a man, and 'special a man that ain't been no 
 professor of religion, but have bet on horse-races and chick- 
 en-fightin' — sich a man as that he ain't apt — not, I mean, 
 when he see Death a-comin' right straight at him with a 
 sharp stick — he ain't apt to be studyin' about a-inwentin' 
 o' lies, and 'special on sich people as Uncle Mark Langston. 
 Indeed, I tell you, sir, that people used to say that one rea- 
 son made him make his will, a-leavin' o' so much prop'ty 
 to Uncle Mark's family, and a-prowidin' for Uncle Mark 
 hisself, were because he wanted the benefit — you mind me, 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 179 
 
 Mr. Jarrell — when he died and got to knockin' out in the 
 cold agin the gates o' Heaven; and they were a-doubtin' 
 about the lettin' of him in arfter his Gallio-like case — a-bet- 
 tin' on horse-racin' and chicken-fightin', and the actil raisin' 
 o' race-colts and fightin'-chickens, and playin' keards, and 
 sech — for he were a perfec' old gall-buster on keards ; and 
 as for seb'n-up, blamed ef it didn't 'pear like the Jack was 
 afeard to go 'long with anybody else when he were settin' 
 at the table, or at leastways he were his favorite, and — well, 
 there weren't nothin' big to say in the funil sermon about 
 him, a-bein' of jes sich a man as he were, and a-never goin' 
 to meetin', not even of a Sunday, exceptin' to set out o' 
 doors at the meetin'-house and talk and talk, for he were 
 the conwersenest man we had among us. And as for the 
 helpin' o' poor people, well, sir, I tell you now, Mr. Jarrell, 
 that even the kernel — Kernel Porter I'm now a-talkin' about 
 — he — and he'll tell you so hisself — never beat old Ab Sem- 
 mes at that ; and which old Ab used to say that reason why 
 he never went to meetin' were because the preachers had so 
 much everlastin' talk about horse-racin', and chicken-fight- 
 in', and playin' keards ('special seb'n-up), and never much 
 as scacely opened their mouths about bein' ontrue to their 
 wives, workin' their niggers and mules to death, and helpin' 
 of poor people in their sickness and 'flictions ; and which 
 some people said that the reason he- talked so were because 
 he come of a people that was Cath'lics, and which they 
 keerd nothing about grace, nor the erlatin' of a good ex- 
 peunce ; and if a feller, when onst he had grace, could fall 
 from it or hang on to it like Death to a dead nigger, so to 
 speak, as the sayin' is, and he were a kind o' heathen, like 
 them that worshes up of idles, and plays thunder, and turns 
 up Jack in gener'l, but which, to my opinion — I'm a-speak- 
 in' for myself and Uncle Mark, because I've freckwent 
 
180 OLD MAEK LANGSTON: 
 
 heerd him say the same, and that old Ab Semmes were one 
 o' the best men — I'm a-talkin' now, Mr. Jarrel], o' men out- 
 side o' the Church — he were one o' the best men that ever 
 lived er died, and — well, blame my buttons ! ef I hain't 
 forgot whar I war in the tellin' o' his transactions — but 
 which the old feller, when he got to be sorter out o' his 
 head, he ast Uncle Mark to pray for him when he were 
 dead, and which Uncle Mark knew it weren't worth his 
 while to be prayin' for a tree arfter it were cut down, but 
 which, my opinion is, Uncle Mark have been a-'memberin' 
 of old Ab in his pra'rs ever sence, some way or 'nother, 
 though he — that is, Uncle Mark I'm a-talkin' about now — 
 ain't a man that in gener'l runs about and tells people what 
 he's a-prayin' about, ner who fur, but which — " 
 
 Here Baldy paused and looked around, as if conscious 
 that he ought at least to afford Barney time to gather 
 up his thoughts. He then proceeded : 
 
 " Well, as I were a-sayin', Uncle Mark knowed that there 
 were his house endurin' o' his lifetime, and the Dukes 
 didn't have the face to try to turn him out o' that. And 
 thar, Mr. Jarrell, is the grandest man, and the prevousest 
 man, not even a-exceptin' o' Kernel Porter hisself, and 
 which he'll tell you the same, he's the grandest man that 
 ever hopped over a bush — not, you understand, that I mean 
 to say that Uncle Mark, as I ever knowed of, ever went 
 about and made a practice o' goin' about of hoppin' over 
 bushes jes for the fun o' the thing ; and I'm now a-speakin' 
 in a — ah, sentimental and transactions pint o' view ; but 
 yit he's a man that wants nothin' and '11 have nothin' from 
 nobody 'ithout it come 'cordin' to the scale. He git his 
 timber from the kernel's land, but the kernel have to let 
 him do some o' the patchin' o' his wagon-wheels, and his 
 keart-wheels, and plough-stocks, or else he know Uncle 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 181 
 
 Mark 'd git dissatisfied. Ef, Mr. Jarrell — ef Mr. Duke had 
 of come at Uncle Mark right, and a-showed Uncle Mark 
 plain up and down he wanted to help him, Uncle Mark 'd 
 a-never stood back — that is, I means, from a modert help. 
 But Uncle Mark have cut his «ye-teeth before Kinch Duke 
 were born, and he knowed what's what and who's who. 
 He knowed Mr. Duke and his old father jes natchel wanted 
 the prop'ty, and he wanted no bother or no particklar bother 
 along with 'em, and he let 'em have it ; and when he told 
 you he were sorry for Kinch Duke he told the truth, for 
 Kinch Duke have more 'casion for Uncle Mark bein' of 
 sorry for him than Uncle Mark have for Kinch Duke of 
 bein' of sorry for him, only it don't look right for people 
 to set theirselves up for doin' what they don't and of bein' 
 what they ain't, and anybody welcome for tellin' Kinch 
 Duke I said so. As for your man Jones," continued Bar- 
 ney, rising to depart, " people o' that name is scattered 
 along, like I told you, everywhars, from Dan to Basherby, 
 and I hain't no doubt thar's ben a many a white-livered 
 scounderl among 'em, jes like they is among other people. 
 For it take a heap a kind o' people to make up a world, 
 Mr. Jarrell. I found out that long ago." 
 
 Having time for a five-mile ride and a chat with Lewis 
 Sanders, Baldy, after leaving the Jarrells, instead of going 
 directly home, rode to the store and alighted. 
 
 " How did you get through, Baldy ?" inquired Lewis. 
 
 " Magnificent. The old lady Toliver skeered me a little 
 at first, but I think me and Miss Nancy got the best of her 
 at last. You ought to saw her, Lewis, when I come down 
 on them ' Walls o' Jericho ;' for, a-knowin' of her predi- 
 gices, I were determ'ed to show her that the fiddle were 
 as much agin sich bad places as rams' horns was. The old 
 lady backed, she did, agin the door, and one time I didn't 
 
182 OLD MAKE LANGSTOX: 
 
 know but what she were goin' to 'treat to the back-yard. 
 She 'lowed 'twas awful, them walls a-fallin' in that kind o' 
 style, and it wouldn't be her desires, she said, to go through 
 sioh a skene not nary 'nother time. You see, Lewis, it's 
 mighty few people — and 'specially old people — that can 
 stand the — ah — heartrendin' pint of view, I may say — that 
 me and Miss Nancy take o' them walls, nohow, and them 
 a-fallin' to the fuss and rumpus o' rams' horns. She ast 
 me to come agin, and play along with Miss Woodige, and 
 she say she like that the best when we was a-jindin' to- 
 gether and a-seein' who could git through first. She's evi- 
 dent a-melted down about the fiddle since Miss Woodige 
 come, and 'special because Miss Woodige is so good to 
 Polly. The poor little thing wanted to see me and Miss 
 Nancy ; and, Lewis, it mighty nigh made me cry to see that 
 child a-pickin' at the strings, and a-sayin' she were a heap 
 better. But she — that's Miss Woodige — told me at the 
 gate that Polly were monstous weak and a-gettin' of weak- 
 er ; and she ast me if I had saw you lately." 
 
 " You miserable fellow ! Why didn't you tell me that 
 before ?" 
 
 "Because I hadn't got to that part o' my tale. She 
 never ast me till I got to the gate, and even then she didn't 
 'pear like she keerd whether I'd saw you or not; but yit, 
 a-knowin' we was sort o' acquaintances, she jes ast in a gen- 
 eral way, like she'd a' ast about the weather — and which that 
 were hot as blazes, and I don't 'member as I ever sweat as 
 much, though 'pear like she were cool as a cowcumber." 
 
 " She didn't say anything about my taking her to Locust 
 Grove ?" 
 
 " No. What ! You goin' thar with her?" 
 
 " Yes ; I am to take her there next Saturday in the 
 colonel's gig." 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CEEEK. 183 
 
 " Then farwell, world I" 
 
 " What do you mean ? and what are you laughing at ?" 
 
 "Struck, by Juberter! struck! I thought I see it pre- 
 vous ; but it hadn't broke out farly on you. Well, I don't 
 blame you, Lewis. She's a star-gazer. All I got to say to 
 you is to mind your hind sights, and don't pull your trig- 
 ger too soon, and till you've got 'em on a line with your 
 fore 'uns, and can see cler how to draw your bead." 
 
 "That talk is beyond me, Baldy." 
 
 "Never mind. You'll ketch up with it, and is now 
 a-gainin' on it rapid. Well, Lewis, sich as that 'pends 
 most on luck. If you can't dodge it — and my opinion is 
 it's too late for you to try to dodge it now — try to have 
 good-luck at the offstart. Ef you can start with good-luck 
 the chances is with you. I went to Jarrell's. What a con- 
 versanal feller he is, to be sure ! Before I knowed what I 
 were about I got to talkin' about Kinch Duke. Look like 
 the feller want to know somethin' about him. I ruthcr 
 fight Kinch Duke any day than have to talk about him. 
 But Jarrell was a-sayin' of how sorry Kinch said he were 
 because Uncle Mark wouldn't let him help him, and I had 
 to let out on him, a desateful son of a gun ! And I some 
 ruther not hear his name mentioned, and 'specially 'long 
 with Uncle Mark's. It's too late for him to be a-pretendin' 
 that he want or ever did want to help him. Well, well, 
 old boy" — rising to go— "I wish you mighty well. It'll 
 sip'rate us if you make the trip. But that's all right." 
 Then his eyes grew moist. 
 
 "Don't say that, Baldy," began Lewis. "You know 
 me well enough — " 
 
 " Oh, the dickence ! It's all right. You mind what I 
 tell you, and try to have good-luck at the offstart." 
 
 He immediately went for his horse and rode away. 
 
184 OLD MAEK LANGSTON; 
 
 Chapter XXIII. 
 
 WOODBRIDGE AND BARNEY JAERELL AT THE FORMER'S 
 NEW ROOMS. 
 
 The external attitude of the Dukes toward Lucius Wood- 
 bridge had not materially changed since his removal to Hal- 
 lier's. Yet he knew them too well to doubt of their resent- 
 ment. But he was securely established in the good opin- 
 ions of the citizens generally, and being, withal, a man of 
 courage and integrity, he was without fear of harmful re- 
 sults from conduct that had been induced by considera- 
 tions of what he owed to Mr. Duke as well as Barney and 
 himself. 
 
 Kinsey Duke, indeed, did resent in his heart what such a 
 man as he regards as an injury. It was his candid belief 
 that Lucius Woodbridge was mainly indebted to him for 
 his prosperity. Did not the town itself owe its founda- 
 tion and its name to his family ? Had he not donated the 
 land for the academy, and contributed far above all others 
 to its erection ? Was he not and had he not always been 
 president of the board of trustees by whom Woodbridge 
 had been brought there? Had not the latter lived in his 
 house during all these years, getting the benefit of his pro- 
 tection, influence, and counsels, paying the while only a 
 nominal stipend for board? Such a man as Kinsey Duke 
 feels that he need not seek far for additional reasons to 
 entertain the deepest resentment against ingratitude. 
 
 He bad yet another cause for hostility. The intimacy 
 
185 
 
 between Woodbridge and Jarrell, though its extent was un- 
 known to him and indeed to all others, had begun to dis- 
 turb him somewhat; not that he. was apprehensive of what 
 either might attempt. A courageous man was Kinsey Duke, 
 with much of artfulness and caution beneath a bluff exte- 
 rior. Barney Jarrell somehow was an enemy to his peace, 
 especial!}' now that Barney had become interested in Mark 
 Langston, and he resented the growing friendship of these 
 two young men for each other. Brave as he was, yet was 
 he a man who, if he saw the superior importance of secret 
 over open warfare, never hesitated to employ it. Other 
 thoughts had come into his mind lately touching Jesse 
 Lines, and his and Jesse's common interests. Mr. Duke, 
 never a cheerful man, was beginning to feel that he was 
 growing to be a very unhappy one. But the sense of the 
 necessity of combating enemies of every kind in all ways 
 that were possible served to support a spirit that, if it 
 should contemplate the possibility of yielding, would have 
 become abjectly miserable. The very need he felt of hold- 
 ing Jesse Lines to his interests, and the conciliation indis- 
 pensable thereto, whetted the spur of his hostility to all 
 enemies, real or imaginary. He brooded in silence. Know- 
 ing the affection between Woodbridge and his sister, believ- 
 ing that but for her coming he might have retained an in- 
 fluence much of which now seemed lost, he resolved to 
 begin with her, and get the town rid of her as soon as 
 possible, and he believed that her removal would open the 
 way naturally and easily to that of her brother. 
 
 Cosy times the young men began to have at Hallier's. 
 At this hotel, famous for its good cheer, Barney, small as. 
 were his means, often dropped in to supper, after which the 
 two would repair to the chamber. of the school-master and 
 chat behind their cigars. Barney — a true Virginian — loved 
 
186 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 the weed, was a judge of it, and would have the best. The 
 Vermonter was a new hand at this business, but he was 
 coming on satisfactorily. 
 
 "He will hurt you if he can," said Barney. "I have 
 not a doubt of that." 
 
 " I suppose so. But that is neither here nor there. You 
 get no more intelligence for your case ?" 
 
 " No, except that Mr. Kiddle, who paid me a visit on 
 Saturday, suspects fraud in the case of damages against 
 Mr. Duke. If he knew anything he would be glad to 
 tell it, for his repugnance to Mr. Duke is as intense as his 
 affection for Mr. Langston." 
 
 "You let him know nothing of your affairs, eh?" 
 
 " Not at all." 
 
 " That is right. He is too impulsive to be trusted with a 
 secret. A most excellent man, and the bravest of the brave, 
 they tell me, but it will not do to attempt counselling with 
 him. Mr. Lines is the man for you to conciliate, Mr. Jarrell." 
 
 Barney took from his mouth his cigar and laid it on the 
 table, carefully placing the fire end beyond the edge, but 
 made no answer. The other continued : 
 
 " As I have often said to you, that man knows more of 
 the history of Mr. Duke than any one else. I am satisfied 
 of that, from the fact that Mr. Duke is the only man that 
 visits him frequently, and as if he felt bound to do so. And 
 then I suspect it from his, to me, evident avoidance of talk- 
 ing about Mr. Duke with the same freedom which he em- 
 ploys when others' names are mentioned in his presence. 
 There is a man for you to cultivate, as sure as we sit here 
 together." 
 
 " Mr. Woodbridge," said Barney, resuming his cigar, and 
 puffing at deliberate intervals, "that may be so. I have 
 sometimes suspected that Mr. Lines knows of matters which 
 
187 
 
 Mr. Duke might not like to be divulged. Yet I do not see 
 how I can ever attempt to press Mr. Lines in my case. "We 
 are close neighbors, you know, and I have been visiting at 
 his house upon terms of neighborhood before I entertained 
 such a thought. Then his daughter has taken a most gen- 
 erous interest in Amanda. If Mr. Lines knows anything 
 of Mr. Duke's affairs that would concern me he must have 
 known it for a long time, and his motives for withhold- 
 ing it from the public so long may have come from re- 
 gard to his own interests as well as those of Mr. Duke. His 
 knowledge, if it exists, must be of a kind that, if at all, 
 ought to have been divulged long ago." 
 
 Lucius Woodbridge now laid down his cigar, clasped his 
 hands, and looked upon the floor in the manner of a man 
 who, if he had anything special to say, was debating wheth- 
 er he would not postpone it. 
 
 Barney, after a pause, continued : 
 
 " Whatever Mr. Dnke has done in the matters that I am 
 anxious to see unravelled — that Mr. Lines knows of, that is 
 — I suspect the latter to have been party to. Now, the state 
 of my feelings toward his daughter is this : after the un- 
 restrained and peculiarly kind visitations between her and 
 my family, I cannot see how I am to get my consent even 
 to try to obtain from her father information that, if gener- 
 ally known, might be hurtful to himself — at least, to make 
 such effort without avowal of my purpose." 
 
 "I see— I see." 
 
 " The case, Mr. Woodbridge, is, to my mind, like that 
 of yours was whilst you were an inmate of Mr. Duke's 
 house." 
 
 " It seems so, indeed, Jarre]]," said Woodbridge, cordially. 
 " Give me your hand. I admire the delicacy that prompts 
 your conduct. We shall have to ' hasten slowly,' and let 
 
J. SB OLD MAKE LANGSTON : 
 
 results develop themselves. I don't know how you are 
 about such things, but I am one who believes 
 
 ' There's a divinity that shapes our ends, 
 Rough hew them how we will,' 
 
 and that in your case the ends shaped are tending toward 
 consummation." 
 
 "When Barney had gone Woodbridge reflected long. 
 Other confidences were between him and Barney. But an 
 able lawyer and prudent counsellor does not always com- 
 municate to his client all the thoughts touching his case 
 that arise in his mind. As he rose to undress for bed he 
 clasped the fingers of his right hand together, and, bringing 
 his fist down upon the table, exclaimed, 
 
 " Impossible ! The woman was right !" 
 
 Chapter XXIV. 
 
 TALKS BETWEEN BROTHER AND SISTER ON A DELICATE 
 SUBJECT. 
 
 Lucius Woodbridge and his sister had always been af- 
 fectionately fond of each other, he anxiously so, because of 
 his apprehension that her religious tenets might hinder so 
 favorable a marriage as she deserved from her most excel- 
 lent worth otherwise. While he participated in the gen- 
 eral esteem in which Lewis Sanders was held, whom he 
 had grown to know rather well, yet of late he had felt 
 some anxiety on account of the recent pronounced atten- 
 tions bestowed by that young man upon Rebecca, and the 
 pleasure they seemed to impart. The possibilities he felt 
 in himself, now that after several years of residence in the 
 State he had laid up a considerable sum, and become ac- 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 189 
 
 quainted with fitting fields for energetic endeavor, led him 
 to know that, in spite of her faith, she could be introduced 
 after a while to a much larger acquaintance with the lead- 
 ing social circles, in one of which he hoped she might make 
 the connection he so affectionately and anxiously desired. 
 On this subject, however, he had not spoken to her except 
 in general and jocose terms. But when he grew to suspect 
 that she was not entirely indifferent to Lewis he thought 
 he ought to impart to her the hopes he had been in- 
 dulging on her behalf. They often walked together into 
 the woods that lay around the village, especially those par- 
 ticularly dense and lovely that extended for miles, with oc- 
 casional cleared fields among, on the northern side of the 
 road leading westward, belonging, with thousands of acres 
 of others similar, to Mr. Duke. Both, especially the sister, 
 delighted in these woods, whose sweet influences could be 
 felt even before entering their shades. The varying times 
 of blossoming among trees and shrubs of many kinds kept 
 them sweet to look into and to smell from St. Valentine's 
 till past midsummer. Among the greater growth the 
 generous soil reared lesser innumerable — wild plum, haw, 
 crab-apple, dogwood, red-bud, black-gum, sweet-gum, wal- 
 nut, maple, honeysuckle, bubby-blossom. With the per- 
 fume of these and the great hickories, cucumbers, and pop- 
 lars these woods would be so surcharged that the lightest 
 zephyr on spring and summer nights would waft a por- 
 tion even into the smallest bed-chamber in the village. 
 Low on the ground grew the humble things that kept to 
 themselves their little treasures, and waited to be sought 
 for by their own especial lovers. There was the heart- 
 leaf, that lay flat among the leaves, its delicate, livid urns 
 (called sweet- bottles by country folk) more exquisite in 
 shape than most exquisite of Grecian work, extending their 
 
190 OLD maek langston: 
 
 dainty mouths just above the ground to drink the air 
 needed for the dark purple leaves that, when bruised (but 
 only then), diffused an odor like that which comes from 
 balmy unguents for the wounded. There were the an- 
 gelica, and the sweet calamus, on the verge of the brook- 
 let, whose thick-jointed roots, when meeting the air, sent 
 out their pungent sweetness far and wide beyond the spot 
 of exhumation from their moist beds. There was the 
 horse-mint, with its bright crimson flowers. There bases 
 of vast oaks and antique bowlders of granite and felspar 
 shone in various sheen, clothed with lichens from palest 
 green to brightest red. Hereamong the brother and sister 
 often strolled and communed of the things that such love 
 as they had for each other and such memories as were 
 common to both suggested. 
 
 In one of these excursions this afternoon they had seated 
 themselves beneath a willow-oak, on the bank of a small 
 stream that meandered leisurely through the gently undu- 
 lating ground on its way to the creek. They had been 
 talking of the fairness of that region in fertility, landscape, 
 climate, and a population rapidly advancing in numbers 
 and culture. Then the brother said, 
 
 " I think we shall make our home in this State, Rebecca. 
 My mind hesitates between this county and the one above 
 it, or one among those farther west." 
 
 "/," said the sister, "think I should be satisfied with 
 this, if I were to conclude to make any part of Georgia 
 my home." 
 
 "But you have seen only this, my sister. We should 
 examine all before making our choice. I have made some 
 five or six thousand dollars. That is quite enough to begin 
 with in the practice of the law. To you I say that there 
 I expect to succeed. As a member of the legal profession 
 
A tale or duke's ceeek. 19i 
 
 I can introduce you to a much more extended circle of 
 cultivated acquaintance than you have here." 
 
 She carried in her hand a twig plucked from a young 
 hickory. She held the leaves to her face and breathed 
 their aromatic smell in silence. 
 
 " Would you not like to meet, among others, some of 
 the young men of the Bar? I have seen some that I am 
 sure you would admire. They are handsome, bright, manly, 
 and some of them apparently of great promise." 
 
 " There were and are such in our dear old Vermont, 
 Lucius," she answered, in a tone as if implying that, if she 
 must have the society of promising young men, there was 
 no State where they could be found in greater plenty than 
 their own. 
 
 " That is true, Rebecca, and one at least of the offers 
 made you there I thought you would have accepted." 
 
 " I suppose I know to whom you allude, Lucius. The 
 only difficulty was, that I did not love him." 
 
 The simplicity with which these words were said made 
 him who was only a brother think what a treasure she 
 would be to the man whom she could really love. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " I know ; though he is handsome, of 
 excellent habits and family, and getting a fine practice. 
 They say he has lately declined the judgeship. However," 
 he added, after a slight pause, " you were then, and indeed 
 are still, scarcely old enough to decide upon making a 
 matrimonial connection." 
 
 " If I had chosen to accept the man you were alluding 
 to just now, Lucius, would you have considered my youth 
 as a bar — at least to an engagement?" Then, raising the 
 twig she held, she playfully swept the edges of its leaves, 
 across his face. 
 
 This was all that was then said upon the subject of her 
 
192 OLD MAKK LANGSTON: 
 
 interest in marriageable young men. The brother, in the 
 fullness of confidence, respected her apparent wish to dis- 
 continue the conversation, and forthwith led to other topics. 
 Lewis Sanders became more constant in his attentions. 
 Woodbridge treated him with politeness, but with a re- 
 serve that indicated plainly, at least to the suitor, hostility. 
 This reserve was met correspondingly by Lewis. Recog- 
 nizing the rights of others, he felt it to be his duty to 
 guard his own. He could not but feel that the family of 
 Miss Woodbridge must fear an alliance with one regarding 
 whose origin there were uncertainties that made it doubtful, 
 even if it had been honorable. Never as now had he been 
 so anxious to have this mystery resolved. Already he had 
 determined to reinstitute inquiries which during twenty 
 years had been suspended, and he had thought to restrain 
 both his feeling and its avowal until after such inquiries 
 were made. But, first, he had almost no hope from their 
 results ; then, as it ever is with the first ardent love of a 
 man, at whatever age, he found that he was not able to 
 control either his heart or his words. Lewis reflected thus : 
 " In such matters is it not at last the individual ? Is it not 
 I myself whom she is to consider ? If I can make myself 
 agreeable to her, what boots it to go searching for images 
 of ancestors ? In this country he makes the best and most 
 honorable career who makes it by his own energies, and 
 toils, and — yes, by his own sufferings. My father, for his 
 own sake, thought fit to cast me away. For my own sake 
 I would not go to him if I knew where he was to be found, 
 unless I could know that what he did in my case was to 
 avoid in another's a greater wrong than the abandonment 
 of his own helpless offspring. Whatever I am worth in 
 anybody's estimation, I am so without the aid or influence 
 or recognition of my family. If I could win this girl's 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 193 
 
 affections by its becoming known that my family connec- 
 tions were good, or even honorable, I claim myself entitled 
 to them as it is; and I mean to try for them upon that 
 single claim. If I am rejected — as I expect, or, at least, 
 fear — let it be so. It will be an honest endeavor, and 
 an honest man need not be ashamed of failure in such a 
 case." 
 
 Such and similar were his reflections after the return from 
 Locust Grove, whither he had escorted her. At his next 
 call he made his avowal, without allusion of any kind to 
 other than his individual respect and devotion. This avow- 
 al was tendered after he had risen to take his leave. There 
 was a tremor in his voice when he requested that, unless 
 her answer was ready, or she could foresee what it would 
 be, she would take such time for considering as she might 
 desire. She said nothing ; so, shaking hands as usual, they 
 parted. 
 
 A week afterward Lucius Woodbridge and his sister, after 
 the dismissal of the school, walked together through the 
 academy grove, and seated themselves on a bench near the 
 church well. 
 
 "I want to have another talk with you, Lucius," said 
 Kebecca, " on the subject we chatted about somewhat the 
 evening we were in Mr. Duke's woods. I could not say 
 then what I can now — that Mr. Sanders has made me a 
 proposal of marriage." 
 
 She spoke calmly, without embarrassment. Her brother 
 did not instantly answer. He looked for a while sadly at 
 the church in which he worshipped ; then, casting his eyes 
 toward the meadow which, beginning almost abruptly 
 ■within a few rods of where they sat, extended far to the 
 south-east, he sighed. 
 
 " I have not answered him yet," she added. 
 13 
 
194 OLD mabk langston: 
 
 " Then you are hesitating, Eebecca ?" he answered, turn- 
 ing to her. 
 
 " I am considering, Lucius." 
 
 He took her hand. 
 
 " Eebecca, I cannot tell you all of what you are to me — 
 how dear, how sustaining to all my endeavors, how closely 
 joined in all my hopes. The very difference of our relig- 
 ious faiths, I believe, has made you dearer to me, because, 
 for that reason — so it appears to me — more needful of a 
 brother's love and counsels. Then I have doted upon your 
 gifts — how they have been developed, with what ease, with- 
 out art or effort, you make them known to all whom you 
 meet. My hopes of you, indeed, my sister, have been very 
 high, in spite of the difference in our religious convic- 
 tions." 
 
 Again he looked longingly toward the church. She 
 knew he was thinking of how fortunate a marriage she 
 could make, if she would resign her faith and let it con- 
 form to that of a large majority of the leading families of 
 this portion of the State. Neither in word nor in conduct 
 had he ever intimated his wish that she might do so. She 
 understood the sadness that was sympathizing with that he 
 believed to be in her own heart from the sense of exclusion 
 from the best opportunities of other young women, and, if 
 possible, she loved him more for this added evidence of his 
 affection. 
 
 " Eebecca !" he said, suddenly, with unwonted animation, 
 " I believe, as it is, that you might marry into as good a 
 family as this whole State can show, however you may re- 
 gard a family as good, in wealth, political power, or social 
 rank." 
 
 They were sitting hand-in-hand. Laying her disengaged 
 hand upon his shoulder, she said, 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CHEEK. 195 
 
 " Lucius, whatever I have been and atn to you, you have 
 been and are more to me. Your love, your example, your 
 encouraging words, since I was a little child, have made me 
 strive to mate myself worthy of them and you. As for 
 marriage, you know that that has not been seriously in my 
 thoughts. I gave up my intention to go into a religious 
 order, partly because I believed I might be useful to yon, 
 but mainly because, after many consultations with my con- 
 fessor at St. Alban's, he convinced me that the life of a 
 religieuse was not my vocation. After this conviction I 
 have been thinking it probable that I should marry; for 
 in this country, so boastful of its freedom (I do not say 
 without cause), outside of the Church or marriage there is 
 little for women to pursue with animated hope. Especially 
 is this the case, my dear brother, with one like me, whose 
 religious faith, firmly set as it is as this vast oak under 
 whose shade we now sit, differs so widely from that of 
 those who are unquestionably the best of this Georgia so- 
 ciety. I am as one living not in her native country, and 
 debarred from naturalization to the most beneficent priv- 
 ileges of her adopted home. Bat I should feel myself 
 bound to be content with those accorded me, and, but for 
 one thing that I have discovered since I have been in this 
 village, I do not know but that I would be." She paused, 
 and looked fondly into his eyes. < 
 
 " "What can that be, my child ?" said her brother. 
 
 " It is this, Lucius — that you and Harriet Quillian love 
 each other." 
 
 His face, usually pale, became flushed ; yet he said not a 
 word. 
 
 " Yes," she continued ; " she knows not of your love, and 
 until now you knew not of hers. This probably was best 
 for both — for her certainly. Now, my dear brother, if you 
 
196 OLD mark langston: 
 
 and she should marry, what would become of me ? Lovely 
 as Harriet is, sweet, pious, worthy of your deepest, manliest 
 love, she will be found more than sufficient for all your 
 needs, and I — and I — " She smiled, but tears were in 
 her eyes. 
 
 He rose, and walked up and down before her as she sat 
 several times. Pausing in front of her, he said, in the low 
 bass tones of one of the most impressive and musical of 
 voices, 
 
 " Rebecca, I did not suppose that any but God knew 
 the feeling that I have for Harriet Quillian. I must have 
 been imprudent, while I have sought to be most circum- 
 spect. As for what you say of her feeling for me, I can- 
 not but believe you are mistaken. Let that be as it may, 
 why should the thought of it afiect the consideration you 
 have for yourself? Why should it impel you to a hasty 
 conclusion regarding your own settlement?" 
 
 " My dear brother," she answered, " I would not attribute 
 any but happiest results to the loves of such as you and 
 Harriet Quillian. For you I rejoice, as may those who love 
 best that dear girl, in the prospect of the meeting, which 
 to me seems as certain as that of two rapidly converging 
 streams. How I may have felt but for this I cannot say, for 
 nobody, especially no woman, foresees what her conduct will 
 be in — in certain contingencies. If you and Harriet marry 
 each other, as I believe you will, while I shall be sure of los- 
 ing none of the affection you have for me now, yet I shall 
 not seem so necessary to you. That will be as it ought. 
 A man like you, Lucius, needs the higher inspiration that 
 comes from a love stronger than a sister's; and when that is 
 imparted your sister will owe it to you, if not to herself, to 
 seek, or at least to await, the offering of other ties." 
 
 " Admit this to be true, Rebecca. My fondest hope 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 197 
 
 about you has been independently of myself — that you 
 might make a happy marriage. And it is to this end that, 
 less for my sake than yours, I had determined to remove 
 where our intercourse with cultured society will be more 
 extensive. I have been anticipating much for you, Rebec- 
 ca, from this change." 
 
 " Well, brother, God shapes the destinies of those who 
 serve Him in fear and love. But, if I may prescribe of 
 what sort must be the man whom I am to marry, he must 
 be one whom for himself alone I can love more than all 
 the world — more than you, than myself. Even in such a 
 case I should require to have the fullest assurance that, as 
 always heretofore, I should be hereafter unmolested in the 
 exercise of my religious faith." 
 
 " Such an understanding, Eebecca, could surely be had 
 with any honorable man." 
 
 "Perhaps. But the other condition must pre-exist. I 
 know, dear Lucius, what have been your thoughts and am- 
 bitions regarding me. I know what you have believed I 
 might do and become if, following our father's faith, I 
 would enter yonder building and kneel and worship by 
 your side. I know, also, what is your belief in possibilities 
 in spite of my declining, as you have been sure I must do. 
 But, Lucius, my heart — it is at last my own heart that must 
 know its most needful wants. I would rather die than be 
 married where my heart could not confidently expect to find 
 the gratification of these wants. Sit down, Lucius — there. 
 Until lately '' — and now the white upon her cheek began 
 to redden — " I have believed that I should never marry — 
 that my best, most effectual, most pleasing work, after the 
 discharge of my religious duties, would be to co-operate in 
 your work, married or unmarried as you might be, and do 
 what I could to advance your interest and happiness. But, 
 
198 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 Lucius " — and now the red came rapidly and burned her 
 ■whole face — " lately I have been feeling differently. I have 
 been conscious of a feeling like that which led our mother- 
 to take our father to her heart — a feeling of which, per- 
 haps, I ought to be and would be ashamed, but — " Then 
 she bowed her head upon his breast. 
 
 " But that it is a feeling, my darling sister, which is as nat- 
 ural as the growth of the trees and the worship of God ; 
 ay, and as innocent. There, now, lift up your head and 
 look at me. Well, my dear, every one knows better than 
 another one's own heart — what it desires, what it needs. 
 This feeling has grown far stronger in you than I suspected. 
 Yet you say you are considering — only considering." 
 
 " Yes, brother ; I am considering for you, for myself, 
 and for Mr. Sanders." 
 
 " That is the order you put the three in, eh ?" he asked, 
 playfully. 
 
 " Indeed it is." 
 
 " I may expect its reversal erelong, I apprehend, or at 
 least an exchange of position of Mr. Sanders and yourself ; 
 for you will probably insist upon keeping your old brother 
 before yourself as long as possible." 
 
 "And if I did not—" 
 
 " That will do. Has Mr. Sanders said anything about 
 his family ?" 
 
 " Not one syllable," she answered, firmly. " I waited to 
 see if he would, but he did not." Then her eyes dilated. 
 " Lucius, I do not know what he suspected his silence on 
 that subject might lead to, but I certainly admired him the 
 more for observing it." 
 
 " Why so ?" 
 
 " Because it convinced me that he felt as I do — that mat- 
 ters of that kind belong to individuals, and not to the acci- 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CKEEK. 199 
 
 dents that accompany and surround them. If he had shown 
 that he believed the uncertainties regarding his origin mod- 
 ified the value of his offer, that might have done so. As it 
 was, I at least respect him the more for his silence, and 
 regard him, for its sake, as the truer, braver, better man. 
 Don't you ?" 
 
 " I do, Rebecca," he answered, after a moment's silence. 
 " Nevertheless, I did hope — But there is time enough to 
 consider. Let us pray to be assisted to consider well. T 
 know you will. I also will try. Several things have 
 weighed on my mind lately, which, I fear, have made me 
 less punctual and recollected in my religious duties than I 
 ought to have been. I have become much interested in 
 our friends down yonder." 
 
 " I have noticed that Mr. Jarrell often comes to see you. 
 Is there anything very special in the object of his visits ?" 
 
 "Yes; but I cannot speak of them yet, even to you." 
 
 They rose and walked slowly up the street. It was long 
 before allusion was again made to the subject-of their con- 
 versation. 
 
 Chapter XXV. 
 
 .A LETTER FROM LUCIUS WOODBRIDGE TO HIS COUSIN, JUDGE 
 WELLBORNE, OF MIDDLBBURT, VERMONT. 
 
 " Dukesborougb, Ga., July 20, 1827. 
 "Dear Jim, — I've been too busy of late to write; but 
 the examination and the ' exhibition ' are over at last, and, 
 after the toil and tumult, I am glad to be able to say that 
 they went off with notable success. We had a very large 
 crowd, gathered not only from this but several adjacent 
 counties. Every house was open to visitors, and the tavern — 
 
200 OLD MARK langston: 
 
 said, with justice, I believe, to be the best country inn of 
 Middle Georgia — was filled from cellar to attic, including 
 hall and piazza. Among the pupils are children of the most 
 leading citizens of the State. The school has constantly 
 grown in reputation, and I am assured that, if I should 
 continue here, still larger accessions will be made next year. 
 
 "The interest that people of all degrees feel in these 
 public exercises would gratify you to see. They are held 
 on a platform in front of the school-house, and seats are 
 placed under an arbor made of green boughs. Hundreds 
 sit there during ten hours a day and listen with unflagging 
 attention, from two-syllable spelling to Virgil and Cicero, 
 Xenophon and Herodotus ; from the multiplication table 
 to Euclid. At night the ' exhibition,' consisting of plays, 
 dialogues, and single speeches, drew attendance of more 
 than a thousand. 
 
 " This section is alive to higher education, in which, I 
 suspect, I might make something of a name. But, as I 
 wrote you, my mind is about made up to quit at the end 
 of this year and return to the Bar. I have heard of some 
 talk of my being offered a professorship in the State Uni- 
 versity. That might be regarded as an opportunity. At 
 Athens the seat of the University obtains the highest status 
 of Georgia society, outside of Savannah and Augusta, into 
 which a professor ex officio gets immediate introduction. 
 Alonzo Church, whom you remember at Middlebury, is there, 
 in the chair of mathematics, and, I am proud to hear, fully 
 sustains Vermont in the demands of that exigeant society. 
 But I scarcely think that even such an offer would make 
 me hesitate, especially now that in all probability Rebecca 
 would not favor a removal there. Of that matter more 
 anon. 
 
 " Openings in this State at the law for men of education 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CKEEK. 201 
 
 and energy are good ; not but that there are many such 
 now here. This region, extending from Augusta to sixty 
 or seventy miles westward hence, has several lawyers equal 
 to the best to be found anywhere in the United States. 
 One or two that I have heard at the county-seat court here 
 are more eloquent than any I have ever heard. Yet there 
 is room. This is a glorious region — running over, one 
 might say, with abundant fertile soil, beauty of landscapes, 
 healthfulness of climate, and all fair possibilities. There 
 is no prejudice worth mentioning against men from the 
 North. Our old State, indeed, seems to be rather a favorite, 
 so many have migrated thence and done distinguished ser- 
 vice, especially in the education of youth. I find here that 
 the Bar, of both parties, regard as their ablest lawyer and 
 law-giver one Abraham Baldwin, who was the founder of 
 the University and the principal author of their ' Judiciary,' 
 as it is headed in the Digests, which they regard — justly, in 
 my opinion — as a masterpiece of its kind. He, however, I 
 have heard, was from Connecticut. 
 
 " In this State, much more than in Vermont, the legal 
 profession directs public opinion and policy, partly because 
 of the greater difference between lawyers and other peo- 
 ple in mental culture, but mainly of the extraordinary gifts 
 that many of the former have. The aristocracy here — at 
 least in country communities — what there is at all, is main- 
 ly of intellect, and that means the Bar. Lawyers wield a 
 mighty influence. If sometimes exerted erroneously, yet 
 at least in its ablest, most earnest endeavors it is seldom 
 intentionally for other than the development of the State 
 in all the elements of its being. Sometimes one hears of a 
 member disbarred for unprofessional conduct, but those ex- 
 ceptions prove the rule. In Georgia politics belong to the 
 lawyers. In the present attitude of parties I am, unfortu- 
 
202 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 nately, in the minority. Troup and Clark are the names. 
 They have been struggling with unflagging courage and 
 endurance for several years. The Troups are now in the 
 ascendency. This county especially and the surrounding 
 are largely Troup. In this particular neighborhood, with 
 the exception of Mr. Colin Quillian, a leading citizen, I am 
 about the only Clark man. Confinement at school work 
 prevents my taking the part I feel like taking, and mean to 
 take after a while. What discussions I have had have been 
 mainly with the man I've been boarding with. He knows 
 little of politics or anything else outside of planting, trad- 
 ing, and general money-getting, yet he is the more pushing 
 because of his party being largely in the ascendant, and 
 because, being head of the school trustees, he seems to con- 
 sider it his right to fix the opinions of the teacher. I used 
 to tease him by broadly exposing the fallacy of arguments 
 which, getting them second-hand, he never understood. 
 The great cry of the Troups is ' States' rights.' To what 
 such a cry may lead when this country has grown more 
 populous and more important is a very serious matter. 
 Without ignoring any of these, I agree with the' Clarks 
 that the Federal Government has 'rights' also, sacred as 
 those of the States, and subject to as definite ascertain- 
 ment. 
 
 " This man Duke does not like me, especially now since 
 I have left his house. His constraint of his tongue — not a 
 very voluble one, any way — is owing to his assurance of the 
 confidence the community has in me. Not even a nominal 
 church-member, I have heard it hinted lately that he or his 
 family (through his instigation) pretends some concern about 
 Eebecca's religious faith. That matter, before she came, 
 was discussed and definitively settled, and there is nowhere 
 else that I have heard of a disposition to interfere or com- 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 203 
 
 plain on that score. Rebecca has deported herself, as I 
 knew she would, by maintaining entire independence in her 
 opinions, studies, and devotions, without trying to obtrude 
 them upon anybody. I do wish, indeed, heartily, that she 
 could give these up. Yet I cannot but recognise her as 
 a far better and more pious Christian than I am, and as 
 capable of justifying her principles in argument. I never 
 dispute with her, and the best people here (who are equal 
 to the best in any other society) have as much respect for 
 her as for any other person in the community. I wait with 
 entire calmness what this man — whom (to you confidentially 
 said) I suspect to be a very bad one — may essay to hurt me. 
 He would do well, though, to take careful counsel with 
 himself how he assails Rebecca. She is now considering 
 an offer of marriage — in some respects favorable — though 
 without omitting any work or other duty. My belief is 
 that she will yield the fortress. It is worth besieging of 
 the bravest. Sister mine though she be, she is a heroine 
 in every good, honorable, and sweet particular. I have al- 
 ways felt concern about her one infirmity (if one may 
 properly so style her religion), and the difficulties it might 
 present to a suitable alliance. But her marriage with an 
 honest man whom she can properly regard, and who will 
 treat her well, would be better than immuring herself in 
 a convent, as was once her thought. She is full of sense 
 and judgment, as she is of virtue and piety. God knows 
 what is best, and will graciously provide for her, I trust. 
 
 " Would you believe that I had already a client before 
 hanging out my shingle ? And the case, if we can make it 
 out, is interesting, and will be startling to the community. 
 Unfortunately, the only witness we at present have to what 
 facts we know is a negro ; but, strangely enough, the evi- 
 dence of that class of witnesses is here denied admission 
 
204 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 into the courts. It seems to me that the law regarding 
 this must be changed in time, for the sate of the full elim- 
 ination of truth in judicial trials ; at least, as regards com- 
 petency, letting the value of its credibility in comparison 
 with that of the whites be fixed by legal enactment, which, 
 indeed, considering the different status of the two races, 
 should be done, if such admissions were to be allowed. As 
 to the truth of the facts to which this negro would testify, 
 if permitted, I have no doubt, and they would reveal a case 
 of meanness so abject, and heartlessness so atrocious, that 
 with my whole heart I sympathize with those upon whom 
 they have been visited. 
 
 "Another misfortune — and perhaps a greater — is, or at 
 least appears to be, that a full discovery would cast a shade 
 of dishonor upon my client's family that, until lately, he 
 has never suspected to be possible. Interesting first case, 
 your Honor, is it not? wherein the only evidence counsel 
 can adduce is incompetent, and prosecution to successful 
 result would disgrace the memory of an ancestress of his 
 client ! Yet both he and I feel like exhausting all possi- 
 bilities. 
 
 " I have a month's vacation. I am going to take Rebec- 
 ca on an excursion. We go to Commencement at Athens, 
 where we shall see leading men, with their wives and daugh- 
 ters, from all parts of the State. This is the great gala-time 
 for the wealthy, cultivated classes, and Athens the rendezvous 
 of the leaders of both political parties, where they plan the 
 fall campaign. It is as if the Greek politicians, instead of 
 Delos, met at Parnassos. 
 
 " Commend me to Cousin Martha. Salute the old lake 
 and the hills, which I can never love the less from having 
 made my home elsewhere. I did not dream that I was 
 leaving them for all. Yet the field here is so large and 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CKEEK. 205 
 
 abundant — But the space of this paper is gone except for 
 parting words. Fill up, dear Jim, all blanks. Think of us 
 hereafter as Southerners identified with the people of our 
 section, their interests and their opinions, though never 
 failing to remember and be grateful for our original. 
 Blessed the man who was born in Vermont ! If you say 
 you love her more than I you lie in your throat These 
 last two square inches yet devoted to you and yours. 
 " Affectionately, 
 
 "Lucius Woodbridge." 
 
 Chapteb XXVI. 
 
 MB. DUKE AND BAKNEY JAEKELL ON THE CEEEK BANK. 
 
 The embarrassment in which Barney Jarrell found him- 
 self involved was most painful. He had never suspected 
 before coming to Dukesborough that the birth of Amanda's 
 mother was not honorable. In the absence of known facts 
 the traditions among those who had guarded her infancy 
 excluded such a suspicion. He now feared that these tra- 
 ditions were erroneous. In this emergency he was sorely 
 perplexed. It had been the wish of his brother that any 
 discovered evidence should be prosecuted to its last results. 
 But his brother had not believed that investigation could 
 possibly lead to dishonor ; and the child he had left was 
 a female, on whom the discovery and publication of her 
 mother's infirmity would bring evils of several kinds, with- 
 out one item of good. His mother — who still lived, endur- 
 ing as well as she could a yet more unhappy memory — 
 must become only the more depressed, if the pursuit which 
 had brought him to Georgia should be persisted in and lead 
 
206 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 to revelations that now seemed probable. The more pity 
 for Amanda and sympathy with his mother Barney felt, 
 there was a corresponding resentment to Mr. Duke. That 
 he should have abandoned his own offspring at the death 
 of its mother seemed not only unnatural but diabolical. 
 Not revengeful, yet his mind sometimes dwelt on the jus- 
 tice of a case wherein such inhumanity would be exposed. 
 He was a man deliberate, cautious, and courageous; and 
 after learning the facts concerning the married life of Kin- 
 sey Duke and Emily Langston he often revolved whether 
 he would not have done better to remain in Virginia. 
 It was in the midst of such cogitations that his intimacy 
 with Lucius Woodbridge had begun — an intimacy quick- 
 ened in its inception and growth by the exigent need he 
 had of other counsel besides that of his own mind. Within 
 these six months, also, he had grown to admire the region 
 to which he had removed, and many of those who dwelt 
 therein. The climate, fertile lands easy to be bought, state 
 of society far superior to what he had believed, and other 
 considerations, had their times of discussion with those that 
 argued for his return. Of all these contending thoughts 
 he had written without reserve to his mother. He could 
 scarcely have explained to himself all his reflections when 
 her answers came, urging the continuance of his pursuit. 
 In her last letter were these words : " We owe to God, my 
 son, to go on in a pursuit on which we have asked, for so 
 many years, His blessing — when, as if by a miracle, He has 
 pointed us where we may find what we have sought : to 
 Amanda, who is innocent of all wrong-doing in this case ; to 
 myself; to you. God will take care of the consequences. 
 As for Mr. Langston, being such a man as you describe, it 
 would be an outrage similar, in some respects, to the first 
 to let him die in ignorance of what we know. I am anx- 
 
A TALK OF DUKE'S CREEK. 207 
 
 ious to hasten to him, and my wish is that you come for 
 me as soon as possible." 
 
 Barney had felt indignation at the treatment Aggy had 
 received from Mr. Duke on the day of her return from 
 Mark Langston's, and had never thought of allowing it to 
 pass without some notice. After advising with Lucius 
 Woodbridge he concluded to make it the occasion of a 
 movement toward a more active prosecution of his main 
 purpose. He did this somewhat sooner because of the 
 value of consulting with him regarding the interview he 
 intended to have with Mr. Duke. For Woodbridge was 
 preparing for a journey during his vacation. 
 
 Meeting with Ammon Duke late one afternoon, as the 
 latter was riding in from one of the plantations, he ac- 
 costed him thus : 
 
 " Good - evening, Mr. Duke. Rest a moment, if you 
 please. My woman Aggy, while returning not long ago 
 from Mr. Mark Langston's, whither I had sent her, was 
 threatened by your father for going by his mill on the 
 way. As the road leads thereby I don't see how she 
 is to avoid his displeasure, if I should conclude to send 
 her on another errand of that kind." 
 
 " Know nothing at all about it, sir," answered" Am- 
 mon. 
 
 " That road is a public or, at least, a neighborhood 
 highway, is it not, Mr. Duke ?" 
 
 " Suppose so, provided people, 'specially niggers, behave 
 theirselves." 
 
 "The woman is quite a harmless person, and I should 
 regret very much if she were put unnecessarily in peril or 
 fright. It is possible that there is some connection be- 
 tween Mr. Langston's family and my own, though he is 
 not aware of it, that I know of. At all events, I should 
 
208 OLD MAKE. LAJSGSTON: 
 
 like to feel that I and mine were not to be more ob- 
 structed in visiting than others in the neighborhood." 
 
 " Why don't you talk with pa about it, sir ? I got noth- 
 ing to do with it." 
 
 " I thought to do so when I should have an opportunity. 
 Seeing you this evening, it occurred to me to mention the 
 subject to you, supposing you might report to him my 
 words." 
 
 "Got nothing 't all to do with it, sir, as I told you. 
 Don't suppose pa cares anything about people's travel- 
 ling along the road, if they don't bother with his prop'ty. 
 If they do, specially if they're niggers, they better look 
 out." 
 
 The meanness of these words offended Barney ; but he 
 restrained himself as well as he could, and said, 
 
 " My servant, I am confident, will put no injury upon 
 any of your father's property, except by accident, for 
 which I will, of course, hold myself responsible." 
 
 " In the habit of taking responsibilities, ain't you ?" said 
 Amnion, with a sneer, " and feel able to meet em ?" 
 
 " Whatever have devolved upon me thus far, Mr. Duke, 
 I have discharged as well as I could. I am not a man to 
 undertake them recklessly or generally. But I certainly do 
 propose to assume those that pertain to my own household, 
 and, so far, not only as your father but yourself are con- 
 cerned, I feel quite competent for the task." 
 
 "Needn't kick till you're spurred, sir," answered Am- 
 nion, and rode away. 
 
 After breakfast next morning Mr. Duke rode up to Bar- 
 ney's gate. Amanda answered his hail by saying that her 
 father had gone to the mill to fish, and that he would re- 
 turn before or after dinner, according as he might or not 
 pay a visit to Mr. Langston. The visitor pursued his way. 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 209 
 
 At the ford of the creek, a mile below the mill, he paused 
 and meditated a few minutes; then he started to move 
 along the bank upwards. He had ridden about one hun- 
 dred yards, when he again checked his horse, and after an- 
 other meditation suddenly wheeled, rode back to the high- 
 way, and followed it on to the grist-mill. Arrived there, 
 hooking his horse, he dismounted, and, looking across the 
 stream, saw Barney standing on one of the rocks below 
 the dam, angling in one and another of the holes within 
 reach of his rod. He appeared to be having good-luck, yet 
 he was evidently not doing his best ; for as he drew one 
 and another red-bellied perch and, having unhooked, tossed 
 it to the shore, he was slow in re -baiting, and now and 
 then dawdled with his rod and line before dropping into 
 the stream again. Mr. Duke watched him for some time. 
 Once he called across to a negro man who was cutting with 
 an axe upon a log on the hill beyond Barney and gave 
 some order, in a very loud tone. Barney turned his head 
 momentarily toward the call, angled a few minutes longer, 
 then drew up his tackle, wound the line around the rod, 
 stepped upon one and another of the rocks that lay be- 
 tween himself and the bank, and sat leisurely down beneath 
 a water-oak that overhang. There he continued to sit for 
 a quarter of an hour ; at the end of which Mr. Duke, hav- 
 ing descended a few rods to the bridge below, crossed it, 
 and, giving another order to the negro, walked slowly to 
 where Barney was seated. 
 
 " Morning, Mr. Jarrell. Believe you fond of fishing ? 
 Rode by your house. Much luck ?" 
 
 " Fair, Mr. Duke, thank you. I haven't been exerting 
 myself very actively. Warm day, sir. You went by my 
 house, you say?" 
 
 " Yes. Ammon told me thought feelings hurt about 
 14 
 
210 OLD MAKE LANGSTON: 
 
 something nigger said I said. Don't know what she means 
 by such talk. I just asked who she belonged to, and when 
 found out she been by the mill told her to be careful about 
 pestering anything as she went along by there." 
 
 "The woman is timid, Mr. Duke, and was probably 
 frightened unnecessarily. As I might have occasion to 
 send her out to Mr. Langston's again some time, and she 
 seemed to consider such an errand not perfectly safe, I 
 thought it proper to have an understanding, and so, meet- 
 ing your son, I mentioned the matter to him." 
 
 "Bather you'd mentioned to me first. Am high-tem- 
 pered fellow. My business, anyhow, if anybody's. Man 
 never makes much listening to niggers' tales, nohow, Mr. 
 Jarrell. They'll all tell lies — that is, all I've ever knowed 
 — and 'specially when they scared, or make out like they 
 scared." 
 
 " I've usually found this woman remarkably truthful. 
 But I repeat that, being timid, she may naturally exagger- 
 ate what only appear to be dangerous situations." 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 "Daughter said you might go to Mr. Langson's. Fine 
 man. Don't know finer man anywhere." 
 
 " Yes," answered Barney. " He appears to be an un- 
 commonly good man. I think of him often, so solitary in 
 his old age." 
 
 Kinsey Duke winced slightly. He had never been one 
 who could conceal emotion, however adroit in averting 
 attention from its cause. 
 
 " Have to be very particular helping Mr. Langson. First- 
 rate man, but indepen't and 'spicious. Tried to help in 
 warous ways. Somehow won't let me. Indepen't, 'spicious 
 man, but monstous good one." 
 
 " Somehow," said Barney, pausing to unbutton his vest 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 211 
 
 and loosen his cravat, " very warm this morning, Mr. Duke, 
 eh? That log you'll find a comfortable seat, unless you 
 prefer to stand." 
 
 Mr. Duke took the log. 
 
 "Somehow," Barney continued, "I've found the old 
 gentleman disposed apparently to meet attentions that I 
 pay him rather cordially. He does seem, as you say, inde- 
 pendent in disposition ; but I have never observed any evi- 
 dence of suspiciousness. On the contrary, he strikes me, 
 Mr. Duke, as being rather a credulous man." 
 
 Mr. Duke looked inquiringly into Barney's face, and 
 Barney calmly returned the look. 
 
 " Am says you may be some kin to Mr. Langson." 
 
 " Not blood kin, Mr. Duke, only a connection." 
 
 " What do you mean by that 1" 
 
 " I have been speculating," said Barney, unperturbed, to 
 all appearance, as the tree against which he was leaning, 
 " whether you cannot guess, sir." 
 
 The coolness with which this suggestion was uttered ir- 
 ritated Mr. Duke. A passionate man and a courageous, 
 his face took on additional redness, and he answered, with 
 increased brusqueness, 
 
 " Know nothing at all about your connection, sir, as you 
 call it — nothing at all." 
 
 "I did not suppose you knew anything about it, Mr. 
 Duke. I merely suggested whether or not you might make 
 a guess. This speculation was founded upon what I re- 
 member to have said to you in several conversations that 
 I have had the honor to hold with you concerning my 
 niece Amanda's family." 
 
 " I got nothing at all to do with that, Mr. Jarrell," re- 
 plied Mr. Duke, now in a rather deprecating tone. 
 
 " I did not say you had, Mr. Duke." 
 
212 OLD MAM LANGSTON: 
 
 There was another pause. Barney rose, and, lifting his, 
 string of perch, stepped to the margin of the stream, and, 
 dropping them softly into the water, fastened the upper 
 end to the bank and said, 
 
 " I must not let yon spoil, my fine fellows, but take you 
 to Mr. Langston fresh for the griddle." 
 
 Then he walked back, resumed his seat, and looked up 
 to Mr. Duke. 
 
 " Talked to the old man about your connection J" 
 
 " Not yet. My expectation is to do so after a while." 
 
 " Been a friend to you, Mr. Jarrell — at least, tried to be — 
 ever since you been here. Keduced your rent because some- 
 how liked you. Tried to advise you. If you take my advice 
 you'll be monstous certain in your own mind before going to 
 work exciting and disturbing Mr. Langson, his time of life." 
 
 Barney opened wide his eyes. " You think, then, that 
 the old gentleman might not be pleased to know of any 
 possible relationship to such a humble person as myself? 
 I would do my best, Mr. Duke, not to disgrace it ; and as 
 for my niece, I cannot but hope that as fair, as innocent 
 a child — Indeed, Mr. Duke, I incline to the opinion that, 
 like others who know her, Mr. Langston might in time 
 become rather fond of her — I do indeed, Mr. Duke." 
 
 The sarcasm of these words was lost upon Mr. Duke, who 
 was not used to witnessing the kind of resentment that 
 dictated it, and he answered, candidly, 
 
 "I don't mean that, Mr. Jarrell. I mean — You know 
 what I mean." 
 
 " I cannot say I do, sir. Is it that it would be wrong to 
 suggest a possible relationship without satisfactory evidence 
 to establish it, and so have his mind wrought with anxiety 
 on matters about which it has long been resigned ? Is that 
 your meaning ?" 
 
A TALE OF DUKES CREEK. 213 
 
 " Something like that. Not that I got anything to do 
 with it, Mr. Jarrell. Just talking and advising as a friend. 
 Like Mr. Langston monstous well. Fine man — none finer, 
 in my knowledge. But he's old and feeble, and reasonable 
 speaking can't be expected; and it 'd be pity, in his old 
 age, put him on — on — " 
 
 "A false scent, you would, as I have sometimes heard 
 you say, Mr. Duke, eh ?" 
 
 " To that effect. Yes, sir, to that effect." 
 
 Barney reflected, and he wished that Lucius Woodbridge 
 could have been by his side unseen to whisper in his ear 
 what to say. His profound resentment for these words, 
 was hard to be repressed. If his convictions had been 
 more firm and his evidence more full and competent he 
 would then have denounced this man and defied him to 
 contest his claim. Beasons potent with such a man led 
 him, instead, to make an appeal. He rose, and, standing 
 before him, said, 
 
 " Mr. Duke, of that old man who has been dwelling in 
 that house at the head of this mill-pond for so many years, 
 without wife or child, alone and poor, you were once the 
 son-in-law — at least, so people have told me. Aside from 
 the fact of his being one of the very best of mankind, you 
 owed him the reverence and affection due to such a rela- 
 tionship, even if his daughter, who was your wife, did die 
 leaving issue — born, perhaps, too shortly after her mar- 
 riage." 
 
 It was, perhaps, not the best thing to be said, but it was 
 what, in his exigency, occurred to Barney's mind. The 
 powerful man rose instantly to his feet, and his face was 
 spotted. Barney's eyes dilated, and he felt the full tension 
 of every muscle as he met the fiery gaze that was fastened 
 upon him. 
 
214 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 " Who says that, sir 3" 
 
 " For one, I, sir." 
 
 "Who else, sir?" 
 
 " The answer to that question I choose for the present 
 to reserve." 
 
 "Well, sir, whoever says that I had any children by 
 Emily Langson — " 
 
 " Be careful, Mr. Duke," said Barney, almost in a whis- 
 per ; " let us be careful about the epithets we employ with 
 each other." 
 
 " Am careful, sir — am careful. Emily Langson left no 
 child by me, sir." 
 
 " That is a better way of putting it. In answer I assert 
 that Emily Langston left at least one child, of whom some- 
 body was the father." 
 
 "Like to know your authority, sir, for such — for such 
 talk." 
 
 " As I have just said, sir, I must reserve the disclosure 
 of the evidence I have. If not sufficient for — some pur- 
 poses — it is at least satisfactory to my own mind." 
 
 " Oh, for Woodbridge," thought Barney. Kinsey Duke, 
 though not a lawyer, familiar from long observation and 
 experience with judicial trials, detected at once the flaw in 
 Barney's case from his hesitation and partial admission. 
 He knew the value of browbeating, of contemptuous defi- 
 ance, and, in the last resort, of compromise. He had al- 
 ready seen that the first was unavailable with this adver- 
 sary, and he retreated in tolerable order to the second. 
 With a bitter smile, he said, 
 
 " Things like that you are talking about, Mr. Jarrell, when 
 they come into the Court-house, have to have something 
 stronger to stand on than for a man to say his mind is 
 satisfied about 'em. You're a young man. I have some 
 
A TALE OB" DUUE's CREEK. 215 
 
 experience, and in my day seen many such a case flung out 
 of court sky-high." 
 
 " That is true, no doubt, sir, and it is therefore that I 
 thought first to appeal to your sense of justice, not only to 
 the living, but the dead ; for, Mr. Duke, debts to the dead 
 are of such peculiarly binding obligation that God Almighty 
 Himself demands and some day will see to their payment." 
 
 Mr. Duke looked at Barney a few moments as if he were 
 far away. Whatever were the promptings of his mind, he 
 knew at once the impossibility of their execution. He turned 
 his eyes and gazed at the mill, the dam, and the grounds 
 adjacent, and wished from his heart that be had never seen 
 them. But he knew that now he was in a struggle for 
 all that made life endurable, and his instincts urged him 
 to fight it out. Yet he was convinced that he must with- 
 draw both from the aggressive and the defiant, and, with a 
 sadness in his tone, as if he also would make an appeal at 
 least for the dead, he said, turning again to Barney, 
 
 " Mr. Jarrell, Emily Langson didn't live not six months 
 after took her from father's house." 
 
 " Such I have been surprised and pained to hear before. 
 But, whenever she died, it was not before becoming a 
 mother. That I know, Mr. Duke." 
 
 "Do, do you?" 
 
 " I do, sir." 
 
 " Older man than took you for. That's been over thirty 
 years ago what we're talkin' about, sir, and, may be mis- 
 taken, but, best ricollection, heard you say you was about- 
 that age yourself. Must begun noticin' young, sir — uncom- 
 mon young — or forgot your age." 
 
 Barney could not but smile at this parry. He answered, 
 calmly, 
 
 * No, my own age was truly reported, Mr. Duke ; nor 
 
216 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 do I claim to have had in infancy uncommon precocity. 
 As a fact of personal witness I do not profess to know 
 what I have asserted ; but I am as confident of it as that 
 Mr. Kinsey Duke and Emily Langston were united togeth- 
 er in matrimony." 
 
 " Well, sir, maybe you can tell — " He hesitated, and 
 his face flushed still more. "Mr. Jarrell, Godamighty in 
 heaven knows Emily Langson had no child by me." When 
 he said these words he breathed quick and heavily. Bar- 
 ney regarded him closely, but calmly, as he stood there 
 laboring with his emotions, and he pitied him. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Duke, if that young girl, who Mr. Langston 
 himself told me was a mere child, under fifteen years old — ■ 
 if she did leave a child — and I tell you that He to whom you 
 have just now appealed knows, and / confidently believe 
 that she did — if she left a child, of whom you knew yourself 
 not to have been the father, was it right to abandon that in- 
 nocent to strangers, allowing for her support nothing from 
 the handsome estate her mother possessed? Was it right 
 to keep Mr. Langston in ignorance of this descendant, who 
 might have comforted him in his solitude and old age ?" 
 
 " Young man," said Mr. Duke, by a desperate effort re- 
 covering the tone of a man who knew that he had and 
 meant to hold to the advantage in the discussion, " case 
 you put — your case, mind, sir, not mine — got nothing 't all 
 do with it ; but / should thought man marryin' girl, know 
 positive child she had had no claim on him, would care 
 mighty little about it when born, nor not much what come 
 of it. And as for going back on father, 'specially man like 
 Mr. Langson, tellin' daughter's conduct, feelin' worse to 
 have grandchild that had no father than when daughter 
 died — some men might do it. I never was one of that 
 kind." 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 217 
 
 " So it appears, sir, and, as you put the case, it showed 
 a lamentable ignorance of the character of the man neigh- 
 boring to whom you have lived all your life, and whose 
 only child died upon your hands." Embarrassed as Barney 
 was what to say farther, he continued: "You have said 
 what you would not have done in the case supposed. Now, 
 with your permission, I will say what / would have done. 
 In such a case I should have regarded that marriage as 
 from the beginning void. As soon as I had so regarded, I 
 should have returned to the father his errant daughter, or, 
 if distance or other circumstances had rendered that imprac- 
 ticable until her death, I would have marked the spot where 
 I had decently buried her body, and then bore to her father 
 her innocent child, or let him know where it could be found. 
 God knows which of these courses would have been better 
 for him who will have to give an account of his actions. 
 As for that old man up yonder, he, in his heart of hearts, 
 would have blessed you for doing what I have said I would 
 have done." 
 
 "People's different, Mr. Jarrell," answered Mr. Duke, 
 sadly, even to tears. " Maybe that been best. But peo- 
 ple's different — and sometimes people's situated where — 
 circumstances is such they canH do all might wish, and — at 
 least money point view — might be willing — that is — " again 
 taking up remonstration — "stating case as put it — which 
 got nothing 't all to do with it — not me, you understand 
 distinct, Mr. Jarrell." 
 
 " You don't admit, then, Mr. Duke — " Barney paused, 
 reflected ; then going to the bank and taking his string 
 out of the water, said, " I think I won't go to Mr. Lang- 
 ston's to-day. Have you anything farther to say, sir, on 
 the subject of our conversation ?" 
 
 " Mr. Jarrell — take it in sperrit I give it — my advice is, 
 
218 OLD MABK LANGSTON: 
 
 man ought be particular how talks and who with in delicate 
 matters, 'specially when they're old and people's got used 
 to 'em ; and the rating 'em up again on suspicions, with no 
 foundation that'll stand in court and nowheres else, does 
 no good, but hurts feelings and tears up families. And 
 as for Mr. Langson, should hate see him on the rack his 
 time o' life not for — no, not for thousands." 
 
 " I shall be careful, Mr. Duke, as to both my words and 
 my actions. I must leave Dukesborough for a short space 
 on matters of some business. When I return perhaps I 
 may see you again upon the subject." 
 
 " Going to any place in particular ?" 
 
 " My business will require visits to several, Mr. Duke." 
 
 " Glad to do anything for your family while gone. Let 
 daughter stay at my house? Wife more'n glad to have 
 her." 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Duke; but Mrs. Toliver has kindly 
 consented to keep her during my absence. Good-day, sir." 
 
 And thus they parted. 
 
 Chapter XXVII. 
 
 BARNEY JAERELL'S EMBARRASSMENT. 
 
 When Barney reported to Woodbridge the conversation 
 at the mill the lawyer smiled and said, 
 
 " He rather beat you on the argument, Mr. Jarrell, be- 
 cause you let him see the weak points of your case. I wish 
 I had had that talk with him." 
 
 "I wished for you time and time again. I had to talk 
 as the spirit moved me, and I talked too much. I felt al) 
 the while that I was doing so." 
 
A TALK OF DUKE'S CREEK. 219 
 
 " Perhaps it is as well as it is. My advice to you is to 
 see him no more for the present, nor let him believe you 
 so desire. Get off to your mother at once. I make much 
 out of what Mr. Duke said for your side, and more of what 
 he omitted to say." 
 
 "To what do you allude in the matter of omission?" 
 
 " His not mentioning the name of the man who was the 
 father of Emily Langston's offspring." 
 
 " He did exhibit much embarrassment, but not more than 
 would be felt by any honorable man at finding that his dis- 
 honor as a husband was discovered, and I believe that he does 
 sympathize to a considerable degree with Mr. Langston." 
 
 " Embarrassment !" repeated Woodbridge, in that low 
 bass tone so expressive of scorn. " His embarrassment 
 shall turn into inextricable confusion before I am through 
 with him. He does feel sympathy for Mr. Langston ; but 
 it is from the remorse that now, since himself is on the turn 
 of life, haunts him for the thirty years of wrong that good 
 man has suffered at his hands. Do you know, sir, that 
 ever since I have been in this village Mr. Duke to me has 
 seemed a man troubled by painful memories? I have often 
 heard him sigh deeply when silent and not engaged in the 
 conversation around him, and afterward his face would put 
 on a look of supplication. He is a man to be pitied, for 
 he has deeply suffered. I suspect him to have been irre- 
 sistibly urged by his father to the worst things he has done 
 in this case, whatever they are, and which, if I live, I am 
 bound to find out. From what I have heard of that old 
 man he was unprincipled and audacious to a degree mar- 
 vellous. The tyranny he practised his son inherited, as is 
 generally the case. In the disposition of Mr. Duke to con- 
 trol others and bring them in awe of him I always sus- 
 pected, and now confidently believe, he has the habit of ap- 
 
220 OLD MARK LANGSTON : 
 
 prehending that unless he continually exerted himself to 
 keep uppermost he will some day meet with a fall. Anoth- 
 er thing (recurring to your conversation) that I regard as 
 not being without meaning, and that is what he said about 
 preferring to lose several thousands rather than see Mr. 
 Langston disturbed in his memory of his daughter." 
 
 " Ay, in the nature of a bribe that, you think ?" 
 
 " I would not use the word ' bribe,' Mr. Jarrell ; I would 
 rather say ' compromise.' Mr. Duke is a man who believes 
 that most men — that all men of not more means than he 
 sees you in possession of — will sell what they have, even a 
 dangerous secret, at high figures. I think it fortunate that 
 he made the mistake, inevitable to a man like him, of sup- 
 posing that your chief purpose was to obtain money. As 
 sure as you live this was an offer, and it shows that he 
 recognizes the case to be full of danger.'' 
 
 " If I had so understood his words — " 
 
 "I am glad you did not; and on reflection am glad you 
 went to him instead of my going. On the whole you may 
 report to your mother progress. For the present have not 
 a word to say to Mr. Duke. Powerful, courageous man as 
 he is, he has that item of cowardice which always follows 
 wrong-doing. Developments of some sort will occur be- 
 fore the year is out. I expect he will soon make a move- 
 ment toward farther conciliating Mr. Langston. Baldwin 
 Riddle will be sure to see that if it occurs, and in his own 
 way will take care of it. But for his impulsiveness we 
 might confide in him. I have thought over that, and con- 
 clude it will not do." 
 
 "Perhaps you are right; but how about Mr. Sanders?" 
 
 Woodbridge reflected a moment, and said, 
 
 "Leave that to me. Oh that you could cultivate that 
 man Lines !" 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 221 
 
 " Not after all that has passed, Mr. Woodbridge. I can- 
 not do that." 
 
 " Very well, then. I am satisfied that he knows things 
 about your case that would be important for you ; but per- 
 haps you could not get them except by resorting to means 
 that you would not feel like employing. Did you not say 
 that you received a letter from your mother this evening ? 
 "What does she say ?" 
 
 " She persists in the belief that Mr. Duke and Amanda's 
 mother were never married to each other." 
 
 " Ha, ha ! Listen to me, my friend : neither do /.'' 
 
 "But that would make," said Barney, sadly, "the case 
 for poor Amanda more unfortunate still." 
 
 Woodbridge walked across the room several times in si- 
 lence. Suddenly he stopped. 
 
 " Make all haste to get away from here, and all to return. 
 I think I can see farther into this case than you do, Mr. 
 Jarrell. The vista through these many years of outrage 
 is dim ; but it is clearing. You yet say that we shall pur- 
 sue to any and all results possible ?" 
 
 " I do, so help me God !" 
 
 " Then hasten forth and back." 
 
 On the next day but one Barney went away. 
 
222 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 Chapter XXVIII. 
 
 COMMENCEMENT. 
 
 A party had been made up for Commencement. A son 
 of Eeuben Quillian's was to graduate, and Colonel Porter, 
 one of the trustees of the University, roust attend their 
 meeting. Eebecca Woodbridge had been invited to go 
 along with Mr. Quillian and his daughter Harriet, and she 
 had accepted, with the understanding that her brother 
 should have her company part of the time in his gig, his 
 lonesomeness destined to be relieved for the rest of the way 
 alternately by the others. Colonel Porter, travelling in his 
 own carriage, invited Lewis Sanders to accompany him ; but 
 Lewis had the tact to decline. Miss Woodbridge had given 
 no answer to his proposition. It was a good move, there- 
 fore — or rather it was a good refusal to move — for it accel- 
 erated the return of one whose absence he most regretted, 
 and, as such things always or nearly always will do, put 
 him on higher ground. As the company, joined by Colonel 
 Porter, passed by the store he bade to all cheerful adieus, 
 wishing for all a good voyage. 
 
 Rebecca was the last to take his hand. Unheard by the 
 rest she said, 
 
 "You do not go with us, eh?" 
 
 "Oh, no. The colonel and I cannot both leave home at 
 the same time." 
 
 " I did not know but that you might go. I — Some 
 one said you might. You will not lose your Agnus ?" 
 
A TALE OP DUKE'S CREEK. 223 
 
 " That I will not." 
 
 " And do not forget that the good woman assured you 
 it will do no harm." 
 
 On they journeyed. Occasionally the red soil gave place 
 to the gray that had thrust its tongue from the South and 
 brought the Spanish oak and the black-jack upon its levels. 
 But the travel was mainly on the deep red land belonging to 
 the region. Cotton had supplanted tobacco, and the fields 
 were resplendent with the green bush and the white and 
 red trumpet-blossoms. The wheat had been harvested, but 
 shocks of oats still cumbered the ground. The towering 
 corn, almost black, so deep was its green, rustled responsive 
 to the slightest breeze. Warm as the season was, the vigorous 
 growth in forest and field cooled the air and the ground. 
 
 The first night they tarried at Judge Strong's, on the 
 uppermost borders of Greene. He was brother-in-law of 
 Colonel Porter. His was a substantial old brick mansion, 
 in the midst of a deep grove of red-oaks. Around it were 
 thousands of acres of land bordering on streams leading to 
 the Oconee. The old-fashioned china-ware, the time-worn 
 tea-service, the softly-moving negro servants, the corn-bread 
 (prepared in four or five different ways), the white beaten 
 hot biscuit, all told of old Virginia, their native country. 
 
 In her chamber that night, when all were in bed, this 
 young girl from Vermont, if she had not been kept awake 
 for some time by other causes, must have lain and listened 
 to the varying sounds issuing from the grove and the dense 
 woods adjoining. Whoever has spent a night in that re- 
 gion, once so lovely — lovely still, in spite of the havoc of 
 many kinds that has befallen it — could not fail, unless de- 
 void of all sentiment, to be fondly lulled by this night-music 
 of the South. The katydids quavered near by ; the mock- 
 ing-bird sang its night-songs (in notes more subdued than 
 
224 OLD MAKK LANGSTON I 
 
 those of the day) in the orchard ; the bull-frogs below the 
 spring intoned in varying bass ; in the meadow the killdee 
 whistled its tune, slender and tripping, like itself ; all around 
 the whippoorwill, near and remote, poured its notes, but 
 whether cheerily or sadly one could not well distinguish ; 
 and the owl sent its solemn complaint from the low depths 
 of the forest. The girl lay and listened, and bethought her 
 what a sweet clime it were to dwell in always. 
 
 The next day the way, gradually increasing in hilliness, 
 yet not diminishing in forest growth, was pursued until the 
 middle of the afternoon, when they reached Athens. It 
 was Saturday. The town was already full of visitors, who 
 had come in stage-coaches, private vehicles, and on horse- 
 back. Hotels and private houses were packed with guests. 
 At the former men and women the best in the State read- 
 ily accepted accommodations of the scantiest. At Brown's, 
 a lumbering structure, on the brow of the red hill leading 
 from the turbid Oconee, the Troups had gathered. Far- 
 ther up were the Clarks. In the parlors, private chambers, 
 streets, the college campus — everywhere, except in college 
 chapel, the continuous theme was politics. On Commence- 
 ment-day the throng swelled to many thousands ; for in 
 all the country round it was then, as now, a holiday for all, 
 white and black. The streets were crowded with wagons 
 and ox-carts laden with melons and other fruits. 
 
 The occasion was doubly interesting to Lucius Wood- 
 bridge for the good stand taken by several of his pupils 
 (one of whom was the valedictorian of the graduating 
 class), and the sight he had of the prominent men from all 
 parts of the State. There was ex-Governor Clark, white- 
 haired, stout, beaten, but neither vanquished nor discour- 
 aged, more calm than any of his followers. There was Gov- 
 ernor Troup, artful, aristocratic-looking, in pumps and silk 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CEEEK. 225 
 
 stockings, turning bis eyes around upon friends and foes 
 with bland dignity becoming a man who, in spite of the 
 remonstrances of the Federal Government, having expelled 
 the Indians, had made every citizen of Georgia a freeholder 
 in the richest inheritance of the South. There were Camp- 
 bell and Clayton, the former father of the great lawyer 
 still living; the first of the Cobbs, the two Lurapkins, al- 
 ways divergent in politics. There were Talbott and Up- 
 son, Dawson and Wilde, and other likes. The trustees at 
 Monday's meeting had created a new professorship, and on 
 Tuesday unanimously elected the young Vermonter to fill 
 it. The offer was tempting. The romantic beauty of the 
 town, its polite society, equal in every element of gentility 
 to the best anywhere — all made a case that it conld not be 
 imagined he would decline. "When he had found the op- 
 portunity he held a brief conversation with his sister. She 
 was triumphant and eager to advise acceptance. 
 
 " And what about you, Eebecca ?" 
 
 " Me ? What about me ?" 
 
 " Yes. Would you like to come here to live, provided 
 you do not return to Vermont ?" 
 
 " That depends," she said, hanging her head. 
 
 " Are you likely soon to make up your mind about the 
 offer of Mr. Sanders ?" 
 
 "It was almost made up before I left home, Lucius. 
 Now it is, definitely." 
 
 " I need not guess how, probably." 
 
 " I suppose not." 
 
 He went to the office (in those times named the bar), 
 called for writing materials, wrote a short note to the sec- 
 retary of the trustees, and showed it to her. 
 
 " Oh, Lucius !" she exclaimed, " do not decline this offer. 
 What a career its acceptance would open to you !" 
 
 15 
 
226 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 He took her in his arms. 
 
 " It would not suit you, my dear, if you and Mr. Sanders 
 are to marry. His interests would be altogether alien to 
 this place, and I will not live far away from you." 
 
 " Brother, if you would otherwise accept, and such action 
 on my part will determine you, I will write at once to Mr. 
 Sanders and tell him he must think no more of me." 
 
 " "Which — at least for that cause — you shall not do." 
 
 Releasing her from his arms, he continued : 
 
 " No, Rebecca. Tempting as this offer is, I should most 
 probably decline it independently of consideration for you. 
 I desire to return to the Bar. The opening there in this 
 State is most fair. Another thing I am confident would 
 lead to this declinature. I have seen, since I have been 
 here, that this University is dominated by the political par- 
 ty that controls the State. That is now the Troup party, 
 which I am opposed to. I should soon be involved in dif- 
 ficulties unless by ignoring or being silent in the mainte- 
 nance of my principles, neither of which I should do. No, 
 Rebecca, dispose of your beau as if this offer had not been 
 made." 
 
 Surprised as all were, yet, when it was said that his in- 
 tention was to come to the Bar, several leading lawyers, 
 especially from the Northern Circuit, congratulated him in 
 advance. One of them, after advising with him regarding 
 such summary processes as a supposed case might make 
 exigent, said, " I hoped you would accept the professor- 
 ship. You Vermonters have done wonders for us down 
 here in the matter of education. Our young men will not 
 keep school. But I cannot blame them, nor blame you 
 for quitting that business. As for me, I'd sooner maul 
 rails." 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 227 
 
 Chapter XXIX. 
 
 SUSPICIONS FOLLOWED BY ENHANCED CONFIDENCE. 
 
 Rebecca Woodbridge returned with the Quillians while 
 her brother and Colonel Porter lingered in the higher hill- 
 country, especially at the Madison Springs, whither, after 
 Commencement, the elite of the State were wont to resovt 
 for a season of recreation. Polly was delighted, and Mrs. 
 Toliver showed some gladness, though in the midst of no- 
 ticeable constraint in her greeting. Polly evidently was 
 not as strong as when this dear friend had gone, yet she 
 declared, as always, tbat she was better. 
 
 "Look like," Mrs. Toliver said, "the poor little thing 
 jes natchelly longed and honed arfter you. I tried to do 
 the best I could ; but it ain't give to everybody to take the 
 right keer o' young childern, 'specially them that's afflicted. 
 It were not my lot to have them o' my own, or maybe I 
 mout of been more tender and 'fectionate like. Now, Sister 
 Catlin, she have had childern, though they died, and she 
 know better what to do for Polly than me, and, bless her 
 old soul ! she's allays ready to do it. 1 can't understand, 
 not to save my life, Miss Arbecca — I can't understand how 
 that woman can be a Methodis'. She's a exception among 
 'em, sure's you're born. Yit the child jes natchelly honed 
 arfter you, and I'm glad you got back. And then I've been 
 of a-wantin' to ast you somethin' that's been a-troublin' o' 
 my mind. But which you go 'long and take off that bonnet 
 and loosen them clothes, and come and git your supper, 
 
228 OLD MAEK LANGSTON: 
 
 'ithout you been livin' so high among grand folks yon got 
 no stomach for plain vittals; and then, and arfter Polly 
 have saw enough o' you for to-night — then you and me'll 
 have a little talky-talky." 
 
 "I'm so glad to get back, Mrs. Toliver! I shouldn't 
 have liked it if you and Polly hadn't missed me." 
 
 " I missed you some ; you know that, 'ithout my tellin' 
 you. But go 'long and loosen yourself. I can't see how 
 young women can tighten theirselves, as they do these 
 days, and live." 
 
 While the young woman was up-stairs disrobing herself 
 of her travelling apparel her hostess soliloquized : 
 
 " I jes natchelly don't b'lieve it. To my notion it ain't 
 in her natur' to try to fool people in that kind o' style ; and 
 I don't think that I'm a person that people 'ud go and 
 choose to pick out to put sich tricks on, leastways at my 
 time o' life and when what little I've done about 'em have 
 been for instead of agin 'em. Not but what I've had ex- 
 peunce that them that's least expectin' it is liable to be 
 fooled by young women. But yit my opinions in all ewents 
 is that the sect and sections of Arbecca Woodidge is the 
 same as what mine is, which I not only am now, but allays 
 has been, a female person, and have been married of twicet. 
 And if it weren't so, her own brother, by good rights a 
 reasonable speakin', would of knowed better by this time, 
 and not of palmed her off on people — 'special them that's 
 helped to make Mm what he is, Babtises at that, and him 
 one of 'em — and — well, my gracious goodness ! the curosity 
 and the insinooations that some people 's got, and the on- 
 easiness they can fling people in that ain't been not even 
 a dreamin' of sich!" 
 
 That was a good supper ; for in Middle Georgia in those 
 times a supper was a supper ; not just your tea and bread- 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 229 
 
 and-butter, and perhaps a three-quarter tumbler of milk; 
 bat tea and coffee, sweet milk, butter-milk, clabber, fried 
 chicken, hot biscuit, light bread, hoe-cake. It makes the 
 mouths of old people that have become poor water, and 
 their eyes too, sometimes, to think of those days. 
 
 After supper, and after lulling Polly to sleep with his- 
 tories of her travels and a few songs, Eebecca repaired to 
 her chamber, followed by Mrs. Toliver, who softly closed 
 the door of Polly's little room, that lay between her own 
 and that of her boarder. The latter unclasped the belt of 
 the wrapper that she had exchanged for her travelling frock, 
 took out her combs, and let fall her long, abundant hair ; then 
 placing one chair near the back window for Mrs. Toliver, 
 taking another for herself close by, and fanning both, said, 
 "Now, my dear friend, what is your secret?" 
 For the first time within her own recollection Mrs. Toli- 
 ver felt painfully embarrassed. The young woman's flow- 
 ing hair, her smooth, white face, with the delicate sheen of 
 maidenhood upon either cheek ; her round, graceful arms 
 that in the warm summer night protruded far out of the 
 loose sleeves, her neck and the narrow strip of shoulder and 
 breast that, in the unreserve of the occasion, were visible — 
 all these she noticed. On the bed lay some night-clothes, 
 and she looked at them. She needed not, she knew well, 
 look into the closet or the bureau drawers or even the 
 trunk, as not one of these had ever been kept locked since 
 her boarder had been in her house. Time and time again 
 had she been in that room when Miss Woodbridge was ar- 
 ranging and re-arranging her things. Yet, in spite of all 
 these re-assuring circumstances, Mrs. Toliver was embar- 
 rassed, and in spite of the continued warmth of the even- 
 ing, and the entire freedom from all outer observation, she 
 kept on her cape, and even pinned it closer to her chin. 
 
230 OLD MAEK LANGSTON: 
 
 Kebecca was amused at first, as she had often been by 
 peculiar conduct on the part of Mrs. Toliver ; but when she 
 noticed her evidently serious embarrassment she herself be- 
 came momentarily concerned and even somewhat anxious. 
 
 "What upon earth is the matter, Mrs. Toliver?" she 
 asked. 
 
 The old lady rose, tiptoed to the door of Polly's room, 
 opened it softly, listened a moment, closed the door again, 
 tiptoed back to the window, reached out her head, peered 
 out in the moonlight over the shed, resumed her seat, and 
 asked, abruptly, 
 
 " Miss Arbecca, you ain't a Jessewhit, is you?" 
 
 " A what, Mrs. Toliver ?" 
 
 "A Jessewhit." Then she opened wide her eyes, as if 
 to let it be made known that this was a time when it would 
 be vain to attempt to delude them. 
 
 With an anxiety wholly inexplicable Rebecca answered, 
 
 " Mrs. Toliver, I have not the remotest idea of what you 
 are talking about." 
 
 " Then I don't believe a word of it, and I didn't at the first 
 offstart ; and Sister Quillian, and Sister Catlin, too, both of 
 'em said it were nonsense, and I did, too ; but I made up 
 my mind — and which both of 'em said they wouldn't if 
 they was in my place — but I made up my mind I'd ast 
 you about it no sooner 'n you got back home." 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Toliver," answered Rebecca, looking 
 around in dismay, " I have no more idea what you mean 
 by the talk you've been having than — than that night- 
 gown and cap." 
 
 "And which," said Mrs. Toliver, in bold confidence in 
 the strength of her argument, " they their very selves goes, 
 to prove that the biggest part of the tales ain't so. For 
 everybody know, or by good rights, reason'ble speakin', 
 
A TALE OF DUKES CEEEK. 231 
 
 ought to know, that night-gownds and nightcaps — and which 
 I'm not a-denyin' that, as for mght-gownds, I has heerd 
 that them 'Piscapolian preachers does fling them over their 
 coats and breeches when they git up to preach, or mate 
 out like they wantin' to try to preach — but which that ain't 
 neither here nor there ; for we are now a-speakin' of night- 
 gownds in the sense o' them that puts 'em on when they 
 goes to bed, and mout reason'ble be expected to try to for- 
 git the vain and vanity of this troublesome world, and ast 
 for the forgiveness o' their sins, and a-hopin' to try to do 
 better; and which, in that pint o' view o' night-gownds, 7" 
 has never knowed of but one sections o' people that used 
 'em ; and I may say of myself that I'm sixty-seven year old, 
 a-goin' on to my sixty-eight, and I've saw a good many 
 people in my time, of many and both sections, and been 
 married of twicet to two of them o' the sections o' male 
 persons, and in a reason'ble pint o' view I mout be a person 
 who mout be supposened to know what I'm talkin' about 
 when I'm a-talkin' about the warous sections o' defferent 
 people." 
 
 Mrs. Toliver had assumed the positive look which she 
 was used to wear when she felt that those who would deny 
 the truth of the propositions she had asserted were defi- 
 cient — it made no odds which — either in common under- 
 standing or common honesty. 
 
 " Mrs. Toliver !" cried Rebecca, in a pleading voice, " you 
 bewilder me by such talk. You scare me, I declare you do." 
 Then, dropping her fan, she shrank in her chair, and her 
 eyes filled with tears. 
 
 " Another good sign," said the old lady, with flat convic- 
 tion. 
 
 Taking up the fan with one hand, and lifting Rebecca's 
 hair with the other, she cooled her face and neck. 
 
232 OLD MAEK LANGSTCOT: 
 
 " Bless its heart ! It mustn't git skeerd and cry. Let 
 me fan its face and tell it the foolish things I've heerd 
 about it. I see that the child don't even know what the 
 things is, let alone the bein' of one of 'em. Well, now, 
 child, it seem like the Jooks in gener'l don't like you 
 a-boardin' along 'ith me, and Br'er Woodidge him a-quittin' 
 them and goin' to Hallier's ; but which, so far as Fm con- 
 cerned, I wants no boarders, exceptin' that sence you been 
 here it seem like most you one of the fambly, both to me 
 and special poor little Polly ; and as for Br'er Woodidge, 
 it's natchell to supposen that he know his own business ; but 
 yit leastways which Sister Jook, it seem, have been a-read- 
 in' o' books powerful o' late, and which a body mout of 
 supposened that old man Bunyan were enough for one 
 Babtis' to be satisfied of readin' besides o' the Scripter, but 
 which she have been a-pickin' up here and a-pickin' up 
 there about the Cath'lics, and which your own brother 
 never denied but what you was one of 'era ; and which, as 
 Sister Quillian say, then were the time for 'em to of made 
 their objections, and not of waited tell you come and sot in 
 and got into people's hearts, as it were, and special me and 
 poor little Polly, and which — " 
 
 Mrs. Toliver had to pause in her speech and fanning. 
 Recovering, she continued: 
 
 " I no business a-cryin', at leastways ontell I got through 
 with my tale, but yit which it is not my tale, but Sister 
 Jook's, and which she go on to relate that the books she 
 been a-readin' of tells of whar the Pope o' Rome is a-occu- 
 pied at the present time in a-sendin' to this country, onbe- 
 knownst to people, millions and millions o' Jessewhits o' 
 warous sect and sections. Jessewhits — them's the words, 
 and which I made her call 'em over ontell I got 'em by 
 heart. And which the said Jessewhits is a kind o' witches, 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 233 
 
 that gits the inturn of people 'ithout them a-knowin' what 
 they're up to, and which they ain't nobody that can tell' 
 what their warous sections is, because sometimes they w'ars 
 men's and sometimes women's clothes, and which she go on 
 to relate that, ruther 'n one of 'em '11 git caught, they can 
 hop from one sections to another, the same as a grub-worm 
 and a caterpillar." 
 
 A laugh, a shout, pouring over with merriment, burst 
 from Eebecca. Checking herself, she opened Polly's door 
 and threw the candle-light upon the child, smiling in her 
 sleep ; then going back to her seat, she asked, 
 
 " And what does Mrs. Duke say these monsters do ?" 
 
 " Why, bless your heart ! Miss Arbecca — Miss Arbecca 
 Woodidge — she go on to say that they insinooates their- 
 selves everywheres into people onbeknownst to 'em, and, 
 ef they can't do it when they're awake, they'll do it when 
 they're asleep ; and then, when they wakes up, what religion 
 they've got, be it big or be it little, be it Babtis' or Metho- 
 dis', or even Pryspeterian or 'Piscapolian, they done lost 
 it, and what senses they got to boot, big or little — makes 
 no odds what's the size of 'em — and the first thing you 
 know they want to run off and kiss that Pope, and him 
 right on his big toe ! Now, did you ever "hear sich talk ?" 
 
 "Somewhat, but not quite to that extent. I see that 
 Mrs. Duke has reference to the Jesuits." 
 
 " And what's them 1 I don't supposen you are one o' 
 them, for goodness gracious sake !" 
 
 " Not I, Mrs. Toliver. A Jesuit is a man ; I am a 
 woman." 
 
 " So I allays supposened and thought I knowed. And 
 anybody, seem to me, that ef you hadn't of been, your par- 
 rents would natchelly have knowed better 'n to put frocks 
 on you and let you go out and 'pose upon people. Nor 
 
234 OLD 1IAKK langston: 
 
 neither did I supposen that people could alter their sections, 
 'ithout Godamighty's help, and which Fve never yit heerd 
 o' Him a-meddlin' in sich business. But, Miss Arbecca, do 
 tell me what kind o' creeters is they, anyhow ?" 
 
 " Jesuits, my friend, are an order of priests who, besides 
 doing the work common to all the priesthood, devote them- 
 selves specially to missions and schools. They are generally 
 very pious men, and sometimes I have almost wished that 
 I had been a man, so that I might have been one of them." 
 
 "Bless my soul! A lively young woman like you, that 
 laughs and runs on, and plays the peaner, kiarnal chunes 
 and all, and has all the young men a-'sputin' how peert and 
 smart she is, a-talkin' about of wantin' to be a preacher ! 
 Then I sposen the female sections ain't among 'em, and 
 they don't make a habit o' warin' of women's clothes ?" 
 
 " Not that I ever heard of ; at least, from a source enti- 
 tled to any more confidence than those which Mrs. Duke 
 consults. Such talks may destroy what little influence I 
 have in Lucius's school that is good, and make us both 
 regret that I ever came here. The understanding with the 
 trustees, Lucius, and myself was that, in the matter of my 
 religious faith and practices, I was not to be interfered with 
 nor made the subject of public offensive discussion. As it 
 is, I see that I must leave the school, and go back to where 
 I can have, if not my only brother's society, at least the 
 liberty of my conscience." 
 
 Mrs. Toliver rose, and, lifting Rebecca out of her chair, 
 said, 
 
 "Lookee here, child. Look at me, Arbecca Woodige. 
 Is Sister Jook, even if she is Missis Jook, is she everybody ? 
 Ain't me nor the rest of us nobody? It's jes what Sister 
 Quillian and Sister Catlin say, that sich talk mout drive you 
 away. But it ain't to be did. Put them arms round me — 
 
A TALE OP DUKE'S CREEK. 235 
 
 tighter. Thar ! I didn't say I wanted you to squeeze the 
 breath outen me ! Arfter you've done and been and come 
 here, and growed around my old age, and been to Polly 
 what you have, do you supposen that I'm a-goin' to let you 
 break off jes dry so, because some people can't be satisfied 
 with a-rigerlatin' o' their own consarns, but wants to riger- 
 late tother people's? No; she may norate more of her 
 'pinions, ef she feel like it, even about you ridin' in the 
 gig along of Lewis Sanders to your meetin'-house, or what- 
 somever you call the place him and you went to together." 
 
 "That too, eh?" 
 
 " Yes ; and she said that a young 'oman that had good 
 respects of herself and her sections oughtn't to go so fur 
 with a young man and be goned two days, and him not a 
 perfessor of no religion of no sort, though she know she 
 daresn't say anything agin the charrecter o' Lewis Sanders, 
 not in this community; and both Sister Catlin and Sister 
 Quillian jes begged me not to tell you that ; but, Lord bless 
 my soul and body ! you're jes like my own child, please 
 God I had of had a child of my own, and besides of poor 
 little Polly, and I were jes determ'd to tell you, and the 
 fact is, ef I had a-tried I couldn't of holp it." 
 
 " Bless your dear motherly heart !" said Eebecca. " You 
 are the dearest, best of them all. I love you as my mother." 
 Then she bowed her head upon the bosom of the old lady, 
 who sobbed in sympathy. At length, freeing herself from 
 Eebecca's arms, Mrs. Toliver continued : 
 
 " Thar, now ; that'll do. Don't less me and you, jest us, 
 be makin' of a skene and skenery, but drap it and go to 
 bed and git some sleep. I'm tired, if you ain't." 
 
 " Not quite yet, you preciousest of old — will you let me 
 call you antediluvian ?" 
 
 She was standing now with her hands resting on the old 
 
236 OLD MARK langston: 
 
 lady's shoulders and her moist eyes smiling up to her 
 face. 
 
 " Yes, if it don't mean that I ever stole anything from 
 nobody, nor told no lies on nobody." 
 
 " It means, as I use it, that you are as good and as moth- 
 erly as you are old. And now, before you go to bed, I 
 ■want to tell you something that I would rather you did 
 not mention to any one, at least for a while." 
 
 " Don't mate it too long," said Mrs. Toliver, as they re- 
 sumed their chairs. " I ain't a powerful good hand at the 
 keepin' o' secrets, 'specially if they're worth of tellin'." 
 
 " I'll trust you, anyhow. Mine may not be worth re- 
 peating ; but I must have some woman to know it : I have 
 no mother living. You are like one to me, however, and 
 I am obliged to tell you." 
 
 She said these words with blushing and drooping her 
 head. 
 
 " Lord have mercy upon us !" said Mrs. Toliver, appalled 
 by fears of she knew not what. 
 
 " I told you, my dear friend, that once I had wished I 
 had been a man, so that I might have been a priest." 
 
 " But you ain't, and, from what you tell me, they weren't 
 no use in your a-wantin' to be them things — no more 'n for 
 me to been a preacher or a jedge, and which all such consa- 
 tins of women strikes me as nothin' but foolishness." 
 
 " Doubtless ; but now I am far from having such desire." 
 
 " A body mout of supposened that before now. People 
 ought to be satisfied with their warous sections, or at least- 
 ways riconciled to 'em ; and if they ain't, they well be, be- 
 cause they can't alter 'em. What you drivin' at now 2" 
 
 " I am in love, my dear friend. If I were a man and a 
 priest, it would doubtless be with the Church and my work ; 
 but, being a woman, I am in love otherwise." 
 
237 
 
 " What with ?" 
 
 "A man." 
 
 " A man ! That ain't no sich great shakes, nor so 
 monstous oncommon — not so oncommon, in fact, as with 
 my expeunce — it seem like it ought to be, a-reasonable 
 speakin', 'specially considerin' how many triflin', good-for- 
 nothin', ornary man-persons they is everywhere. But, as to 
 that, I've been that twicet ; but it were in a sensible way. 
 I never made no fool o' myself about men, like so many 
 women does these days, not even them I were married to." 
 
 " But I am very much in love." 
 
 "I don't doubt you feel like you think so. There's jes 
 the de-ficulty with young women before they has the ex- 
 peunce not to see that thar sweethearts no more'n tother 
 people's a-goin' to 'stonish the world and set Tar Eiver afire. 
 But who is he? You goin' to set here and talk all night 
 and not tell who the feller is, nor whar he live 2" 
 
 " Lewis Sanders." 
 
 (Another embrace.) 
 
 " Now, if I was a Methodis', like old Sister Catlin, I 
 mout shout — though she ain't one o' them shoutin', rattlin' 
 kind, that gits so full sometimes o' somethin', goodness 
 knows what, they has to take it out in buttin' their heads 
 agin things and floppin' around genilly. Lewis Sanders ! 
 I knowed he were usin' around here right smart, and I 
 wished him mighty well — though I never b'lieves it my 
 business to help in the makin' o' matches nor the breakin' 
 of 'em. ' Lewis ! Why, Lewis Sanders — he's Br'er Mark's 
 favore'fe, not even hardly exceptin' of Baldy Riddle. I 
 didn't know that Lewis were a marryin' man. But that's 
 jes the ways o' them bashful, say-nothin' kind o' man-per- 
 sons. When they does pitch in, it's at the right time, some- 
 how, and thar they stays. That were jes the way with 
 
238 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 Mr. Toliver. Mr. Cox, now, he were one of these hurryin', 
 quick-talkin' men. He had to work to git me, and I made 
 him wait, because he were allays a-pitchin' in, and I took 
 my time with him, because I were determ'd to let him 
 know that I was somebody as well as him. Now, Mr. Toli- 
 ver, he were defernt. He were a wery silent kind o' man — 
 I mean in conwersation, you mind — because in the pulpit 
 seemed like he never got tired o' preachin', and when he 
 sot down he look like he hated to quit a-noratin' and a-cot- 
 in' o' Scripter, and he sot down because he had heerd said 
 that some said they thought he in ginilly and sometimes 
 hilt on too long; but which in conwersation he were a si- 
 lent kind o' man-person, though he were one that knowed 
 how to look at people — he were that, I tell you that. And 
 so, lo and behold ! when he seed me one day a-cryin' about 
 what he said how he loved his first wife, and what she were 
 to him, and how he missed her, he cried too, he did, and 
 before I knowed it I had used words, and immegiantly arf- 
 ter I used 'em I wanted to take 'em back ; but, bless your 
 soul, child ! he grabbed bolt of 'em, he did, and he hilt on 
 to 'em like a duck a-holdin' on to a June-bug. It's jes the 
 way with them o' that kind. Lewis ain't a perfessor, but 
 he's allays been a respecter, and studdy as a clock. He 
 have no sort o' religion that I've ever heerd of; but you 
 don't keer nothin' about that, I spose." 
 
 "Of course I do. But he and I will settle matters of 
 that and all other kinds." 
 
 " Adzactly. Has you told Br'er Woodridge ?" 
 
 "Certainly. He leaves the question for me to decide for 
 myself." 
 
 " Showed his sense thar. You'd 'a' decided for yourself, 
 anyhow. You're jes one o' them sort, with all your pleas- 
 ant ways. I can't blame you. I were that way myself. 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 239 
 
 Well, I'm thankful you ain't a-goin' no fur ways from me 
 and Polly. I don't know what the poor little thing would 
 do 'ithout you, let alone me. I'm thankful it ain't to go 
 clean away, and that it's to be with as good a man as 
 Lewis, which, I've heard Br'er Mark say, his betters was 
 nowheres, to his opinions. And I wants, and my desires 
 is, that you allays feel like this house were a home to yon 
 whenever you can come to it, as long and me and Polly 
 lives ; and if I die first — " 
 
 She looked anxiously behind her, and tears came to her 
 eyes. 
 
 " My dearest, best friend, if Polly should outlive you, 
 and I continue in life, I will be to her, or try to be to her, 
 what you are." 
 
 The old lady bowed her head and sobbed. 
 
 " Godamighty bless you for them words : it's Him that 
 put 'em in your mouth." 
 
 She rose, wiped her eyes, and said, 
 
 " Now you go 'long to bed. I know you're tired, and 
 got them long praars to say yit to boot." 
 
 Saying thus, she went softly out, lingered a moment over 
 the child, then retired to her chamber. 
 
 Chapter XXX. 
 
 LITTLE POLLY GETS BETTER AND BETTER. 
 
 Accordino to her own accounts of herself little Polly 
 Cheney had been growing continually better and better. 
 During the absence of Miss Woodbridge her improvement 
 had not been so pronounced as usual, although to her grand- 
 mother's morning inquiries she had always answered, as 
 
240 
 
 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 usual, " Better, grammar— better." The character of Pol- 
 ly's infirmity was such as never to have been the occasion 
 of physical suffering — a sort of paralysis of the spine. A 
 disposition of mind, originally ardent, had been softened 
 into a sweetness that touched all hearts. Grateful for the 
 ministrations of all, her spirit overflowed with affection for 
 her grandmother and Rebecca Woodbridge. These kept 
 wakeful at nights, as only women can do, to attend upon 
 her wants. 
 
 In spite of the long, dry summer the invalid put in her 
 daily claims to improvement. Only one thing disturbed 
 her tranquillity, and that had begun to perplex her grand- 
 mother as well, but mainly because that good woman feared 
 it was a sign of greater weakening in her precious charge. 
 One evening Polly said, 
 
 " Grammar, I want to be babtized." 
 
 Mrs. Toliver actually jumped up out of her chair. 
 
 " That is, grammar, when you think I'm good enough. 
 When will that be, grammar?" 
 
 " My preciousest, darlin'est darlin' !" began Mrs. Toliver, 
 as if she were full of words; but she had to move back her 
 chair somewhat, and then she looked down upon Polly with 
 an expression mingled of respect, awe, and fright. Recog- 
 nizing the necessity of composing herself, she blandly an- 
 swered, " As soon as you can git a leetle older and a heap 
 better, and can tell a good expeunce." 
 
 " But, grammar, I'm a heap better now. But I can't tell 
 a expeunce. What is that, grammar ?" 
 
 Now, that question had never before been submitted 
 to Mrs. Toliver for specific solution. She knew that she 
 understood for herself, "and, by good rights, a-reason'ble 
 speakin'," as she would have expressed it, she supposed that 
 other people ought to understand equally for themselves. 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CEEEK. 241- 
 
 Yet she remembered that the education of her granddaugh- 
 ter in almost all points had necessarily been very limited. 
 So now she must answer with prudent reservation. 
 
 "A expeunce, darlin', a expeunce — you mind, my child 
 — is — ahem ! Yes, indeed, that it is. A expeunce is — ah — 
 a-waitin', as it war, ontwell the door o' the Church is open ; 
 for you know, precious, that the Church have got to open 
 her door, and which she can't move a single blessed peg 
 ontwell her door are open." 
 
 From the frown that came down from the speaker's face 
 one might have imagined that she regarded herself as one 
 placed at the Church-door to guard it against all who med- 
 itated forcible entry. 
 
 "Her door, grammar? What makes you say her?" 
 
 Mrs. Toliver threw her head back, and for several mo- 
 ments painfully contemplated a knot in the ceiling above 
 her head. 
 
 " Sects and sections, Polly," she answered, after a few 
 moments' pause, " is a thing that — Well, to tell the fact of 
 the business, Sister Jook have got 'em so mixed up in my 
 mind that a person that's modest natchelly feel ncnplushed 
 when they talkin' about 'em. Yit, my precious, sections is 
 things that — " But somehow the proper words with which 
 to define a term of such intricate, extensive, and lately un- 
 certain meaning would not present themselves. Not exact- 
 ly giving up the subject, she passed on to another, capable 
 of more lucid and satisfactory exposition. 
 
 " When the Church have opened — when the door of the 
 Church, you mind, Polly — when it have opened, then and 
 at which time a expeunce, I mout perceed on to say, is a — 
 ahem ! — it's a-tellin' of too the Church, when and arfter her 
 door have been open — Lord, have mercy on my soul and 
 body ! Yes, darlin'," she continued, after a pause, in which 
 
 16 
 
242 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 her confidence was somewhat regained, "it make no odds 
 what's the sects ner sections o' them that's a-knockin' and 
 a-askin' to be let in — they has to tell the Church of the 
 op'rations o' grace in the sinner's heart, and the Holy Sper- 
 rit a-doin' of its level best on the said sinner's heart, and 
 a-leadin' him to ' turn, sinner, turn,' and a-askin' of Tiim, in 
 powerful langwidges, 'Why will ye die?' and then a-encour- 
 agin' of him to say, ' Saw ye my Saviour V " 
 
 Mrs. Toliver thought she had never been so astonished as 
 now to find how many words, some of lengthened sound 
 and subtle intention, and even others borrowed from the 
 poets, were required to clearly define what to her own mind 
 had ever appeared so simple. 
 
 " But, grammar," persisted Polly, " I don't know them. 
 I just know my prayers. I say them in my mind many, 
 many times. But I haven't learnt them. Why don't you 
 and Miss Arbecca learn 'em to me ?" 
 
 " My Lord !" exclaimed Mrs. Toliver, " what is a body to 
 do in sich a case ?" She rose, smoothed Polly's pillow and 
 bedclothes anew, saying the while, " Never mind, precious ; 
 it'll all come right." Then she went to her chamber, threw 
 herself upon the bed, and wept sorely. . 
 
 For the first time during her long sickness Polly was 
 insistent. When Bebecca came in to sit by her she said, 
 
 " Miss Arbecca, they won't babtize me, and I've heard 
 'em all say that a person have to be babtized to get to 
 heaven." Then tears were in her eyes. 
 
 " Oh, darling, they'll baptize you some time, I suppose." 
 
 " No ; grammar says I must go to the door of the Church, 
 and knock at it, and even then I'll have to tell a expeunce 
 about my heart and about the Holy Sperrit, and I haven't 
 learnt them yit." 
 
 " When the time comes, Polly — and it isn't far off "— she 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CEEEK. 243 
 
 paused, knelt down, and kissed the pale little face — "yon 
 can go to the Church-door, and inside, too, and tell all that 
 will be needed." 
 
 " You think so ?" Then, with a smile, she continued : 
 " I know 
 
 ' Come, Holy Spirit, heavenly dove, 
 Let thy bright beams arise.' 
 
 Maybe Mr. Holmes and them don't know I can say that." 
 
 The plaintive tone in which this humble boast was ut- 
 tered melted the heart of her attendant. Yet, although her 
 eyes were streaming, she answered, cheerfully, 
 
 "And that is enough, my precious — the very greatest 
 plenty. Do not be uneasy. You will be baptized in good 
 time : I give you my word for that." 
 
 "Will you, Miss Arbecca?" 
 
 " That I will." 
 
 " Then I won't be uneasy any more." 
 
 A fortnight passed, during which time Polly grew better 
 and better with surprising speed. It was beautiful to see 
 how God had withheld from her pain of every sort. One 
 morning it would have seemed, from her report, as if little 
 was needed to impart to her perpetual youth. Before this 
 her bed had been removed into her grandmother's cham- 
 ber, and the two ladies had lately been remaining alternate- 
 ly awake during the nights. On this morning — it was a 
 Saturday — Polly awakened in 'exuberant spirits. Mrs. Tol- 
 iver, with that strange faculty of women, that men, the most 
 loving and faithful, never have, of sleeping at shortest in- 
 tervals, and waking instantly when needed even for unim- 
 portant service, heard her say, 
 
 "Oh, grammar! I'm a heap better — the heapest of all 
 the bestest — " 
 
 But Polly could not quite make her way in the midst of 
 
244 OLD MAEK. LANGSTON: 
 
 these double superlatives. They, however, put the old lady 
 on a pinnacle of wakefulness not far below which she had 
 been while her boarder was watching. She rose hastily, and 
 •went with unwonted irregularity at whatever came to hand. 
 Polly was so proud of her improvement that she boasted of 
 it during the entire day. Both sat by her bed, the young 
 woman frequently offering hearty congratulations, the old 
 lady shedding silent tears continuously. In the afternoon 
 Mrs. Keuben Quillian came in and sat, while tears also at 
 intervals coursed down her smooth face. Late in the even- 
 ing, leaning over Polly, kissing and bidding her good-bye, 
 she said she would come again in the morning. 
 
 " Thanky, Aunt Quillian, and I'll be a heap better then." 
 
 Mrs. Catlin had been coming and going all day. When 
 it was dusk she came in again, and declared that she meant 
 to stay, unless they drove her away. She had often begged 
 them to let her sit by Polly at night while they took needed 
 rest. 
 
 When the clock struck twelve, Polly (now grown ecstatic 
 with the sense of renewed health) said, suddenly, 
 
 " Grammar, it's Sunday now, isn't it V 
 
 "Yes, darling." 
 
 Polly lay awhile silent ; then, opening wide her eyes, she 
 said, 
 
 " Miss Arbecca, I'm going to church, ain't I ?" 
 
 " Gone !" cried Mrs. Toliver, letting fall both arms by the 
 side of her chair. Then, throwing back her head, she wept 
 aloud. 
 
 " Not yet," said Rebecca — " not yet ; but the end is not 
 far. What must I do for her?" 
 
 " My God ! my God ! Talk to her, Miss Arbecca, and do 
 whatever she wants. I've got no sense." 
 
 " Now, it's jes nonsense," began Mrs. Catlin, whose eyes 
 
A TALE OF DUKE S CREEK. 245 
 
 were fountains of tears, " for as affectionate and keerful and 
 good a woman to be accusin' of herself — " 
 
 But, firm as was Mrs. Catlin in general, she had to suc- 
 cumb, and she and her neighbor wept in each other's arms 
 as if they had been twin sisters. Rebecca, going to the 
 well, drew a bucket of water, filled a goblet, and, return- 
 ing, placed it on a little table near Polly's head. 
 
 "Yes,'' repeated Polly, not noticing the other ladies, " I'm 
 going to church, Miss Arbecca. Please won't you get out my 
 new white frock, and help me put it on ? Thanky. Would 
 you wear a pink belt or a blue one ? / think a blue one." 
 
 " Just my idea, darling." 
 
 " Now, come on." 
 
 " Right, Polly— ready." 
 
 " Did you ever see a sick person get well so fast ? I can 
 run, Miss Arbecca, if you can. Here's Mr. Hallier's, here's 
 Mr. Quillian's, yonder's the church, and, look, Miss Arbec- 
 ca ! it's open. Oh, you all didn't know I could say it, but 
 I can, and you may listen : 
 
 ' Come, Holy Spirit, heavenly dove, 
 Let thy bright beams arise.' 
 
 Now baptize me." 
 
 The last words were uttered in a tone of command, the 
 only that Polly had ever employed. Rebecca, dipping her 
 fingers in the goblet of water, placed it upon Polly's fore- 
 head and pronounced the solemn words of the baptismal 
 rite. 
 
 " Now I'm a Babtist, ain't I?" 
 
 " That you are, precious." 
 
 " Glory be to God !" cried Mrs. Catlin. 
 
 Mrs. Toliver, sliding from her chair, fell upon the floor 
 in helpless prostration. 
 
 " Oh, grammar," said Polly, once more, " look !" 
 
246 OLD mark langston: 
 
 Then her tongue lay, her lips lost their tension, and her 
 heart ceased to beat, while her eyes were still bright with 
 their recent beholding. 
 
 They buried Polly at the plantation, by the side of her 
 grandfather. Incapacitated for the task of the funeral, 
 Mrs. Toliver devolved all arrangements upon Eebecca. The 
 custom was to envelop the bodies of the dead in a shroud ; 
 but she put on the things Polly had ordered for her bap- 
 tismal, strewed her over with roses, and placed a bunch of 
 violets in her hand. People stood back as the young wom- 
 an, white with watching and sympathy, lifted the little 
 body, laid it in the coffin, and, when covered in the grave, 
 strewed it with flowers and flower-leaves. Mark Langston 
 was there, among a large company of others. The solemn 
 yet unterrified countenance with which he looked into the 
 narrow cell, soon to be his own, impressed all. Some heard 
 him say, as he turned away, " God is making up His jew- 
 els, and a bright one was this little afflicted." 
 
 Chaptee XXXI. 
 
 REBECCA WOODBRIDGE PROPOSES TO RESIGN. 
 
 It was, perhaps, well for Mrs. Toliver that her grief for 
 Polly's departure was diverted in part by other troubles. 
 The baptism of the child by Miss Woodbridge was comment- 
 ed on freely, especially by the Dukes. The question with 
 Mrs. Duke was, what was this world coming to? Mr. Duke 
 congratulated himself that he had not formally connected 
 himself with a Church that allowed such as that, though he 
 was free to admit, he said, that it was none of his business. 
 
A TALE OP DUKE'S CREEK. 247 
 
 They might break up the Church, and even the school to 
 boot, if they wanted to ; he would try, as he had been do- 
 ing always, to get along independently of both. The Quil- 
 lians regretted the occurrence, but uttered and felt no com- 
 plaint against Rebecca for an action that, in the circum- 
 stances, seemed almost unavoidable. Mrs. Catlin said that, 
 as for her part, her opinion was that people ought to be 
 glad instead of sorry about the business. Mark Langston 
 put a quietus on the complainings by saying, in his modest, 
 firm manner, that his sister was one to be pitied instead of 
 being blamed ; that she ought not in conscience to be held 
 responsible for what she did or what she allowed at the 
 hour of departure of one so dear. Mrs. Toliver herself 
 went so far as to say that, if it was to go over, she would 
 do it again ; that no harm had been done by anybody ; and 
 as for Miss Arbecca Woodridge, she would rather take her 
 chances for Heaven, " heathen as she were, than some Bab- 
 tises she knew right there in that blessed town ;" that from 
 the "tech" of that young woman's hand no harm had ever 
 come to that blessed child, from the first time she smooth- 
 ed her pillow till the laying her in her coffin. But for the 
 earnest remonstrance of her brother and Reuben Quillian 
 she would have referred the matter to the Church Con- 
 ference. On their urging that harm might come from such 
 action to the Church, and possibly to Miss Woodbridge, 
 she yielded. 
 
 "That's who they're arfter," she said, "not me; and I 
 wish they may all live to be half as good as she is, heathen 
 as she mout be. To think that my feelins has to be all 
 tore up about that poor little thing that's now a angel in 
 heaven ! I tell you, Br'er Mark, that them that does it 
 got mighty little feelin' of no sort." 
 
 Having carried his point of keeping the matter out of 
 
248 OLD MARK langston: 
 
 the Church, wherein he could not clearly see how it was to 
 be managed, Mark said not a word in. chiding such and 
 other angry words of his sister. Afterward he said to 
 Reuben Quillian, 
 
 " My expennce of women, Br'er Quillian — 'specially good 
 women, like Sister Nancy — when they get real vig'ous mad, 
 and got some occasion for it to boot, is to let 'em have 
 rope. When they've let theirselves out a while it ain't hard 
 to draw 'em in." 
 
 Mrs. Toliver was right. The real game was Rebecca 
 Woodbridge, the hunter being, not Mrs. but Kinsey Duke. 
 When Lucius Woodbridge returned and heard the report 
 of all this, and what bad been said by this family concern- 
 ing his sister's faith and her journey with Lewis Sanders 
 to Locust Grove, he said, 
 
 " Well, Rebecca, the only thing proper to do, it seems 
 to me, is for you to resign your position." 
 
 " Mr. Sanders says that must be done." 
 
 " You have seen him, then ?" 
 
 " Of course I have. For what else did I leave you in 
 Athens, brother ?" 
 
 " I see — I see." 
 
 He looked abstractedly on the floor for a few moments ; 
 then, raising his calm, thoughtful face, he said, 
 
 " Rebecca, but for this little episode of yours, I should 
 have no doubt. I am considering how such action will be 
 regarded when it is known that you have reason to rely 
 upon another defender in the community besides myself." 
 
 "Just so," she answered, "and my conduct might be 
 misconstrued. I will tell Mr. Sanders." 
 
 " And suppose he were to insist ?" 
 
 " He will not, Lucius ; he cannot. My services until the 
 end of this year belong to you and these trustees. The 
 
A TALK OF DUKE S CREEK. 249 
 
 right in them I have not yielded, because I cannot yield 
 it to others." 
 
 "Spoken like a true Vermonter! My advice, however, 
 is to offer a resignation." 
 
 " Here is the letter I have written." 
 
 " Has Mr. Sanders seen it?" 
 
 " Bless your heart ! he dictated it." 
 
 The letter ran thus : 
 
 "At Mrs. Toliver's, August 1. 
 To Mr. Kinsey Duke: 
 
 " Sib, — Information has reached me that there is some 
 apprehension in the community that my services as assist- 
 ant in the school are not as important as was expected when 
 they were engaged. I therefore propose to resign my posi- 
 tion, and will thank you to so notify the board of trustees 
 at once. With great respect, 
 
 " Eebecca Woodbridge." 
 
 " A right note," said the brother ; " brief, compact, with- 
 out spite or innuendo. Send it. When they act upon it 
 I may send in one of my own, supplementary to -the one 
 they have already gotten from me, notifying them of my 
 intention to retire from the school at the end of this year." 
 
 " What, Lucius ? This must not hurt your relations in 
 the community." 
 
 He took her face in his two hands, drew it to his own, 
 kissed her, and said, 
 
 "There, now, my sister. One case at a time." 
 
 The board at their meeting passed a unanimous resolu- 
 tion requesting Miss Woodbridge to withdraw her letter, 
 and fully approving all her conduct in the office she had 
 held. They all knew what sort of letter Reuben Quillian 
 had in his pocket from Lucius Woodbridge, to be offered 
 in case of other action. Colonel Porter, who offered the 
 
250 OLD mark langston: 
 
 resolution, said that, although the religious faith of Miss 
 Woodbridge differed in some points from that of the rest 
 of the community, yet this fact had been well known and 
 discussed in the board before she was called ; and that since 
 she had been in Dukesborough her deportment had been 
 uniformly upright and discreet. He had authority from one 
 of the very stannchest members of the principal church in 
 Dukesborough for saying that, in her opinion, Miss Wood- 
 bridge was a woman remarkably devout in her religious 
 duties, and her conduct might be regarded rather as that 
 to be imitated than avoided. The case went quite contrary 
 to the expectations of the president. After the passage of 
 the resolution he bluntly said, 
 
 " Needn't make so much fuss about it. Let 'em go 'long 
 and 'tend to their business till time's out." 
 
 " That is just what they have been and doubtless will 
 persist in doing, Mr. President," quietly answered Keuben 
 Quillian. 
 
 The second term opened with new accessions. All houses 
 that would receive boarders were full. Mrs. Toliver, though 
 frequently applied to, declined all except (for a brief so- 
 journ) Amanda Jarrell, whose father had gone away. Aggy 
 spent her days on the lot and her nights at Jesse Lines's. 
 This arrangement Amanda had made with Doolana, whose 
 request to her father, close as he was with others, had 
 prevailed. 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 251 
 
 Chapter XXXII. 
 
 MR. JESSE LINES SEEKS TO MAKE AN ADVANTAGEOUS TRADE. 
 
 The care of the orphan and other anxieties were telling 
 upon the guardian more sensibly and rapidly than ever. 
 His solicitude for his daughter grew with the decline of 
 his strength, and, in spite of her repeated earnest remon- 
 strances, he would sometimes persist in urging upon her the 
 importance of her acting, before his death, upon his coun- 
 sels. Ever since that daughter's birth he had been dream- 
 ing — yet, until lately, only dreaming — of her alliance with 
 the son of Kinsey Duke, a fortune which to his mind ap- 
 peared the most felicitous and exalted that could befall her. 
 Having detected the unwonted anxiety of Kinsey Duke dur- 
 ing several preceding months, he had determined, as always 
 heretofore, to trade upon it and obtain all possible benefits. 
 Knowing that the acquaintance he had with Mr. Duke's af- 
 fairs was not sufficient to account for all of that increased 
 anxiety, and remembering that the concealment of such ac- 
 quaintance was, in one sense, as important to himself as to 
 Mr. Duke, he had lain upon his bed and studied how to ex- 
 plain it. The conclusion of his mind was, that the discov- 
 ery of what was known by himself was feared by Mr. Duke, 
 as likely to lead to that of things of greater importance 
 which to him were unknown. In his circumlocutory, whining 
 way he had hinted to his visitor these suspicions from time 
 to time, and, as the sequel will show, had made, or created 
 opportunities to make, out of them what he desired. One 
 
252 OLD mark langston: 
 
 obstacle hindered — the last he could have expected — the un- 
 reasonableness of which he could not comprehend, but he 
 anguished in his heart in contemplating it. 
 
 "I could do so much more for yon, Dooly, alive than 
 dead," he said to her one day — " more than you consate of." 
 
 For some time his talk had been a torment to her. 
 
 " Pa," she said, bitterly, " to think that I were to be 
 made an object of bargain and sale between you and Mr. 
 Duke ! You and he have been bargaining and selling with 
 each other from a time before I was ever born, but I don't 
 think that, until lately, you've ever thought of trading about 
 your own and only child." 
 
 " It ain't a-tradin' of you, Dooly," he replied, with pite- 
 ous remonstrance on her continued misunderstanding of the 
 case — " it ain't a-tradin' of you, my child, it's a-tradin' for 
 you ; and ef you'd help me, or ef you'd let me, it 'd git — and 
 git for nothin', as it were — a pile — jes a level pile o' fortin 
 for you, land, niggers, and money. My Lord ! why can't 
 the child see what's to her own intrusts f ' 
 
 " Pa, my interests, all that are worth providing for, lie 
 along the way in which my conscience leads. I know little 
 of trading ; but my idea of it, as good men ought to prac- 
 tise it, is, that it occurs where one has something to sell that 
 he does not need to keep, and the other, who wants it, offers 
 for it a fair price, both for the buyer and the seller ; but 
 that there are some things that cannot be offered for sale, 
 nor bought at any price, of however small importance they 
 may seem to the possessor." 
 
 " Fact," said Jesse, with sad contempt, looking up to the 
 ceiling — " fact : she know no more about tradin' than a 
 baby. And, when my head do git cold, they'll cheat her 
 out of every blessed thing I leaves her, and bring her to 
 the dinner-pot and the wash-tub. They ain't no sense 
 
A TALE OF DXJKE'S CKEEK. 253 
 
 Doolana," he continued, turning toward her with passion, 
 " in sieh talkin' about tradin' ; it's all a pack of cussed 
 foolishness, sich tradin' as that ; and them that trades in 
 that way will be po', and keep po', and they'll deserve to 
 be po' forever an' eternally, and never git their nose off'n 
 the grindstone."' 
 
 Yet the anger he felt grew out of his parental love — now 
 stronger than that of life — and it speedily subsided before 
 his eager desire for her welfare. She made no answer to 
 these last words, but sat looking upon him with affectionate 
 pity. Straining his failing eyes to give persuasive expres- 
 sion to what he particularly had to tell, he said, 
 
 "Dooly, when you was gone this evenin' Am Jook were 
 here, and which he said he come o' part to see you, and I 
 were that sorry you weren't here that I — " 
 
 " Not said so to him, pa, I hope?" 
 
 " No, Dooly, not quite. I didn't quite git it out, because 
 I thought maybe 'tweren't best, and you moutn't like it." 
 
 " I think he knew I was not here, pa. I saw him as be 
 rode by Mr. Jarrell's, where I went to meet Amanda, and 
 help her and Aggy about some matters. I think he saw 
 me, but I am not sure ; and, as to that, am not concerned 
 whether he did or not. His father sent him, no doubt." 
 
 " Nary doubt about that — nary single, cussed, everlastin', 
 Continental doubt about that," said he, in eagerly abject 
 triumph, " and which make the case so much more walible — 
 80 much stronger — if you only knowed it. Am Jook know 
 better than to not obey his father ; but which my child is 
 the child of a old, afflicted, and — " 
 
 Then he looked as if his heart was breaking with the 
 sense of the undutifulness of his only offspring. Again he 
 essayed the sweetly sly and the softly persuasive. 
 
 " He said he were comin' agin, Dooly." 
 
254 OLD mark langston: 
 
 " To see you, pa ?" 
 
 " Now, about as to who he were comin' to see, Dooly, 
 Am didn't adzactly novate, but my consate were he were 
 a-meanin' of you.' ; 
 
 He said this with an air of pleasant mystery, and added, 
 
 " I think — that is, my s'picions is — that he were sort o' 
 kind o' jealous." 
 
 Doolana leaned her elbows on his cot and looked search- 
 ingly into his face. Her gaze — as none other could have 
 done — embarrassed him. His craven yet loving heart strug- 
 gled how best to make known what was on his mind. 
 
 " I never told you that that feller Barney Jarrell, afore 
 he left, ast my leave for to cote you. I never told you; 
 but I told Kinsey Jook, and he were disgusted and he 
 were jest horrified at the idee." 
 
 Doolana's face up to her hair and her neck down to 
 the hem of her collar were covered with scarlet, and she 
 breathed like one who had run a race. Her father, dull to 
 such sights, observed not the change, and continued : 
 
 " Yes, he ast me, he did, and I 'fused him pine-blank. 
 I jest ast him what he thought of the idee of my givin' up 
 my only daughter to a po' son-of-a-gun like him, arfter I'd 
 had to work and projick, and take nigh cuts to git together 
 what little I got for her to live on when my head got cold. 
 It were jest more'n I could stand, and I told him the sooner 
 he left this house the better for him and me both." 
 
 The scarlet went gradually away. 
 
 " And now you see, Dooly, what a gentlemany young 
 man Am Jook is. He said he had 'spicioned of him a-want- 
 in' o' yon, and he weren't surprised, and he never said a 
 word agin him ; but, instid o' that, he went on to say that 
 he thought Barney Jarrell, a-reasonable speakin', were a 
 clever, nice man, but which, if you wanted to marry, you 
 
A TALE OF DUKES CEEEK. 255 
 
 ought to mary ekal to any of 'era, and which — Oh, how 
 it did make me wish I could git up, and git out, and git 
 about, and show my oulest child how I could perwide for 
 her ef she'd let me !" 
 
 Filial love, filial duty, pity, maidenly shame, honor, new- 
 ly, imperceptibly risen love, with recent assurance of its 
 reciprocation — all were in the heart of Doolana. Looking 
 calmly at her father, she said, 
 
 " I've begged you before, father, many times, that if 
 there's anything to settle between you and Mr. Duke, and 
 especially if you owe him anything — " 
 
 " Me owe Kinch Jook !" he exclaimed, with angry dis- 
 gust. " Not a red cent do I owe him. What you talkin' 
 about?" 
 
 " I didn't know, pa. I did not know but that you owed 
 him even a great sum, because you seem so eager to part 
 with the very honor of your only child. Let that go. If 
 Mr. Duke owes you anything, I've begged you to have it 
 paid or in some way settled or ascertained while you are 
 both living and the evidences of such a debt are in exist- 
 ence, known and acknowledged by you both. Do not, I 
 beg you, pa — do not leave it for ma and me — " 
 
 " My Lord ! Doolana, what you everlastin'ly fetchin' in 
 your ma for, when you know she's a older person than 
 what I am, and, a-exceptin' o' my leg, more 'flicted, and by 
 good rights it's obleeged to not to be 'spected but what 
 I'll outlast her, and which if I didn't I should leave my 
 prop'ty, what little I got, to you, and not to her ?" 
 
 " Very well, then ; if I should outlive you I must settle 
 alone this debt. But I tell you now that if I have this to 
 do, nothing shall ever be paid me, by Mr. Duke or any- 
 body else, unless there are writings to show for it which he 
 cannot and will not desire to dispute. You have not been. 
 
256 old make: langston : 
 
 a man, pa, to let debts due yon go out of date or lose the 
 evidences of their existence, even when owed by men too 
 poor to pay you. What is there that can make you 
 so indulgent with a man that is the very richest in the 
 county ?" 
 
 " Because — because — because," he said, his eyes glisten- 
 ing through the glaze of age and infirmity, " I want, not 
 for myself, but for my onlest child, a intrust, extry, high 
 up beyant what the law allow, for the walue o' my services 
 and thirty years o' waitin' on him. Ef, oh, my God ! ef 
 I could have his son for my son-in-law — and I could, ef 
 she'd jest know how to play her keards, or if she'd jest set 
 still and let me give her the wink how to play 'em — it 'd 
 be a collectin o' my debt, principal, interest, lawyer-fee, 
 and cost, and then I wouldn't wallie death no more'n I 
 wallies a fly," and he waved his flap contemptuously in the 
 air. 
 
 " Well, pa," said Doolana, rising, " I owe to you, next 
 to God, my existence — " 
 
 " Thar it is agin, fetchin' in of Godamighty, when I've 
 told her over and over that He's got nothin' 't all to do 
 with sich a case, no more'n He have with the man in the 
 moon a-burnin' of his bresh." 
 
 "He has all to do with such things, pa. I repeat, next 
 to Him, I owe you all service and all obedience consistent 
 with my conscience, which, now that I am no longer a 
 child, has its claims upon me. Whatever settlement is to 
 be had with Mr. Duke that I may be ever called upon to 
 make must be in accordance with those claims ; and I tell 
 you yet again that it can never be by my marriage with a 
 man who loves me not, and whom I do not and could not 
 love. If Mr. Duke were willing for his son to marry 
 me—" 
 
A TALK OF DUKE'S CREEK. 257 
 
 " And which I keep on a-tellin' of you he's more'n will- 
 in' — he's jest anxious." 
 
 " And that son were willing — " 
 
 "And which what else did he come here for? Don't 
 you know, Doolana, he keer no more for me than he keer 
 for a old dyin' dog ?" 
 
 He looked at his daughter as if she must yield before 
 this climax of the argument. She looked down upon him 
 with compassion as profound as her filial affection. 
 
 " Not a bit more — not one bit, my dear, broken, pros- 
 trate father. You spoke the truth when you said that. If 
 the things which you say this young man is ready to do be 
 thus, it is from a motive oifear — a fear of what you and 
 his father are able to do, and of which only you and his 
 father may know, excepting one other " — she slowly lifted 
 her finger and her eyes upward, and solemnly concluded — 
 "and that is— God." 
 
 The old man shuddered on his bed. 
 
 "Oh, my father! if there is anything you know that 
 ought not to have been kept secret, do not, I implore you, 
 do not wait for God to reveal it. Tell it, my poor father, 
 while you have a tongue to utter and there are ears to hear. 
 But do not make the condition either of telling or remain- 
 ing silent the bargaining away of your own child. God 
 hears me when I say to you that I am not for sale" 
 
 " Name o' Godamighty, Doolana, who wants to sell you ? 
 I ain't a-wantin' to sell: I want to buy; and it '11 be buy in' 
 cheap, and it '11 be bnyin' riches for you — for jest you, my 
 own and onlest child." 
 
 His lower jaw trembled amid the conflict of a sudden 
 fear of judgment to come with his boundless ambition for 
 his daughter. 
 
 " Father," said Doolana, walking about the room, with 
 17 
 
258 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 uplifted arras, " I would better, and I would rather, be sold 
 myself as a slave than accept of riches other than what 
 might fall to me with the approval of God and my con- 
 science. As for my marriage with Amnion Duke, that is 
 impossible, even if I knew what I could never be made to 
 know, that he preferred me to any other woman for his 
 wife. I had better — " 
 
 She covered her face for a moment with her hands ; then, 
 flinging them far apart, resumed : 
 
 " Yes ; I would better be she of whom I have heard the 
 boys in school read in their Virgil and Ovid. Eather than 
 follow Ammon Duke as his wife I would better be changed 
 into the heifer, and over mountain and forest and plain go 
 lowing after the footsteps of my mate. The stings of the 
 fabled insect in that case would be small pain compared 
 with those of conscience and shame in the other." 
 
 She left him, and he heard her outside speaking with 
 Aggy, who had just come for the night. Calling petulant- 
 ly for the negro, she came in courtesying. 
 
 "What's your name?" 
 
 " Aggy, sir." 
 
 " Whar did you all come ^rom, anyhow ?" 
 
 " We moved here from South Carolina, sir." 
 
 " Was you borned thar ?" 
 
 " No, sir ; my inarster bought me in Virginny." 
 
 "Borned thar, was you?" 
 
 " I never knowed exactly whar I were born, marster." 
 
 " Not know whar you was borned ?" 
 
 " No, sir. I were sold, and I don't 'member as they ever 
 told me whar I were born." 
 
 " Didn't you have no mammy nor daddy, and weren't 
 no more niggers sold by your old marster than jest you 
 one?" 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 259 
 
 Aggy, remembering her master's counsel, replied that 
 she remembered almost nothing either of the sale or her 
 family. 
 
 " How old is you ?" 
 
 " I don't know, marster ; but I reckon I might be forty 
 or fifty year old." 
 
 " Forty or fifty. You don't know which ?" 
 
 " No, marster ; but I know I'm getting along in years." 
 
 "Yes, that's in gener'l the case with niggers: they all 
 want to go for bein' old and broke down, and git off'n 
 work, and have to bo supported. You don't look not 
 scacely forty, let alone no fifty." 
 
 " I'm obleeged to be over that, marster." 
 
 " You say you was sold. What were your old marster's 
 name ?" 
 
 "Now, marster, yon too hard for me. I done forgot 
 that too." 
 
 He looked at her narrowly for a monlent; then, taking 
 his flap, he turned his head away, saying, 
 
 " You may go." 
 
 As she was leaving he said, 
 
 "Stop a minute. Is anybody thar by the door behind 
 me?" 
 
 " No, marster." 
 
 " You fetch your own victuals, don't you ? You ain't 
 a-livin' off'n me, is you?" 
 
 "Oh no, sir. I eat. at home, and I brought my own 
 bedclothes. My marster said also that I must help Miss 
 Doolana when I could, and I do." 
 
 " TJmph ! humph ! Go on." 
 
 Aggy's return had- been later than usual. 
 
 "What make you so late this evenin' like?" asked old 
 Vilet. 
 
260 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 " I waited to see my young mistess ofi, granny." 
 
 "What make you call me 'granny 2' Miss Doolana call 
 me dat. But you ain't so mighty young fo' you to say 
 ' granny ' to me, not you ain't. Ef you can't jes call me 
 ' Wilet,' why can't you say ' Aunt "Wilet,' like t'other nig- 
 gers that's ageable like you ?" 
 
 " May I call you ' mammy ?' " 
 
 "Yes, ef you wants ter. I been a-consatin' that I jes 
 as live you would, becase I heerd you say they sometimes 
 calls you Betsy. I had a little gal o' that name once, but 
 she died. They carr'd her off, and I allays 'lowed maybe 
 the po' little thing died a-cryin' for her mammy. I speck 
 she were better off than a-livin' tore off'n me. Is you got 
 any mammy o' your own ?" 
 
 There were- none but those two in the cabin. The 
 younger got down upon her knees, and, in the light made 
 by the small pine-knot fire, turned her streaming eyes up 
 to the face of the elder, and, taking her withered hands, 
 said, 
 
 " Yes, mammy, your child better have died than lived 
 as I have, torn from my family. I'm thankful you let me 
 call you ' mammy.' You're all I've ever bad since I was a 
 little child." 
 
 " Po' thing !" said Vilet, extending her hands and laying 
 them on Aggy's shoulder. " Call me ' mammy ' ef you want 
 to, and Godamighty bless you, and me too." 
 
 After a moment Aggy rose, took from her basket chick- 
 en, biscuit, and a small bundle. 
 
 " Here's some tea and sugar my young mistess sent you, 
 and I'm to let her know when they give out." 
 
 " "Why, Lord bless your young mistess for sendin' and 
 you for fetchin' ! Miss Doolana never lets me suffer for 
 nothin', but I'm obleeged to you all jes the same." 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 261 
 
 That night, by Doolana's consent, Aggy's cot was re- 
 moved into Vilet's cabin. 
 
 "Oh yes, honey," said the old lady, -when asked by 
 Doolana permission. "'Pear like she good 'oman, and I 
 done told her she may call me ' mammy,' as she got none 
 o' her own, and my childern got dar own famblies. Let 
 de gal stay 'long o' me ef she want ter." 
 
 Chapter XXXIII. 
 
 DISCUSSIONS ABOUT THE PARTY AT THE ACADEMY. 
 
 It was a custom of this school to have occasional Friday 
 evening parties given by the pupils, the males furnishing 
 confectionery, the females, through their parents and hosts, 
 the cake and other substantials. Full of innocent gayety 
 these parties. Not a few among the best families in the 
 State can trace their beginnings to those reunions of their 
 parents when in the heyday of youth at the Dukesborougb. 
 academy. None were considered too old, and not many 
 too young, to attend. Even many of the negroes in the 
 village were wont to gather in the grove, look in through 
 the windows at the merry sports within, and get their part 
 of the good things that were left unconsumed on the table. 
 Promenades, games, such as " Fishing," " Upon Honor," 
 " Criticism," " Cross-questions," and others, were indulged 
 in by boys and girls of all sizes, interluded with music per- 
 formed by Miss Woodbridge and her pupils. 
 
 One of these parties was held not long after the events 
 last recorded. It had cost demonstrations and persuasions 
 to induce Mrs. Toliver to attend. She had been mourning 
 her grandchild with a sorrow profound and tender as if she 
 
262 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 had been her own offspring and depended upon her breast. 
 Her brother, Rebecca Woodbridge, the Mrs. QuilKans, more 
 than all, Mrs. Catlin had chided and encouraged. When 
 the time for the party came Mrs. Catlin, though avowing 
 a desire to go, declared that she would, not put foot out of 
 her house while her friend and neighbor was shut up at 
 home, indulging in grief for afflictions that had been sent 
 with intentions of only good, as well for the living as the 
 dead. Then Miss Woodbridge had talked about Polly's 
 present estate in such ways as had led the old lady some- 
 times to laugh aloud in ecstasy while thinking of the felic- 
 ity to which Polly had arisen. Wonderful this faculty of 
 good women to condole with one another ! Above this the 
 balm that Heaven sends to those who have been faithful to 
 such trusts, which, without their knowing whence and where- 
 fore it comes, brings healing. The bereaved listened to com- 
 forting words like as the dry earth receives the summer rain. 
 
 " Oh, Sister Catlin, Miss Arbecca say I ought to go, and 
 yon say you won't go 'ithout me. I'm no use to nobody 
 now, seem to me ; but I'll go." 
 
 The parties all began by candle-light, and were over by 
 eleven. Elderly persons, except such as were needed to 
 see the things put up and sent away, usually left by nine. 
 Mrs. Toliver, Mrs. Quillian, and Mrs. Catlin were walking 
 home together in the bright moonlight. 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Toliver, " it's mighty pretty to be 
 young and active. As for mc, I love to see young peo- 
 ple enjoyin' theirselves, when it's done in reason." 
 
 " What a nice, sweet child is Mr. Jarrell's daughter !" 
 said Mrs. Quillian. 
 
 " You may well say that," answered Mrs. Toliver. 
 "There's somethin' in them people, Sister Quillian, jes as 
 sure as you and Sister Catlin been horned." 
 
A TALE OP DUKE'S CEEEK. 263 
 
 "Does anybody know where Mr. Jarrell has gone?" in- 
 quired Mrs. Catlin. 
 
 " To Virginia, on some business, I have heard," answered 
 Mrs. Qnillian. 
 
 " That's what Mandy say," added Mrs. Toliver. " You 
 know me and Miss Arbecca takin' keer o' her best we can 
 while he's gone, and if that child don't show raisin', I don't 
 know what you mean by raisin'." 
 
 " My husband," said Mrs. Quillian, " says he considers 
 Mr. Jarrell an uncommonly sensible and upright man, and 
 he hopes he will conclude to settle here." 
 
 "Br'er Woodidge say the same," said Mrs. Toliver. 
 " Him and Mr, Jarrell seems to have growed very thick 
 together." 
 
 After other talk, and when Mrs. Quillian had reached and 
 entered her own gate, the other two continuing on together, 
 Mrs. Catlin remarked, 
 
 " Mrs. Jook didn't 'pear to enjoy herself to-night well as 
 common." 
 
 " Jes so I consated, / see. Maybe it raout of been from 
 Harriet Quillian a-dodgin' from goin' in to supper along 
 'ith Am, and him a-havin' to put up 'ith Doolana Lines." 
 
 "But, Sister Toliver, Am seemed very attentive to 
 Doolana. First time I ever saw him so." 
 
 " Think I didn't see that ? I sposened it were to spite 
 Harriet, or at leastways to make her think he were inde- 
 pendent of her, and which he mout persuade that to some 
 people, but not to me." 
 
 " Well, as for me, I think Doolana is worth all the atten- 
 tions he gave her." 
 
 "Who you talkin' 'bout, 'oman? Think I don't know 
 Doolana Lines ? Don't I know Doolana Lines ? Bless your 
 soul ! If Am Jook only knowed it, Doolana Lines is worth 
 
264 OLD MAKK. LANGSTON : 
 
 all o' him, and so much above him that he can't see, not 
 Am Jook can't, how fur she is above him. I'm a-speakin' 
 now in the pint, not of money, and niggers, and land, but 
 in the pint o' ca-rccter. With exceptions o' Miss Arbecca, 
 I don't know any young 'oman that's Doolana's ekal, and I 
 don't put even her above Doolana, exceptin' in the pint of 
 playin' on the peaner and bein' usen to seein' of more soci- 
 eties o' people. Doolana Lines have a edjecation along o' 
 the best, and, 't weren't for her triflin' old father, that gnrl 
 mout have married well before now. But he's enough to 
 pull back and hold back even a nicer gurl than Doolana, if 
 thar's any sich to be found, and which if they is, I don't 
 know whar." 
 
 " Sometimes Doolana, to me, look pretty. She did to- 
 night. Am Jook looked at her as if he liked her." 
 
 " Doolana Lines, Sister Catlin, allays looks pretty to me. 
 Maybe because I know she's so good and religious. As for 
 Am Jook, he'd be doin' the best day's work he ever done 
 to cote her and to marry her, which I don't supposin' he 
 have no notion o' doin' ; and, if he did, his pa nor neither 
 special his ma would hear of sich." 
 
 " Do you suppose he could get her ?" 
 
 " Well, now, Sister Catlin, you askin' of me a long ques- 
 tion — too long for me to answer. The gurl have a mighty 
 po' time at home, though she won't own it, at leastways 
 along of old Jes Lines. As for her mother, she's the very 
 salt o' this yeth, and it's her, and not him, by good luck 
 Doolana's took arfter. I've heerd Doolana say that she not 
 even not thought about marryin' endurin' of her pa's life- 
 time, and which it look like the old creetur, spite o' his 
 bedridden, goin' to live to Methusalem. Yit, ef Am Jook 
 was to want Doolana, and ef he was to cote her right pine- 
 blank, straight up and down, i" can't say what mout happen. 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CEEEK. 265 
 
 It ain't my opinions that Doolana 'd feel so monstous pow- 
 erful stuck up by sich a offer as people mout supposen ; and 
 ef she had all the say about it, my opinions ruther is, she'd 
 say ' No.' My opinions only, you mind, Sister Catlin. For 
 I've saw in my time so many nice women a-marryin' of tri- 
 flin' men that I've gin out long ago of sayin' of right down 
 flat-footed who'll have who and who won't. These sections 
 o' men-persons has somehows cotch up along of a heap o' 
 persuadin' ways — defer'nt ones 'ith defer'nt women — and 
 which I sposen all women that's married or been married 
 know that from their own expeunce, and a many a one of 
 'em found it out too late and to their sorrow. Yit, ef Am 
 Jook, ef, you mind, Sister Catlin — and f 's the longest letter 
 in the book — but yit ef Am Duke was to cote Doolana, and 
 old Jes Lines knowed it, he'd rise outen that bed whar he 
 been layin' so long but what he'd make her say ' Yes,' or 
 he'd break his t'other old leg a-tryin'." 
 
 Mrs. Catlin laughed heartily at this speech. 
 
 "How handsome Lewis Sanders looked to-night! Do 
 you know, Sister Toliver, that he looked to me like that 
 poor boy Gerald ?" 
 
 " Bless your soul, 'oman ! I consated the same thing. Ef 
 I didn't you may kill me, Sister Catlin." 
 
 "He was devoted to Miss Arbecca, and she seem well 
 pleased with him." 
 
 " Hush ! Don't say a word. Don't you much as breathe 
 it, at leastways that I said so, but they both of 'em thinks 
 the sun rise on the top and set at the bottom o' one an- 
 other." 
 
 They were now opposite Mrs. Catlin's gate, and, after the 
 usual mutual complainings of each other's too infrequent 
 visits, separated for the night. 
 
266 OLD mark langston: 
 
 Chapter XXXIV. 
 
 MR. DUKE AND MR. RIDDLE AT MARK LANGSTON'S. 
 
 The mind of Kinsey Duke, never wholly at case, grew 
 more and more restless. Always curt, abrupt in the few 
 words he employed in public and in his own family, to the 
 latter especially he had become more morose after every 
 recent visit to Jesse Lines. Amnion, like his father in many 
 respects, though inheriting some of the refinement of man- 
 ners of his mother, had never known what it was to dis- 
 obey him. Mysterious hints of the power in Jesse to inflict 
 most serious injury upon the whole family, followed by re- 
 peated orders thereto from his father, wrung from him at 
 last the consent to offer himself in marriage to Doolana, in- 
 tending, and so his father understanding, that if she should 
 accept, to interpose delays of one and another kind until 
 the death of her father, which, after long, unaccountable 
 delay, seemed evidently approaching. If things should 
 come to the worst, the father argued, and the marriage 
 must take place, worse than that had happened, and might 
 happen again. This coalition was kept secret from Mrs. 
 Duke, who, in spite of one rejection of Amnion by Harriet 
 Quillian, hoped for a different result from continued pursuit, 
 and whom not even the dread of her husband would have 
 hindered from offering violent opposition to an alliance so 
 far below her ambition. 
 
 We have seen how such a suit was likely to result. The 
 altitude of Doolana alarmed Kinsey Duke, the more so when, 
 
A TALE OP DUKE'S CEEEK. 267 
 
 for the first time, he noticed in Jesse Lines evidences of 
 remorse, particularly in the case of Mark Langston, regard- 
 ing whom both — especially Mr. Duke — had some unpleas- 
 ant recollections. 
 
 One night, after a visit in which the two had had a long 
 talk together about the old man, Mr. Duke lay awake until 
 near dawn. Next morning he rode to the mill, whence, 
 after a brief inspection, he passed on. It was the first 
 formal visit that he had made in a long time. Mark was 
 in his piazza, mending a set of warping-bars. The sound 
 of the hammer and his face being turned to the wall pre- 
 vented notice of the approach of his visitor until the latter 
 had ascended the steps and saluted him. 
 
 "Morning, Mr. Langson." 
 
 Turning, Mark extended his hand, and said, in hospitable 
 tones, 
 
 " Why, it's Mr. Duke ! Take a seat, Mr. Duke. How 
 are you and family ?" 
 
 "Only moderate, Mr. Langson. How you?" 
 
 " About as common, Mr. Duke. Very well for an old 
 man. Lately I haven't been sleeping quite enough, seems 
 to me. I wake up before day, and have to get up. Lying 
 there wide awake tires me more than getting up and going 
 to work. Yet I've every reason to be thankful." 
 
 With an abashed look, Mr. Duke said, 
 
 "Think it's high time you quit work, Mr. Langson. 
 Come to offer you some niggers — Josh and his family." 
 
 Jnst then Baldwin Riddle, who seldom omitted a morn- 
 ing visit to Mark, rode up to the gate. Observing Mr. 
 Duke, he merely saluted both, without manifesting an in- 
 tention to dismount. 
 
 " 'Light, Baldy," said Mark — "'light, my son. No se- 
 crets. There's a horse-shoe on that other red-oak." 
 
268 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 Mr. Duke was at first somewhat embarrassed, but, after 
 some reflection, he was rather gratified to have Baldy wit- 
 ness his offer. Shaking hands with as much cordiality as 
 he could command, he reiterated to Mark what he had said. 
 
 " What do you say, Baldy ?" asked Mark. 
 
 For the first time in many years, when in company con- 
 fined to persons of the male sex, Baldy was embarrassed. 
 Flattening his lips into a broad smile, he answered, 
 
 " It's your transactions, Uncle Mark, and not mine." 
 
 The old man turned his eyes upon Mr. Duke. The 
 dignity of his tone and mien were most mild, but most 
 impressive : 
 
 " Mr. Duke, I've been always poor. I've had to work 
 ever since I was a child. But, most of the time, I've had 
 good health, and I've always been paid well for my work. 
 I've never been without a-plenty to eat and to wear; and 
 though I've had afflictions, they haven't been as many nor 
 as heavy as most have had that's lived to my age. I'm now 
 seventy-six — over my three score and ten — and though I 
 do have some of the labor and sorrow that the wise man 
 tells of in Scripture, Godamighty have in general prepared 
 me for it, and I were never better contented than I've been 
 in these last years of my life. And now, when I'm going 
 on to my seventy-seven, I can lift up my hand, and my 
 tongue, and my heart, and say, with the psalmist, ' Surely 
 goodness and mercy have followed me all the days of my 
 life.'" 
 
 He raised his eyes, and those of Kinsey Duke fell to the 
 floor. Baldy seemed to have caught a sudden violent cold. 
 Drawing out his great bandanna, he gave his nose a blast 
 that was loud and vast. Eising from his chair, he rushed 
 to the warping-bars, as if with hope that exercise thereon 
 might give some relief. He felt first one peg, then another, 
 
A TALE OP DUKE'S CREEK. 269 
 
 essaying an additional screwing at every one. During the 
 rest of the conversation between the other two he walked 
 up and down, surveying, first with one eye, then the other, 
 the several stories of pegs, occasionally plunging angrily at 
 one that pointed forth too much or too little, and screwing 
 alternately to the right or the left, so as to put it even with 
 its fellows. When Mark, after expressing his thanks, de- 
 clined all service from Mr. Duke, of any sort, in a way 
 which, though polite, showed that repetition and insistence 
 would be useless, and the two regarded one another as if 
 the one, though aged, was mighty, the other a suppliant, 
 not deserving but receiving pardon, Baldy's lips flattened 
 still more, and his long, white teeth glistened, as if eager for 
 a bite of human flesh. Suddenly rushing to the top of the 
 steps, he shouted to his horse, 
 
 " Be done there, Charles Henry ! Never see a prevous 
 horse-fly before, I 'spect." 
 
 The gentlemen looked out, and concluded probably that 
 Mr. Kiddle's voice had frightened away the insect, as Charles 
 Henry was standing perfectly quiet. His owner, however, 
 went out, unbuckled the girth, buckled it again at the same 
 hole, took off the martingale-rings, and put them on again ; 
 he then got behind the huge oak, and pressed his body 
 against it, extending his arms as far as they could reach 
 around it. This last action he afterward explained to Lewis 
 Sanders thus : 
 
 " I had it to do, Lewis, or bust wide open." 
 
 Mr. Duke did not linger, disappointed and angry. He 
 rose, after a few moments, took abrupt leave of Mr. Lang- 
 ston, came forth, and, after he had mounted his horse, said, 
 reproachfully, to Bald}', 
 
 " Believe you more'n anybody else put him against me. 
 Could do something for him 't weren't for you." 
 
270 OLD MABK LANGSTON: 
 
 Baldy chadded, bat uttered not a word in reply. Calling 
 to Mr. Langston that he could not tarry longer this morn- 
 ing, he mounted, and rode on with Mr. Duke. 
 
 " I don't know adzactly," said he, looking back toward 
 the house, and speaking leisurely — " I don't know, not ad- 
 zactly, I don't, whether I gethered all o' your last prevous 
 remarks. Did yon go for to mean for to insinooate that it 
 were me that kept Uncle Mark from takin' of your niggers?" 
 
 "I said believed you put Mr. Langson against me." 
 
 After waiting until they had passed entirely out of view 
 of the place of their recent starting, Baldy said, " Mr. Duke, 
 supposen we have our prevous convisation about Uncle Mark? 
 i"can step upon top o' the boards when Ave through with 
 him. I thought I'd jes natchelly ast you what could of put 
 it in your desires to insult Uncle Mark by offerin' o' niggers 
 to him at his time o' life, when you ought to be obleeged 
 to know that he'd turn hisself agin any sich transactions." 
 
 Mr. Duke's lip quivered. Dull man as he was, he felt 
 keenly Baldy's preferring, to that of his own, notice of the 
 imagined injuries to Mr. Langston. A stranger to physical 
 fear, and conscious of being Baldy's superior in bodily 
 strength, he yet could not but feel some sense of inferior- 
 ity, especially in the thought that Mark Langston may have 
 construed as Baldy did the offer he had just extended. Al- 
 ways constrained to find words to express even his clearest 
 thoughts, he now remained silent. 
 
 "I think," said Baldy, with aggravating coolness, "I can 
 a, 'gity } 7 ° ur reason. Kinsey Duke, Godamighty ain't told 
 on you yit, but He's arfter you. He's a-beginnin' to make 
 up LI is mind that it's a-gittin' mighty nigh the time, be- 
 cause Uncle Mark is gittin' of old, and my opinions is you 
 'spicions yon hears the trompin' of His horse's feet behind 
 you. I didn't want to tell you so in Uncle Mark's own 
 
271- 
 
 house, but, although Uncle Mark no kin to me, I'd a-been 
 'shamed o' myself ef I hadn't of told you somewhars or 
 somewhars else." 
 
 Kinsey Duke's face reddened from chin to scalp, his hand 
 trembled, and the plaited leather on his loaded whip-handle 
 shrieked under his grasp. Baldy had no other weapon than 
 a long green-hickory riding-switch. Glaring upon him with 
 fury, Mr. Duke, in the midst of his hot breathings, hissed, 
 
 " Had anything to 'fend yourself — " 
 
 " Wants nothin' more 'n this, sir," said Baldy, gayly, lift- 
 ing his switch. 
 
 Maddened beyond all control, Mr. Duke screamed, 
 
 " Scoundrel ! Liar !" 
 
 No sooner were the words uttered than Baldy, wheeling 
 his horse, and drawing tight the bridle-reins with his left 
 hand, rose in the stirrups, and brought down the switch 
 with all his might across the shoulders of his opponent, 
 shouting the while, 
 
 "There! Take that, you robber and insultcr- of old 
 people ! Next to a cowhide the hickory is the prevousest 
 thing for you." 
 
 The horses, both spirited, excited by the tumult, dashed 
 off, one toward Mr. Langston's, the other in the opposite 
 direction. Baldy checked his in a very few moments, but 
 that of Mr. Duke — bis rider having dropped the reins while 
 shifting and poising his whip — could not be taken up until 
 lie had reached the mill, nearly a mile- distant. Infuriated 
 with rage and shame, Mr. Duke would have returned at once 
 to the scene of combat but that Colonel Porter, who, hap- 
 pening to be there, inspecting some lumber he had ordered, 
 dissuaded him, arguing that before he could reach it Baldy 
 would doubtless have gone away. When the latter, recov- 
 ering control of his horse, turned again and saw that of his 
 
272 
 
 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 adversary rushing off, the rider holding to the mane with, 
 one hand, and with the other clutching wildly for the bri- 
 dle, he broke into loud laughter, and shouted, 
 
 " Go it, Kinch ! You're a-gainin' on him." 
 
 After waiting several moments he turned again and made 
 through the woods the circuit of Mark's house. When he 
 emerged into the road beyond he renewed his laughter, 
 and, ever laughing, went pacing on. Occasionally lifting 
 his switch, he would run it softly through his bridle-hand, 
 and say about thus : 
 
 "You'll do to go 'long with Miss Nancy. It won't do 
 to let you w'ar out arfter what you've done. Yit I weren't 
 a-intendiu' to put you on top of him, and wouldn't of done 
 it but for his sass ; but them's langwidges we can't put up 
 with, ain't they ?" 
 
 Instead of returning home, as at first intending, he turned 
 and rode to the store. There he found Lewis Sanders, 
 dressed as if on a Sunday morning, and giving some di- 
 rections to a clerk newly employed. 
 
 "Bless my soul!" said Baldy. "Dressed up same as if 
 you was goin' to meetin' — samer, too, in fact. Kervats and 
 ribbins and broadcloth is obleeged to rise when people 
 puts on theirselves their very best on weeky-days. Can you 
 'ford to speak a few priminary lines to jes a or'nary fellow 
 that can't 'ford to w'ar Sunday clothes of a Sadurday ?" 
 
 After relating the recent occurrences Baldy said, 
 
 "And, oh, Lewis! you ought — I jes natchelly wish you 
 could have viewed Uncle Mark. Blamed ef he didn't look 
 like old King Abom." 
 
 " Old King who ?" 
 
 " Old King Abom, or Aberham, or whatsomever were 
 his name, a-settin' befo' his tent and a-judgin' o' the twelve 
 tribes o' Iser'l." 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 273 
 
 " Fin afraid you've got things somewhat mixed, Baldy." 
 
 " Maybe so. I don't perfcss to be a Scriptorian. But 
 Uncle Mark look like the grandest of 'em all — Aberham, 
 or Jobab, or I-chabod, or whomsoever were the biggest 
 of 'em. Kinch Duke looked like he were pleadin' for 
 his life, and a-knowin' he were pleadin' in wain. I 
 knewed he were a scounderl, but I never knewed he were 
 sich a fool as he thought he could 'pose on as smart 
 a man as Uncle Mark in that kind o' style. I tell you, 
 Lewis, Godamighty's arfter Kinch Duke, and He's a-gain- 
 in' on him fast. Somethin' 's jumped up, sure as you're 
 born — a coon or a polecat I sposen, from them clothes 
 and that smellin'-vial I smells on you, you goin' to town 2" 
 
 " Yes. I have an engagement with Mr. Woodbridge." 
 
 " Takin' a nubbin' to the old cow, as the sayin' is, while 
 stealin' the calf ? Umph ! humph ! Well, joy go with you. 
 I were at Missis Toliver's yi,sterday, and I spoke a good 
 word for you." 
 
 " Bless your heart, you dear old fellow !" 
 
 " Yes. I told the young female that you was the easiest, 
 good-naturedest, good- for -nothin'est son-of-a-gun in this 
 neighborhood, and that when she got you she could peck 
 you ontell you was perfee'Iy bald, and yit never cherrip." 
 
 " And what did she say ?" 
 
 " She up, she did, and she say that that were adzactly 
 the kind o' fellow she wanted for a husband. Say she to 
 me : ' Mr. Riddle,' says she, ' I first set my cap for you ; but 
 when I saw what a determined, high-tempered person you 
 were I got frightened, and turned to Mr. Sanders' — and 
 which go to show how much foolishness a blame fine wom- 
 an can run on with, and yit be pleasant and lovely as the 
 days is long. I tell you, boy, she's a jeweld of a woman, 
 ef ever there was one o' them." 
 
 18 
 
274 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 Chaptek XXXV. 
 
 THE DISAPPOINTMENTS OP ME. LINES. 
 
 A journey from Georgia to Virginia and back half a 
 century and more ago was long and toilsome. Over the 
 rough dirt-roads a man on horseback might make his thir- 
 ty-five miles a day, whereas on wheels he must be content, 
 if carrying burdens of any magnitude, with half of that or 
 less. "Whatever business one had ought to be wound up 
 fully, if possible; for such a journey, except by an occa- 
 sional trader in negroes, was not likely to be made more 
 than once during a lifetime. Expeditious was Barney Jar-, 
 rell when he worked at all. But he had now several jobs 
 on his hands. Besides his own, he must settle his moth- 
 er's affairs preparatory to a removal that it had been de- 
 termined should be permanent. He had written to Wood- 
 bridge immediately on reaching his mother of her persist- 
 ence in the desire to press the pursuit he had begun to all 
 consequences, sad as she was at the contemplation of some 
 that seemed possible. He had been gone several months 
 when Lewis Sanders set out on horseback for another por- 
 tion of the State of Virginia, on an errand which, hopeless, 
 as it appeared, he had concluded, after conferring with 
 Colonel Porter and Lucius Woodbridge, to undertake. 
 
 Four months make a difference in even so slow-moving 
 a society as that of Dukesborough. At the instance of 
 Woodbridge the trustees had called a young man from 
 Vermont, named Ingraham, who was already installed and 
 
275 
 
 learning the ways and means. Rebecca continued to teach 
 •with her accustomed energy and good-will. Mrs. Toliver, 
 though she could never speak of Polly without tears, yet 
 often got the sweet consolations tbat Heaven sends to those 
 who have faithfully performed duties to departed friends 
 and lovers, and who afterward trust for inseparable reunion. 
 Wonderful this compensation of Heaven ! When our be- 
 loved depart from us, after, yea, sometimes in the midst of 
 our anguish, our consolations are sweeter and more abound- 
 ing according as those were more beloved within degrees 
 lawful to human loves, and our service to them more as- 
 siduous and affectionate. 
 
 Baldwin Puddle could never be brought by Mr. Langston 
 to admit even too great haste in his conduct toward Mr. 
 Duke — the only occasion when he had ever gainsaid that 
 high authority. 
 
 " I'm sorry I were obleeged to do it, Uncle Mark ; but 
 he got off light compar'd with what, to my opinions, is 
 a-comin'. He's oncasy about somethin'. It's — to my opin- 
 ions, you mind, Uncle Mark — because he feel that God- 
 amighty's arfter him." 
 
 " Ah, Baldy, my son, He's after us all. We've all come 
 short of His glory." 
 
 "I ain't a-speakin' nor a-noratin' about the Jedginent- 
 day, Uncle Mark. I know everybody's got to come to that 
 some time or 'nother. What I'm a-talkin' about at the 
 present futur' is that it's, to my opinions, that a settlement, 
 or a part, and a big part of one at that, is to be had with 
 hini before that time, and betwixt now and his grave." 
 
 He sent word to Mr. Duke, in effect, that he was sorry 
 that the behavior of his horse had put him at such disad- 
 vantage, and that, if desired, he would meet him, allowing 
 him to name the time and place, in order to give him the 
 
276 OLD MABK langston: 
 
 opportunity of returning the only blow given in the late 
 collision. Mr. Duke answered that, but for such accident, 
 he would have taken more of Baldwin Kiddle's bide than 
 he had ever gotten off the back of a negro. After reflec- 
 tion, however, he told the interlocutor that he need not 
 repeat these words, as he preferred to settle with Baldy 
 in his own way. 
 
 The truth was that Mr. Duke was thinking more of 
 other matters than the blow of Baldy's switch. Baldy's 
 menacing, prophetic words, enraging as they had been when 
 uttered, had sunk deep in lis mind and led him to speculate 
 with continual anxiety upon the extent of Barney Jarrell's 
 confidences in the matter of their late conversation. A 
 man accustomed to strife and risks of many kinds, grown 
 familiar with the exactions of courts in the matter of evi- 
 dence in judicial trials, he felt confident in being able to 
 withstand Barney's meditated attack, especially if Jesse 
 Lines would die, or continue to hold a secret he had had 
 for many a year. He was, however, most uneasy about 
 that. Doolana Lines had frightened him more than the 
 increasing moroseness of her father, and other alarming 
 circumstances. As for Jesse Lines, the time seemed to be 
 hastening when the accounts of the orphan and all others 
 in which he was interested must be wound up. As the in- 
 valid grew weaker his suspiciousness and his fretfulness 
 increased. The failure of the great ambition of his heart, 
 just at the time when it appeared easy and ready to be 
 fulfilled, induced a disappointment that with such a spirit 
 can find no relief except in complaints to all who come into 
 his presence. He had intimated to Mr. Duke that he did 
 not fully trust his and Amnion's sincerity regarding his 
 daughter, an intimation that was soon followed by a formal 
 proposal of marriage — which Doolana promptly declined. 
 
A TALE OP DUKE'S CEEEK. 277 
 
 Nothing could compensate for the escape of the prize which, 
 after so long, secret, weary pursuit, he had been about to 
 put forth his hand to seize. The mind of Jesse Lines had 
 never been so painfully agitated as by the thought that, 
 when this family, that had been the bane of his life, were 
 at last willing and offering to gratify the dearest wish he 
 had ever indulged, obstacles most unexpected and insur- 
 mountable appeared in his own house. The contemplation 
 of these, instead of appeasing his chagrin, exasperated it. 
 To Doolana herself — whom he loved the more because the 
 only being he had ever loved — he had not heart to utter 
 words of reproach. Indeed — such is the power of virtue 
 like hers — she had seemed to him still more precious after 
 rejecting the suit of Ammon Duke. For the first time 
 in his life he looked with disgust upon those below whom 
 he had regarded himself heretofore, and was angry because 
 they had made themselves so unworthy of an alliance that 
 he yet desired even more than the prolongation of his own 
 existence. There is something in the writhing exertions of 
 even the impotent when dying that seems terribly impressive. 
 For very many years Kinsey Duke had treated Jesse Lines 
 as a mule — valuable for most of the uses in which such a 
 beast may be employed, though obstinate ; disposed both 
 to kick and to bite, yet yielding to the constraint of a 
 strong bridle and liberal provender. Greatly surprised, 
 therefore, and anxious was he when the tether his hands 
 had held so long had been sundered, and the animal, in its 
 last days, seemed venturing its claims to different treatment 
 and the demand for things that had been so long withheld. 
 It was sickening to the heart of Kinsey Duke to see 1;he poor 
 invalid and listen to his ceaseless complainings. Yet he was 
 uneasy when keeping himself away. One Sunday evening, 
 among other things, occurred the following dialogue : 
 
278 OLD MAKE. LANGSTON: 
 
 " See how it is, Jes. She won't have him. Wish she 
 would, so as to unite families." 
 
 Jesse Lines, his pale face turned toward his visitor, his 
 eyes never or almost never winking, answered, 
 
 "Families united! You know you don't want it. Ef 
 they was promersed to git married to-morrow, and I was 
 to die when they was a-jinin' of hands, and Am Jook 
 didn't, you'd strike 'em apart." 
 
 " What make you hurt my feelings, Jes, by such talk ? 
 Done all I could. Am, too. Marry Miss Doolana to-day, 
 if say so." 
 
 " Thar's the cussedness of it," said Jesse. " She declare 
 she don't want him and won't have him. And Doolana is 
 one o' the few people — leastways o' them that I knows of — 
 that means what she say. Ef people I've had to deal with 
 had of been like Doolana, I mout of been a defernt man 
 from what I am now. My Lord ! why couldn't your son, 
 with all his chances, have tried to make of hisself somcthin' 
 that a girl like Doolana moutn't feel like she were flingin' 
 herself away if she took up with 'em ? It do beat all crea- 
 tion. Here you've raised your only son, and that 'ith a sil- 
 ver spoon, that God knows you weren't usin' to yourself no 
 more'n me, and yit he ain't fittin' to git for a wife as po' 
 a girl as Doolana Lines. 'Pears to me you'd all be ashamed 
 o' yourselves not to be able, with all your money and all 
 your 'vantages, to raise jes one lone boy- child fittin' to 
 git as po' a girl as Doolana Lines." 
 
 This insult, boring like an auger, Kinsey Duke had to 
 bear both because it was deserved, and especially" because 
 he knew he dared not resent it. He said not a word in 
 answer. 
 
 After a short pause Jesse continued : 
 
 " What about the old man Lan<*son ? What about him ? 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 219 
 
 Dog-goned it all! I'm even a-dreamin' o' him o' nights 
 here lately, about things that never bothered me before. 
 What about him ?" 
 
 " Offered him Josh and his whole family — offered to do 
 anything. Won't take 'em, nor let me help him." 
 
 " Too late, Kinch— too late !" 
 
 So solemn and sepulchral were these words that Mr. 
 Duke's face, habitually red, now turned white. 
 
 " Too late for that and a'most everything else. I wish 
 to God we hadn't of done it; at leastways me. As for 
 yon, you're so grand and big you can stand these back-licks 
 when a po', old, 'flicted like rae can't. I wish / hadn't of 
 done it. You made me — that is, you and your old father. 
 And don't you know, Kinch Jook, that lately— jes here 
 lately — I've been a-thinkin' that ef they is any hell — and by 
 good rights, a-reason'ble speakin', 'pears like they ought to 
 be, you know — jes here lately I've been a-thinkin' that your 
 father's obleeged to be thar .*" 
 
 Pale with horror was the face and glaring the eyes of 
 Jesse Lines. The strong man rose and backed himself as 
 from a precipice that hung over a bottomless pit. The 
 old man looked contemptuous, saying, . 
 
 " Oh, set down — set down. Don't be a-cavortin' afore me. 
 I don't supposen but what you're natchelly afeared o' fol- 
 lerin' him ; but he's a good long way ahead o' you yit. Set 
 down — set down, Kinch Jook. Me and you is in the sameboat, 
 exceptin' that it were you — that is, you and your cussed old 
 father — that put me thar. Set down, and don't try to come 
 the camp-meetin' and the rewival over me. As for me, I 
 needn't be skeert, I don't supposen. Po' creeters like me, 
 that never had no edjecation and no chances, I sposens.sich 
 as us natchelly belongs to the devil, though Doolana say 
 defcrnt; she say^but never mind what she say about sich 
 
280 OLD MAEK LANGSTON: 
 
 as me, which is liable to git kicked from Dan to Basherby, 
 and from thar back agin, up and down the line. But big 
 folks like you could — and, by good rights, seem like you 
 ought to try to git outen his way. Yit, as I said, it's too 
 late ; and yit I can't keep from bein' of sorry that I had 
 anything to do with it. They was the lovelest, prettest 
 childern I ever see, and the innocentest. They didn't ast 
 me to keep thar secret exceptin' for a little while, and on- 
 twell the old man could be brung in ; and when at last they 
 'spected, and I ought to opened my mouth, you and your 
 father shet it, and you arfterwards kep it shot. And now 
 I wish to God you and him, or me — one — had of been 
 dead when you told me to' shet and I shot. Yit I allays 
 believed your father never told me no lies when he told 
 me that you stepped into that poor boy's shoes, as you had 
 the good rights to do then, when he pulled 'em off for good. 
 I've not never had a doubt as for her a-dyin'. But here 
 lately I've been a-spicionen that what were said about that 
 nigger a-dyin' is lies, and when lies begins to come in on a 
 feller they ain't no tellin' whar they goin' to stop." 
 
 " What 'spicions talkin' about, Jes ? Weren't I sued for 
 damages, and had to settle the case ?" 
 
 " Yes — yes," said Jesse, with languid, dubious admission. 
 " And yit — and yit — did you ever study the face o' that 
 nigger o' Barney Jarrell's ?" 
 
 His gaze bore upon Kinsey Duke with a searchingness 
 that, together with his words, awed and terrified. 
 
 " 'T ain't possible," he said. " Never saw her die, but 
 never doubted it. Wouldn't settled case if I had. 'Mag- 
 ination, Jes — 'magination." 
 
 " Maybe so, and maybe not. She have been stayin' here 
 o' nights sence her marster been gone, and I've picked her 
 sever'l times. I ain't got much, for she make out like slje's 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 281 
 
 a fool and got no ricollection, though Doolana say she smart- 
 est nigger in town or anywhars about. Kinch Jook, ef you 
 has fooled me about that, you've done it about t'other things, 
 and, ef so, you're the Godamightiest — No, I promised Doo- 
 lana I'd try to quit cussin'. But look here, man : ef you has 
 fooled me, and I find it out, even ef I die before I can tell 
 on you, I'll hant you, and I'll come out o' the grave and 
 out o' hell-fire to do it ! Look at me. Tell me agin, how 
 come that boy to git drownded ? Did you do it ?" 
 
 The horror of Kinsey Duke was so natural, his denial of 
 murder so heartfelt, as the tears came into his eyes, that 
 Jesse's suspicions on that score were subdued. Feeling, 
 though not expressing in words, regret for the implication, 
 he said, 
 
 "I'm a po' man, Mr. Jook, and a old man, and a afflicted 
 man, and a disappinted man, and a man that feel like I ain't 
 long for this world — and yit, somehow, I don't feel adzactly 
 in my mind that I were ready for nary 'nother — and I'm 
 discontented with myself and everybody else — exceptin' of 
 Doolana ; and I got so I got no confidence in nobody, ex- 
 ceptin' of her, and I never knows what to believe and what 
 not to believe what people tells me — exceptin' of Doolana." 
 
 The thought of her who was so dear to him subdued his 
 passion, and he soon became calm. After other conversa- 
 tion Mr. Duke handed him a paper to read. It purported 
 to be his will, one of the items of which contained a be- 
 quest to Doolana of the negro Josh and his family, eight 
 in all. Jesse read it with considerable yet dubious interest, 
 then said, 
 
 " I've heerd Jedge Dooly and Jedge Tait both of 'em say 
 that a will weren't worth of a Continental red cent ontell 
 the man was dead that made it, no matter how long he 
 lived arfter makin' of it; and them it's willed to, even if it 
 
282 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 ain't altered, has to wait, be it long or be it short. Now, 
 a deed is defernt. Whar prop'ty is palmed on a body, jcs 
 perpendicular, straight up and down, it make a power o' 
 defernce — that is, in course, for them that loves prop'ty, 
 and wants prop'ty, and rather have prop'ty at the present 
 than to be a-waitin' oncertain for it, and maybe a-wantin' 
 to see them dead that they knows has give it to 'em by 
 their wills." 
 
 His visitor had anticipated these remarks, and he drew 
 from his pocket another paper — a deed of gift to Doolana 
 for the same property — and then professed his readiness 
 to execute whenever she was ready to receive. 
 
 "Thar's the de-Acuity," said Jesse, bitterly, his thoughts 
 all turned from remorse to resentment — " thar's the dog- 
 goned de-ficulty. Doolana wouldn't take them niggers, jes 
 dry so. I must take time to think how to manage it. That 
 wouldn't hender you doin' anything for the old man Lang- 
 son, would it, Mr. Jook?" 
 
 "Certainly not, Jes. Owe Mr. Langson nothin', but 
 would help him any way in the world he'd let me." 
 
 "All right — all right. Thinkin' of the old man been 
 bothern' me lately. But if a man won't let a body help, 
 why, he jes won't, you know, 'ithout a feller do it a-onbe- 
 knownst, and which that's what i" should ricommend, or 
 at leastways try it." 
 
 Jesse turned upon his back, closed his eyes, and lay for 
 a while silent, exhausted by the previous excitement and 
 present collapse. One, even a slight, grasp of the powerful 
 hand of Kinsey Duke would have throttled him. Looking 
 upon the emaciated form, the latter thought, more than 
 ever before, how much his death would benefit himself. 
 The thought, eager at first, gradually grew painful to one 
 not audacious nor evil enough to act. After a few mo- 
 
A TALE OP DUKE'S CREEK. 283 
 
 ments Jesse opened his eyes, and, repeating that he would 
 think upon his visitor's offer, requested him to leave. Mr. 
 Duke rose, and, with warmer assurances of friendship than 
 ever, went away. 
 
 Chapter XXXVI. 
 
 BARNEY JARRELL VISITS MR. LINES BY NIGHT. 
 
 Scarcely had Mr. Duke, on his progress toward home, 
 passed Barney Jarrell's gate, when a young negro man rode 
 up. A scream of joy T)urst from Aggy, who was walking 
 in the front yard, before Doolana and Amanda, who sat 
 in the piazza. When the new-comer was released from 
 Aggy's arms Amanda shook his hand cordially, and asked, 
 
 " How far behind are the rest 2" 
 
 " About an hour, Miss 'Mandy. Marster sent me on to 
 let you know, and help mammy to get supper." 
 * "Charley! Charley!" cried Aggy. "Bless the Lord, 
 how the child have growed !" 
 
 The dusk had just set in when Barney arrived with bis 
 suite. A covered spring-wagon brought himself and his 
 mother, followed by two other wagons, one drawn by two, 
 the other by four horses — about a dozen women and chil- 
 dren ; while a corresponding number of men and boys ac- 
 companied on foot. Though not wholly unexpected, the 
 meeting was not less joyous. Barney's mother, travel-worn 
 and care-worn, still bore the remains of considerable beauty, 
 and had the air of gentility that neither age nor care can dis- 
 sipate. Doolana had been preparing to return home when 
 the forerunner arrived. At the earnest entreaty of Amanda, 
 who promised safe escort, she remained. Later, Lucius 
 
284 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 Woodbridge, with his sister, called to inquire the cause of 
 Amanda's detention from Mrs. Toliver's. He and Barney 
 after supper took a long walk together. Interesting was 
 what each had to say, especially that by Woodbridge con- 
 cerning Lewis Sanders and the purport of his journey to Vir- 
 ginia. It was full bedtime before Barney could set out with 
 Doolana. Late as it was, and nearly a mile the journey, 
 Barney proceeded slowly. It soon appeared that the re- 
 fusal by Jesse Lines of his suit had not subdued nor di- 
 minished his interest in the case. Never having been court- 
 ed — at least, by any one in her opinion worth accepting — 
 never having contemplated marriage as possible in the pres- 
 ent condition of her family, yet, conscious of late emotions 
 which she often blushed to admit to her own heart, she had 
 been fluttered ever since Barney's return ; and when, leaving 
 the house, he offered his arm and she took it, she wished — 
 rather she suspected she ought to wish — that she had gone 
 home at her first intention. Barney — eager, after so long 
 absence — soon let out the words he could not keep back, 
 and they had not gone a third of the way when the girl 
 was in his arms, struggling, feebly, indeed, to release herself. 
 Soon as she could find words she let Barney know that she 
 had heard of his application to her father, and that other- 
 wise she would not so soon — oh, never — oh, dear me! 
 never — no, never! She thought she owed that much to 
 herself and her sex. 
 
 When they had reacted the end of their walk Barney 
 was about to take his leave. 
 
 " No," said Doolana, " you must go in. Pa will not like 
 it if I do alone.'' 
 
 "But he is asleep, no doubt, and I should disturb him. 
 Besides, meeting me thus would excite him. I'd better 
 call to-morrow." 
 
A TALE OP DUKE'S CEEEK. 285 
 
 " No ; to-night. He is not asleep, and would not be till 
 my return, if it were not in two days. I shall tell him to- 
 night. It is best. To him the night is as the day. I must 
 tell him at once, and in your presence. I desire you to see 
 him, and me with him, just as we are. Besides, I could not 
 deceive him if I were to try, and that he knows I never 
 have done. I will go round to the back-door and let you 
 in at the front. Don't advance. Wait here at the gate 
 till I call you. He would hear your step, and, knowing it 
 to be a strange one, would be excited, sure enough." 
 
 She walked around to the back-door, where a stout negro 
 sat upon the steps, an axe lying beside him. Boused from 
 his nodding, he rose, lifting his implement, but lowering 
 it instantly, as his young mistress turned the corner of the 
 house. 
 
 " That will do, Peter," she said. " Thank you. You 
 can go now." 
 
 " Dat you, Miss D'lana ? Bless your soul !" said the 
 man, as he shouldered his axe and walked away. 
 
 A few moments afterward Doolana called from the front- 
 door, 
 
 " Come in, Mr. Jarrell." 
 
 Barney, on entering, advanced to the old man, took his 
 hand, expressed gratification at meeting him after his long 
 absence, and hoped he was in better condition than when 
 he had last seen him. 
 
 " Yes," answered Jesse, " and you know, jest as well as 
 I do, and 'bleeged to know, that I ain't not nigh in as good 
 conditions. Everybody these days projecks with me, and 
 tries to fool me — exceptin' o' her. She hain't never done 
 it yit, as I knows of — 'ithout she's a-doin' of it now." 
 
 " And ma. You know she never trifles with you, pa." 
 
 "Oh, your ma!" he said, impatiently. "She don't try 
 
286 OLD makk langston: 
 
 to do it nor try not to do it. You needn't be a-cotin' your 
 ma on me. Give the man a cheer. Don't set it thar — fur- 
 der down thar. Now you set here, and tell me what made 
 you come a-bogin' and a-trapesin' home this time o' night 
 along o' him." 
 
 " Pa," she answered, " the man who brought me home 
 to-night, and whom I asked to come in, that he might hear 
 at once what you had to say, is the one I expect to marry." 
 
 She turned and looked upon Barney, and even by the 
 light of the tallow-candle her face lit up as it had never 
 done before. Dim though the light, and bleared her fa- 
 ther's eyes, he noticed her blushes and radiant joy, and 
 the pain exhibited in his face was piteous. He grasped 
 his flap with unwonted vigor, but immediately relaxed it, 
 and, after a silence of several moments, said, 
 
 " I knowed it, soon as you said he were out thar at the 
 gate! Goin' off to leave me here to die by myself! I 
 wouldn't of treated a ole, broke-down, wore-out horse so, 
 that had broke hisself down a-workin' for me ; or, at least- 
 ways, before I did leave him, I'd a-tuck pity on him, and 
 a-knocked him in the head with a axe and put him out o' 
 his misery. I'd a-nevcr left him to die jes so, by hisself." 
 
 ',' My dear Mr. Lines," said Barney, " we propose to do 
 nothing without your consent, and not, in any event, for 
 Miss Doolana to leave you." 
 
 "I wants none o' your talk, sir!" he replied, fiercely. 
 " It's my daughter I want to talk to me, if she can be so 
 kind and so condescendin', before she take up along 'ith 
 you. When you goin', Doolana, if I mout be so bold as 
 to ast questions about people's business that don't consarn 
 me? If I was in your place I'd try to be decent. about it, 
 and not go trapesin' along the public road of a night with 
 a man I knowed nothin' about, leastways ontell I were mar- 
 
A TALK OF DUKE'S CREEK. 287 
 
 ried to him. Whar you 'spect to live ? You know I can't 
 scacely s'port the dead-heads that's on me now, let alone 
 the pilin' of any more of 'em on top o' me." 
 
 " Oh, my father — my father !" cried Doolana, in an an- 
 guish of shame. "You would not talk so, and hurt my feeU 
 ings so, if you were not worn down by sickness and other 
 troubles. I am not going to marry as long as you live. 
 It is only because I never have deceived you that I wished 
 you to know whom I expected to many, if I should outlive 
 you. You shall have no more burdens — at least, of my 
 bringing ; though such would not be the case, as Mr. Jarrell 
 is abundantly able to take care of himself and me, and help 
 yon besides." 
 
 " Help me besides !" said Jesse, contemptuously. 
 
 " He could, pa, and he would, and he so desires. If you 
 will listen to him he will tell- you how he proposes to do 
 so. Will you listen to him ?" 
 
 " No, not if he talk to me. He may talk to you, if you 
 want him to. I've been fooled with too much now to be 
 fooled by a new fresh customer. Let him talk to you. 
 I'll lay here and listen to his talk, and tell you, off and on, 
 when and whar he's a-foolin' of you. Anybody can do that 
 'ith you. You're as easy fooled as a chicken that's jest 
 had sense enough, and no more, to peck hisself outen his 
 mammy's aig. Let him perceed on along o' his norations." 
 
 She motioned to Barney to speak. 
 
 "Miss Doolana," began Barney, in a candid, manly, 
 cheerful tone, " your father's opposition to me is most 
 natural, since he knows so little about me, my family, and 
 my affairs. Of course he would be unwilling, in any cir- 
 cumstances, to part from his only daughter, whose society 
 and attentions are so dear and necessary to him — " 
 
 " Foolin' you a'ready," said Jesse, compressing his lips 
 
288 OLD MAKE LANGSTON: 
 
 and drawing a long breath; "for everybody, exceptions 
 o' the aforesaid young chicken, know that circum'ances. 
 alters cases. Stick a pin right thar, won't yon ?" 
 
 Barney smiled and continued, as if unconscious of hav- 
 ing been interrupted : 
 
 " Or for her to marry at any time, except with a man 
 who was abundantly able, outside of any property she 
 might inherit, to maintain her in the style in which she 
 has always lived." 
 
 "Jest that kind o' talk, the wery words and langwidges, 
 that fools people — 'specially women! That man have 
 studied langwidges, he have, not only in the daytime, but 
 o' nights and Sundays. He know whar the Jack's a-goin' 
 to fall in Old Sledge, even befo' the keards is cut, he do." 
 
 Barney could not refrain from a momentary smile; but 
 it was, probably, intended more for Doolana's relief than 
 indicative of his sense of humor. Then he went on : 
 
 " The state of my affairs, as I told you to-night, is such 
 that I could not propose marriage until a settlement of 
 some matters — especially appertaining to my niece — is had, 
 which, probably for some time to come, will require close 
 attention on my part. My intention now was simply to 
 ascertain how you might regard such a proposition here- 
 after, always provided that whatever might be agreed upon 
 should be with your father's consent." 
 
 "I'm now of sixty-eight year old," said Jesse, calmly, 
 casting a recollecting look up toward the ceiling, " and, if I 
 remembers right, a-goin' on to my sixty-nine ; and I don't 
 think I ever, not sence I been borned, that I never heerd 
 a man that could pile up more words and langwidges, and 
 them of a kind that fools people, and 'special them that 
 ain't cut thar eye-teeth." 
 
 He raised his flap and commencing slowly fanning. 
 
289 
 
 With unabated cheerfulness Barney continued : 
 
 "And now, Miss Doolana, since I am so happy as to 
 find that my suit will not be disagreeable to you when it 
 shall become proper to press it, I would regard it as a favor 
 from your father if he would allow me to advise with him 
 on some matters of present interest, and especially to ask 
 him if he could find on his farm any employment for seven 
 or eight negro men and boys that I have just brought with 
 me. As I had heard that he was clearing a piece of wood- 
 land, it occurred to me that he might be able to use them 
 to advantage. Having no work myself for them to do, I 
 would rather they were employed than remain idle. Of 
 course I should expect no compensation, and would supply 
 their rations the while." 
 
 At the word " negro " Jesse lowered his flap and fixed 
 his eyes intently on Barney. 
 
 "Niggers? Has you got any niggers besides o' that 
 'oman 1" 
 
 " A few, sir : some eighteen or twenty." 
 
 " Which is it : eighteen er twenty ?" 
 
 " I think, sir — indeed, I am quite sure — that there arc 
 just twenty-two in all." 
 
 " Any mortgages on 'em, or executions agin 'em ?" 
 
 " Nothing of either kind, sir. We are not in debt. Be- 
 sides, we have a few thousands of dollars which we would 
 like to invest." 
 
 "We? Who do you mean by we. ?" 
 
 " My mother and myself." 
 
 "Then the prop'ty ain't yourn, now in hand. You've 
 got the old lady on your hands, and has to look to her, 
 has you !" 
 
 " Oh, father — father !" cried Doolana, covering her face 
 with her handkerchief, " how can you talk so ?" 
 
 19 
 
290 OLD MARK LANGSTON : 
 
 " Doolana," answered her father, " this here talk I'm bow 
 a-havin' with this here 7iian here is — business; and business 
 is a somethin' that women, and 'special one like yon, that 
 they don't understand, and its reason'ble to supposen that 
 this here man here do." 
 
 " Your father, Miss Doolana," said Barney, lowering his 
 head, and plucking slightly at the skirt of her frock, " is 
 right. No man ought to consent for his daughter to make 
 a matrimonial engagement with any man before being in- 
 formed fully in all matters belonging to him." 
 
 "TJmph — humph ! Ah, ha! I told you I knowed he 
 knowed what's business betwixt man and man — a-leavin' 
 out of women, and a-keepin' of the docket clear o' them." 
 Judge Dooly, in Jesse's opinion, could not have put the 
 case in better terms. 
 
 "The negroes belong to me," continued Barney; "the 
 greater part of the money to my mother, though I own 
 quite enough of that to purchase and stock a farm of rea- 
 sonable size, which I am intending to do. My mother 
 would reside with me or not, according as it suited her 
 views and those of whomsoever I might marry." 
 
 "Doolana," said her father, with the deliberate, unos- 
 tentatious dignity he thought becoming the occasion, " yon 
 know, my daughter, that it have always ben my wishes 
 and my desires — that is, sence you've ben growned, and 
 mout natchel you mout be of a-lookin' around and a-look- 
 in' for somebody for to be a companion — that it have ben 
 my wishes and my desires that you shonld settle yourself 
 and a-endnorin' o' my lifetime; that is, a-perwidin' — for 
 you know, my child, that I were — as it were, so to speak 
 — ahem ! — I may say, raised in the law, and served my 
 time on the bench as jestice under severial jedges o' the 
 Northern Circuit, and 'special Jedge Dooly, and which 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CKEEK. 291 
 
 me and him was jes like brothers, we was that thick 
 together ; and, gurl as you was, even when yon was 
 borned, and I knowed you allays would be obleeged to be 
 a gurl, I named you arf ter him ; and he laughed, he did, 
 the old jedge did, sicb. were his pleasure when I told him 
 of it ; and which I ought to know, even if I didn't, that 
 the law, she's jest natchel full o' powisoes and powosoes, 
 and which — aheem ! — it make me say, a-perwidin' you could 
 -settle yourself in a way whar you could see your way cler. 
 You've had offers — some of 'em good 'uns — and yit your 
 respects of your father has been that — that you've kicked 
 'em all, high and low, good, bad, and indefernt, ontwell 
 now. And now, on the day and year aforesaid, I now tell 
 you that my desires, a-bein' yit as aforesaid, and so forth as 
 aforesaid, and on the day and year as aforesaid, 'ithout the 
 roultiplyin' o' words in the said behalves o' the parties as 
 aforesaid — I say that so fur as Pm consarned, to the best 
 o' my knowledge, information, hearsay, and belief, the same 
 as if it were a case in Eequity — well, you has my permis- 
 sions to go straight to-morrow to the bakin' o' your cakes, 
 the whippin' o' your syllabub, and the makin' o' your wed- 
 din'-frock, and the balance o' your close and weddin' fixin's 
 genilly." 
 
 As well as he could Barney ignored and covered Doo- 
 lana's continued confusion. 
 
 " As to my family, Mr. Lines, it is proper for you to 
 know — what I have told Miss Doolana — that, though hon- 
 orably born, I am not entitled to the name which I have 
 borne here. You shall know in time why I have adopted 
 it — rather why I have not held to the one by which I am 
 known at home. My mother was a widow with one young 
 son when she was married to my father. He called himself 
 William Jones, and claimed to be from near Winnsborough, 
 
290 OLD MAKE. LANGSTON: 
 
 " Doolana," answered her father, " this here talk I'm now 
 a-havin' with this here 7iian here is — business; and business 
 is a somethin' that women, and 'special one like yon, that 
 they don't understand, and its reason'ble to snpposen that 
 this here man here do." 
 
 " Your father, Miss Doolana," said Barney, lowering his 
 head, and plucking slightly at the skirt of her frock, " is 
 right. No man ought to consent for his daughter to make 
 a matrimonial engagement with any man before being in- 
 formed fully in all matters belonging to him." 
 
 "TJtrjph — humph! Ah, ha! I told you I knowed he 
 knowed what's business betwixt man and man — a-leavin' 
 out of women, and a-keepin' of the docket clear o' them." 
 Judge Dooly, in Jesse's opinion, could not have put the 
 case in better terms. 
 
 "The negroes belong to me," continued Barney; "the 
 greater part of the money to my mother, though I own 
 quite enough of that to purchase and stock a farm of rea- 
 sonable size, which I am intending to do. My mother 
 would reside with me or not, according as it suited her 
 views and those of whomsoever I might marry." 
 
 "Doolana," said her father, with the deliberate, unos- 
 tentatious dignity he thought becoming the occasion, " yon 
 know, my daughter, that it have always ben my wishes 
 and my desires — that is, sence you've ben growned, and 
 mout natchel you mout be of a-lookin' around and a-look- 
 in' for somebody for to be a companion — that it have ben 
 my wishes and my desires that you should settle yourself 
 and a-endnorin' o' my lifetime; that is, a-perwidin' — for 
 you know, my child, that I were — as it were, so to speak 
 j— -ahem ! — I may say, raised in the law, and served my 
 Sime on the bench as jestice under severial jedges o' the 
 piTorthern Circuit, and 'special Jedge Dooly, and which 
 
A TALK OP DUKE'S GREEK. 291 
 
 mc and him was jes like brothers, we was that thick 
 together; and, gurl as you was, even when you was 
 borned, and I knowed you allays would be obleeged to be 
 a gurl, I named you arfter him ; and he laughed, he did, 
 the old jedge did, sich were his pleasure when I told him 
 of it ; and which I ought to know, even if I didn't, that 
 the law, she's jest natchel full o' powisoes and powosoes, 
 and which — aheem ! — it make me say, a-perwidin' you could 
 -settle yourself in a way whar you could see your way cler. 
 You've had offers — some of 'em good 'uns — and yit your 
 respects of your father has been that — that you've kicked 
 'em all, high and low, good, bad, and indefernt, ontwell 
 now. And now, on the day and year aforesaid, I now tell 
 you that my desires, a-bein' yit as aforesaid, and so forth as 
 aforesaid, and on the day and year as aforesaid, 'ithout the 
 multiplyin' o' words in the said behalves o' the parties as 
 aforesaid — I say that so fur as Pm consarned, to the best 
 o' my knowledge, information, hearsay, and, belief, the same 
 as if it were a case in Eequity — well, you has my permis- 
 sions to go straight to-morrow to the bakin' o' your cakes, 
 the whippin' o' your syllabub, and the makin' o' your wed- 
 din'-frock, and the balance o' your close and weddin' fixin's 
 genilly." 
 
 As well as he could Barney ignored and covered Doo- 
 lana's continued confusion. 
 
 " As to my family, Mr. Lines, it is proper for yon to 
 know — what I have told Miss Doolana — that, though hon- 
 orably born, I am not entitled to the name which I have 
 borne here. You shall know in time why I have adopted 
 it — rather why I have not held to the one by which I am 
 known at home. My mother was a widow with one young 
 son when she was married to my father. He called himself 
 William Jones, and claimed to be from near "Winnsborough, 
 
292 OLD MA UK LANGSTON: 
 
 in South Carolina. In a few months after the marriage, 
 saying that he had been suddenly called home on account 
 of pressing business, he left my mother, and never returned. 
 What became of him she never could ascertain, although 
 inquiries were made at Winnsborough and elsewhere. At 
 the former place none could be found who professed to 
 have known a person of the name and description given. 
 Yet, for the sake of his honor, her own, and of her child 
 afterward born (myself), she tried to conclude that he had 
 died somewhere in circumstances that prevented notice to 
 his family. Having been led, only very lately, to think it 
 possible to obtain information of use to my niece, and be- 
 ing advised to move with caution, I temporarily adopted 
 the name by which I am known here." 
 
 "What year were that?" inquired Jesse, cool as if he 
 were asking of the foaling of a colt he was thinking to 
 purchase. 
 
 " Seventeen hundred and ninety-eight." 
 
 " Seventeen ninety-eight. I 'members that year," he an- 
 swered, solemnly. " It were a dry year, and it were a year 
 of a good smart o' meanness of warous kinds. Yes — yes, 
 that were a bad year. And you never seed your father — 
 not as you knowed of? Well, thar's many that has that 
 'd a-done better and been better off ef they hadn't a-saw 
 theirn. That needn't to make not the littlest, Continen- 
 talest bit o' defernce betwixt you and Doolana. In this 
 here country of ourn that we has for the present, Mr. — 
 whatsonever your names is : I keer nothin' about your 
 names, nor how warous they mout be — ef you can stan' 
 up to the 'foresaid itums of the bill and account ; for, as I 
 were a-sayin', in this here present country it's time flung 
 away to be a-grubbin' and a-enquirin' and a-fussin' about 
 breed, whether it's the breed o' dogs er people." 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CKEEK. 293 
 
 Poor Doolana ! 
 
 Yet her future husband forbore not to comfort and 
 support her. He chatted for some minutes afterward as if 
 nothing had been said but what was consistent with entire 
 delicacy. He loved her — so he always said — so much the 
 more for leading him at once to comprehend her family 
 status. Apologizing for having stayed so long at an un- 
 seasonable hour, he took his leave. Doolana, to whose eye- 
 lids sleep was not to come that night, after a few moments' 
 delay with her father, went to- her bedroom, got a book, 
 and sat down to read. Her father called her back. 
 
 " Why can't you set in here and read, ef you ain't a-goin' 
 to bed ? They ain't no sleep in me nuther, not for a long 
 time. "What's that you readin', anyhow ? Don't see how 
 you can be a-readin' with the fix your mind's in. I couldn't. 
 But I suppose people's defcr'nt, even them o' the same fam- 
 blies. What book you readin' ?" 
 
 " The Proverbs, pa." 
 
 "The what?" 
 
 " The Proverbs of Solomon, in the Bible." 
 
 " My Lord ! What you want to be readin' in sich a 
 onfriendly book in sich a time as now ?" 
 
 "Unfriendly, pa? The Bible an unfriendly book?" 
 
 " It may not be onfriendly to you ; but to me — well, as 
 fur as I can go to say about that book, it ain't what I call 
 friendly — not to me it ain't. I've tuck her up time and 
 time agin, and tried to read in her — as fur as I can under- 
 stan' her, and which they's a heap in her I can't understan', 
 ner make head ner tails of — but which somehow she always 
 seem onfriendly to me and agin me. I ain't no great read- 
 er, nohow, as you know, 'special sence my 'fliction. But, 
 when I does read, I wants to read in a book which, ef she 
 can't be 'special friendly and pinted friendly, ain't at least 
 
294 OLD MAEK LANGSTON: 
 
 onfriendly ; or, ef it actilly ain't a-namin' o' me by name, 
 and abnsin' of me, yit is constant a-hintin' round me — and 
 which I were never a man that had to be kicked down- 
 stars befo' I could take a hint. Now you jes read out loud 
 whar you is a while, and less see how she go." 
 
 She read as follows : 
 
 "'A righteous man hateth lying; but a wicked man is 
 loathsome and cometli to shame.' " 
 
 "Thar!" cried he, in undisguised resentment. "Didn't 
 I tell you so ? Shet her up. For Godamigbty's sake, 
 Doolana, shet her up !" 
 
 In the deep of the night, fear, undefined though it was, 
 had gotten hold of him, and he looked beseechingly at 
 his daughter. 
 
 "My dear father," she said, closing the book, "this 
 could not apply to you in special, for you were never a 
 man that loved lying — nor practised it." 
 
 " No. I never — that is, as a gener'l thing — I never were 
 a man that went about a.-practisirC o' lies — leastways on no 
 great scale, like a heap o' people I've knowed ; and as for 
 the lovin' of 'em, I allays hated 'em, 'special when I caught 
 t'other people a-tellin' of 'em to me. But I has stood by 
 and let 'em tell 'em to t'other people, and hain't corrected 
 'em, and that's jes what that book's a-pinted hintin' at right 
 thar whar you was a-rcadin', perwidin' she was a-hintin' at 
 anythin'. She can't fool me ; for I tell you agin I were 
 never a man that, before he could take a hint, he had to 
 be kicked down-stars." 
 
 With such and other conversation they spent most of 
 the remainder of the night. Toward dawn he fell into 
 sleep, when Doolana withdrew to her chamber. 
 
A TALK OF DUKE'S CREEK. 295 
 
 Chapter XXXVII. 
 
 A PREDICTION BY MB. LINES IS VERIFIED. 
 
 The arrival of so many new - comers naturally excited 
 much interest in so limited a community. Even the pupils 
 of the school, residents and boarders, had something to say. 
 The father of Amanda Jarrell, hitherto considered of small 
 means, returning with wagons and horses, and " droves " of 
 negroes, as some had it, rose high in the regard of such 
 as associated great wealth with high respectability. His 
 mother kept herself closely at home. The ladies of the vil- 
 lage soon called upon her, and reports as to her demeanor 
 were very favorable. Mrs. Duke, feeling safe in going 
 wherever the Quillians went, paid her respects jn time 
 respectably late. 
 
 " A vigorous person she seems to have been — oldish now, 
 and suspicious-looking," she remarked to her husband. 
 
 " 'Spicious f" answered Mr. Duke. " What about ?" 
 
 " Nothing in particular, husband, I suppose. Doubtless 
 it was only her manner. I judge that she has not been 
 much in society — at least, since she was young. She has 
 the manners, though, of one who, in her day, has gone with 
 the best." 
 
 The frame of Kinsey Duke had become such that he 
 was anxious about all new events. What Jesse Lines had 
 said of his vague suspicions about the negro woman Aggy 
 had disturbed him greatly. On her, he reflected, Bar- 
 ney Jarrell founded his case. Though convinced of the 
 
296 OLD maek langston: 
 
 worthlessness of tbe testimony that a negro might Lave to 
 offer to a court of justice, yet, constrained to admit the 
 possibility of Aggy's identity with tbe little negress whom 
 he had sold thirty years ago, he dreaded the effect upon his, 
 reputation in the community if that identity should become 
 known or even suspected by others. On tbe night of his 
 last return from Jesse Lines's, Dave, his negro factotum, 
 paid a visit to Aggy. He had dressed himself in bis best 
 clothes, and was bearing to her a proposition of marriage, 
 though several years her junior. Meeting the crowd that 
 had arrived, and finding no opportunity to declare himself, 
 Dave took bis leave, and reported to bis master the state of 
 affairs. Sleepless, therefore, was his master that night. On 
 the day after his wife's call upon Barney's mother he rode 
 over to see the invalid. More than a week bad now passed 
 since his last visit. He found bis friend not only not fret- 
 ful, but calm, and at times cheerful. Throughout the visit 
 (as her father had directed) Doolana sat in the room. Jesse 
 waved his flap, but not angrily, at insect enemies, real and 
 imaginary ; talked incessantly about the weather and the 
 crops, and seemed in better, even friendlier, spirits than 
 he had been for years past. He looked at his visitor but 
 once during the interview, but it was a look that caused tbe 
 latter to turn somewhat pale. But Jesse withdrew his eyes, 
 resumed the subject of crops and weather, and talked and 
 talked and talked. 
 
 " Good-bye, Mr. Jook," he said, when the time came to 
 part. " It'll all come right. I've had some talk with the 
 party named in the deed. It'll all come right. You needn't 
 bother yourself to come till I send for you. It won't be 
 long. My wife ain't so mighty powerful well. But she'll 
 peerten up soon, and then we can talk business. 'Pon 
 my soul, Mr. Jook, never seed you look better. Health's a 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CEEEK. 29V 
 
 great thing, Mr. Jook, to them that's got it ; but what is 
 it to them that hain't? But never mind ; all '11 come right. 
 Good-bye." 
 
 As Mr. Duke was riding by Barney's house on his return 
 he noticed Amanda and her grandmother sitting in the 
 piazza. The latter had laid her work in her lap, and was 
 absorbed in regarding him. He returned her look mo- 
 mentarily, bowed as he passed, and, after riding several 
 paces, turned and saw her, standing on the edge of the 
 piazza, following him with her eyes. Muttering an oath, 
 he spurred on his horse. 
 
 The culmination of matters of primary interest in this 
 story was retarded for several days by an event occurring 
 in the domestic circle of Jesse Lines. In the case of her 
 who had had the honor of being his wife he was a true 
 prophet. On the third day from that whereon she had 
 taken finally to her bed she died. Jesse had to acknowl- 
 edge that she had held on longer than he had expected, and 
 far beyond what might have been believed, " by good rights, 
 a-reason'ble speakin', and considerin', you mind." He had 
 always known, of course, that she was to go before him, 
 and perhaps it was that foreknowledge which had deferred 
 in his mind thoughts of the necessity of making special 
 preparations for such an important change in his own ca- 
 reer. He behaved himself on the occasion with much pro- 
 priety. With Doolana's outpouring grief he felt a placid 
 sympathy that gave a tremor to his many words of consola- 
 tion which it made biui feel sweet himself to hear. He had 
 himself shaved and brushed up, his best clothes taken out 
 and put on, and he felt -a consciousness of physical, intel- 
 lectual, and moral strength that he had not known for 
 years. The directions he gave as to the funeral were on 
 a scale of circumstantiality and liberality that, considering 
 
298 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 who it was that did it all, was highly commendable. His 
 calmness, so soothing to his feelings, was interrupted some- 
 what by Doolana's asking if he would not see the corpse. 
 
 " Lord a' mercy, Doolana !" was his answer. 
 
 " I think you ought to, pa. You'll see the sweetest face 
 you ever looked on. Her very face shows that she's in 
 heaven." 
 
 Never having loved, but always neglected, though never 
 harshly treated his wife, Jesse felt neither grief nor re- 
 morse. He at length suffered himself to be persuaded to 
 look upon the deceased. They brought in the coffin, and 
 laid it beside his cot, upon two chairs. He leaned over, 
 gave one long, piteous cry, then turned away, and wept 
 and wept. In the midst of his lamentation the only words 
 he ejaculated were — and they were repeated many times — 
 " Too late ! too late !" 
 
 Chapter XXXVIII. 
 
 A CITATION FROM THE COURT OF ORDINARY, WITH SOME 
 OF ITS RESULTS. 
 
 When a young man is winding up the work of one pro- 
 fession preparatory to entering another he has to be care- 
 ful that his undertakings not yet fulfilled do not suffer from 
 relaxed attention. With him the passing time seems longer 
 the less of it that remains. Lucius Woodbridge had been 
 reared in a discipline that insisted upon the discharge of 
 the very last item of a man's obligations. Such a man — 
 become justly responsive to such influences — must pay all 
 debts, and be satisfied only until he have an acquittal of 
 interest as well as principal. The young man, therefore, 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CHEEK. 299 
 
 did his remaining work with an energy and efficiency that 
 made all interested in the school feel reluctant to lose him. 
 To forefend all charges or insinuations of neglect, he did 
 so as to seem to all, patrons and pupils, to be exerting 
 his full strength for the first time. The conferences with 
 Barney Jarrell — now more frequent and prolonged — instead 
 of subtracting from the energy and value of his daily duties 
 at school, seemed to enhance them. Yet his successor, upon 
 whom that work was soon to devolve, showed that he had 
 been well chosen ; and it helped him — and he knew it — when 
 the head-master asked for and obtained a week's holiday. 
 
 Before this Woodbridge had advised with Keuben Quil- 
 lian and Colonel Porter as to the propriety of his extending 
 legal counsel, while still in the school, in a matter that was 
 likely, if not compromised, to lead to an important lawsuit 
 against a member of the board of trustees — a matter, he 
 added, that was not only inevitable, but, for special reasons, 
 required despatch. Without inquiring who was the person, 
 or what the nature and merits of the case, they answered 
 promptly that they saw no reasons against such a course. 
 For some time he had been studying the law regarding the 
 issuing of a writ known, in the parlance of the courts, as 
 that of de bene esse, in order to perpetuate the testimony 
 of a witness whose physical condition made probable his 
 dying before the case to which he had been or might be 
 summoned could be tried. The presiding judge resided 
 in a distant county, on the northern border of the circuit. 
 Thither Woodbridge repaired, and returned late one Sat- 
 urday evening. 
 
 On the morning of that day occurred what was sufficient 
 to startle that small community thoroughly. Mr. Duke had 
 scarcely been seen by any of the villagers for several days. 
 Eising from bed early, he had ridden to his mill or to one 
 
300 OLD MAEK LANGSTOTS: 
 
 or another of his plantations, not returning until late in the 
 evening. • This being the day for the arrival of the weekly 
 newspaper from Milledgeville, he walked up to the post- 
 office. Already several persons were in the piazza from 
 town and country — the two Quillians, Colonel Porter, and 
 Baldwin Riddle among them — and they were discussing an 
 advertisement that appeared in the Southern Recorder, in 
 which all legal notices in the county required by law to bo 
 published were wont to appear. Said Reuben Quillian, 
 
 " I remember the lad well. But it has been twenty-five 
 or thirty years since we heard he was dead. He had no 
 property here that I ever heard of. Yon ought to remem- 
 ber him, Baldy. He used to be a good deal about Brother 
 Langston's, and I remember that toward the last he stayed 
 about as much at Sister Toliver's as at Mrs. Catlin's, who 
 was his aunt." 
 
 " I 'members him," said Baldy — " a fine, prevous growed- 
 up boy. Yonder comes the man that knewed more o' his 
 transactions than anybody else, Mr. Quillian. Supposen 
 you puts him on the stand?" 
 
 Just at that moment Mr. Duke came up. After saluta- 
 tions in general, in which nothing special was to be re- 
 marked except a more than usual reddening of Mr. Duke's 
 face when he saw Baldy, Reuben Quillian said, 
 
 " Mr. Duke, here's an advertisement that yon'11 no doubt 
 be interested in." 
 
 Although the president of the board of trustees of the 
 Dukesborough academy, Mr. Duke did not feel himself 
 competent to read aloud for others' as well as his own ben- 
 efit ; so he asked Mr. Quillian to read it. It was a citation 
 in usual form by the Court of Ordinary of the county that 
 letters of administration had been applied for by Gerald 
 Fitzgerald on the estate, being in the said county or else- 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 301 
 
 where in the State, of Gerald Fitzgerald, late of the County 
 of Berkeley, State of Virginia. 
 
 It seemed well for Mr. Duke that he had already seated 
 himself upon one of the benches of the piazza. Gazing not 
 at Mr. Quillian, but at the newspaper he held in his hand, 
 and leaning against the railing that extended between the 
 piazza-posts, he clutched at it, as if fearing that otherwise 
 he must fall to the floor. Every tooth in Baldy's head was 
 visible, and his lips flattened into mere wisps of paper as 
 he saw the struggle with the consternation. Partially re- 
 covering himself after a few moments, Mr. Duke rose, and, 
 saying he knew nothing at all about the subject, got his 
 own mail and set off to return home. 
 
 "I told Uncle Mark that Godamighty were arfter him, 
 and a-gainin' on him. Sure's you're born, He's about to 
 grab him." 
 
 "Come, Baldy," said Mr. Quillian, "you're too quick. 
 We must not judge any man before hearing the evidence 
 against him." 
 
 " Oh, I ain't a-jedgin' of him, Mr. Quillian. I ain't his 
 jedge. He'll find a Jedge that know better what to do 
 with him than me. Didn't you see how he hilt on to the 
 railin' ?" 
 
 " He did seem embarrassed, Baldy ; but, you know, Mr. 
 Duke is an excitable man, and perhaps — " 
 
 " Oh, prehaps ! But, gentlemen, these transactions goin' 
 to make a prevous case." 
 
 The party at the post-office soon separated, and the news 
 was spread rapidly. Mrs. Toliver had gone that morning to 
 her plantation. She returned just as Ecbecca Woodbridge 
 came in after meeting her brother, who, on his return from 
 his journey, had summoned her there. Said Mrs. Toliver: 
 
 " Miss Arbecca, tell me, what is all this hurrain' and hul- 
 
302 OLD MAKE LANGSTON: 
 
 labalooin' about that boy Fitz Jarel ? I never 'spected to hear 
 of him agin, or at leastways as a-livin', or the dyin' and 
 leavin' o' prop'ty about here. Some say he's dead, and some 
 say he's come to life agin, and here they has it. "What do 
 Br'er Woodidge say ? They say he know all about it, and 
 he got it from Mandy's pa, or at leastways they 'spicions 
 it, and which, to my opinions, he a sight better keep on 
 'ith his school, and let 'lone a business whar, as for me, I 
 can't see cler how he's to keep up 'ith his religion. For 
 them lawyers, seems to me, is the most Gallio-like, nothin'- 
 keerin', helter-skelter people I ever see. When they puts 
 up here at Hallier's, on their way to cotes or a-comin' from 
 'em — even ef it's of a Sunday night — you can hear 'em all 
 over town, a-tellin' o' their jokes and a-Iaughin' like they 
 keerd nothin' for God ner man ; and which, when people's 
 a-comin' from pra'r-meetin' — even as old people as what I 
 am — and hears 'em, I can't keep, not to save my own life, 
 I can't keep from laughin' myself, 'stid of a-meditatin', as 
 I ought, and so git no benefits of the meetin'. But that 
 ain't neither here ner thar now. What do your br'er say 
 about it ?" 
 
 " You'll have to ask him, my dear friend. The most I 
 know is from copying some of his papers, and he almost 
 made me swear that I would not so much as open my 
 mouth about that." 
 
 " Umph ! humph ! Thar it is. They'll hunt up people, 
 livin' and dead, smooth and silent like a cat, and the first 
 thing a body know they got 'em, like a duck got a June- 
 bug, whar he can't kick, ner squeal, ner squirm. He were a 
 monstous pretty boy, and I thought a mighty much of him 
 ontwell he help Mr. Jook run off with poor Emily. As 
 for any prop'ty he left here, he never had none that ever I 
 knowed of, exceptin' what he had in his trunk and on his 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CBEEK. 303 
 
 back. Mr. Jook may know about it, if anybody do ; and ef 
 he did, I should of thought he'd a-told somebody about it 
 before now. But him, ner neither his father before him, 
 weren't never the kind to bother theirselves about helpin' 
 other people to their rights. They both diwided betwixt 
 'em poor Emily's prop'ty that old Albert Semmes left her. 
 The law give it to 'em, and Br'er Mark keerd no great deal 
 about it before, and he keerd nothin' when his child left 
 him and died away off yonder. It's a curous case. God- 
 amighty understand it ; I don't." 
 
 Immediately after supper Barney Jarrell walked up to 
 Hallier's. While he had known of the forthcoming of the 
 advertisement that had just appeared, though nothing had 
 been said between him and his counsel as to the name in 
 whose favor the application to the Court of Ordinary was 
 to be made, yet he was surprised at seeing the one that had 
 been inserted. Woodbridge, when they had retired to his 
 room, showed him the judge's order for the issuance of the 
 process for taking the testimony of Jesse Lines, and was 
 in spirits more exuberant than Barney believed possible to 
 a nature usually so staid and serious. 
 
 "But who is the living Fitzgerald that applies for the 
 letters of administration ?" asked Barney. 
 
 Woodbridge, removing the cigar from his mouth, blew 
 into the air a long, slender cone of smoke and thoughtfully 
 contemplated its dissolution. After a time he answered, 
 
 "A mere citation, Mr. Jarrell, for administration on the 
 estates of decedents does not need to be very explicit, es- 
 pecially in the matter of the applicant's name. It is merely 
 a notice that any one may give that such administration 
 must be granted, when the term of the notice has expired, 
 to somebody. I inserted that name for several reasons : 
 one because, as I said, there was no need to be explicit in 
 
304 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 this preliminary stage ; another, because I believed Kinsey 
 Duke might feci less secure by meditating on the thought 
 that there is near him an enemy who sees him, but whom 
 he cannot see. One more reason I have ; but, if you have 
 no objection, I will postpone telling that for a few days. 
 May I?" 
 
 " Certainly," answered Barney, cordially. " I know it's 
 all right." 
 
 " I think so. Our case goes reasonably well. I say our 
 case ; for I have come to feel a strong personal interest in 
 it, somehow. By-the-way, I found a letter here from Mr. 
 Sanders on my return. The postmaster said it came the 
 day I left. He will be back soon." 
 
 " A very interesting young man he is." 
 
 " Yes ; I like Mr. Sanders." Then he made attenuated 
 cones of smoke. 
 
 " Mr. Woodbridge," said Barney, resuming the conver- 
 sation, " I rather feel that I ought to : — if not make another 
 appeal to Mr. Duke — at least warn him of my intentions and 
 their grounds. Mr. Lines has sent him a message to come 
 to see him to-morrow ; but I feel as if / ought to hint to 
 him how his reputation may be affected by what is coming." 
 
 "As you please." He reflected a moment, and added, 
 " It may be gratifying to you hereafter, on some accounts, 
 to remember that you dealt kindly with him." 
 
 It was the period of full moon. Though the year was 
 far advanced the air had the softness and balm that make 
 the fall sweetest of all seasons in Georgia. It was about 
 eight o'clock when Barney, having left Hallier's, reached 
 Barfield's. He paused and debated whether to proceed on 
 down the street or turn up to Mr. Duke's. Recalling the 
 last remark of Woodbridge, he began the ascent. Mr. 
 Duke was walking alone up and down his piazza. The 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CEEEK. 305 
 
 perturbation of his mind, increased by the event of the 
 morning, had subsided much. He had not heard of the 
 new relation of Barney Jarrell to Jesse Lines, and when 
 recovered from the confusion produced by the advertise- 
 ment of the Recorder he called to mind what Jesse had 
 said at their last interview, and"he had no doubt that the 
 delay in being sent for — at least, be hoped so — was attrib- 
 utable to the death of Mrs. Lines. Convinced that by singu- 
 lar mischance the woman Aggy was the same with the child 
 Betsy Semmes, nevertheless his experience in judicial litiga- 
 tion assured him that he need have no fear as to whatever 
 she might have to relate, provided Jesse Lines would remain 
 silent. The physician who occasionally attended the latter 
 had said that he would not survive until winter. Once Jesse 
 was in his grave Mr. Duke felt secure of saving everything 
 that was in danger. In any event it was not possible, he 
 thought, to lose all. Thus he had already found some di- 
 version to his anxiety in the courage to which he had nerved 
 himself, when the invalid's message came. He at once 
 drew up another deed, in which, besides the negroes named 
 in the one already offered, he included, as compensation for 
 the possible loss of Betsy, a negro man famous in the 
 neighborhood for his value, whom Jesse had often men- 
 tioned in terms of admiration. So he was surprised at the 
 relief that the calm autumn night had brought after so 
 troubled a day. 
 
 This was the first meeting with Barney since his return. 
 
 " Haven't seen you before since you got back, Mr. Jar- 
 rell," he said, hospitably. " Take a seat. Would of called 
 to see you, but been busy. Wife called on your mother. 
 Very much pleased. How she like the country, and how 
 is she, anyhow 2" 
 
 " Thanks for your inquiry, Mr. Duke. My mother seems 
 20 
 
306 OLD MARK LANGSTON : 
 
 more indisposed than I hoped she would be after so many 
 days' rest. I came for a little chat, if you are at leisure." 
 
 Mr. Duke, looking around him, rose, and proposed, the 
 night being so fair, that they should take a walk. They 
 went forth. Reaching the foot of the hill, they entered the 
 academy lane, and not until they had arrived at a large 
 hickory in the grove and were rested on a bench beneath 
 it did Barney begin what he had to say. 
 
 "After what has passed between you and myself, Mr. 
 Duke, I thought I ought to notify you that, having been 
 convinced that my niece is rightfully entitled to the estate 
 once belonging to Emily Langston, I am preparing, as her 
 guardian, to institute suit for its recovery." 
 
 " Are — are you ?" 
 
 " I am." 
 
 " Got your evidence all right, suppose 1" 
 
 He used the language and the manner of one who, having 
 been often in court, had learned the conduct of a litigant. 
 
 "As for evidence, Mr. Duke, it is such as to make it 
 morally certain, to my mind, that her cause ought to pre- 
 vail, if it do not." 
 
 " Nigger evidence, suppose 3" 
 
 Remembering that he had sought this interview more 
 from compassion than any other motive, Barney repressed 
 what otherwise he might have said, and framed his reply 
 with the view to show Mr. Duke how imprudent had been 
 his question. 
 
 " I said nothing of negro evidence, sir. To what sort 
 do you allude?" 
 
 " Meant no nigger particular, sir. Talk like your evi- 
 dence wasn't what court ask for. Thought might be nig- 
 ger. Man there, Mr. Jarrcll, got to have good evidence. 
 S'pose^y.ou know that, sir 2" 
 
A TALE OP DUKE'S CREEK. 307 
 
 "I have no experience, Mr. Bute, in judicial trials. 
 You, who have, can speak with confidence as to what they 
 require in disputing claims. Yet I do know that cases in 
 court are sometimes brought to a decision, in the absence 
 of human testimony, by circumstantial evidence." 
 
 " What you drivin' at now, sir ?" 
 
 " Suppose, sir, it should be proved to the satisfaction — I 
 will not say of a court, but of this community — that Emily 
 Langston gave birth to a child that, in spite of the neglect 
 of its supposed father, lived to the years of maturity, but, 
 dying, left .a descendant, who is now alive?" 
 
 "All that supposed, sir, when we talked about it be- 
 fore." 
 
 " True, sir ; and I have not forgotten your disclaimer of 
 paternity to such possible offspring." 
 
 "Admitted nothing about it, sir. Yon made your own 
 case, sir." 
 
 " You must have forgotten your words, sir," said Barney, 
 greatly moved by the disgust he felt. 
 
 " Say, never admitted any such child ever born, sir. Un- 
 derstand me, sir, please." 
 
 "Be it so. Let us take that to be the extent of your 
 admission. But I am now proceeding (independently of 
 what may be your own recollection of the facts) upon the 
 assumption that that one is susceptible of proof — at least, 
 such proof as would be satisfactory to all thoughtful, can- 
 did minds in this community. In that event they will nat- 
 urally inquire why the birth of that child was so long con- 
 cealed. If some persons should argue that such concealment 
 had been made by a son-in-law, in order to save Mr. Lang- 
 ston from the knowledge of his daughter's dishonor, the 
 majority of those whose judgment in all serious matters is 
 worth most would condemn it. But now, sir, let us sup- 
 
308 OLD MARK LANGSTON : 
 
 pose that an orphaned girl has come into the community, 
 claiming to be the descendant of Emily Langston, and that 
 it has been known that she and her adult friends in her be- 
 half not only do not believe that Mr. Duke is not her ances- 
 tor, but that he and Emily Langston were ever intermar- 
 ried ? Suppose — forbear, sir, please, a moment longer — sup- 
 pose that the negro girl, Betsy Semmes, for many reasons 
 supposed to be dead, should be ascertained to be alive and 
 now in this village?" 
 
 Mr. Duke had risen during this last speech, and even in 
 the shaded moonlight could be seen the struggle he was 
 making with various emotions. 
 
 " Got any more snpposings, sir? Suppose all night, if 
 you want to. No law against supposing, that I know of." 
 
 Barney, retaining his seat, more calm yet more cool, 
 with the serenity of a man thoroughly courageous, said, in 
 a low tone, 
 
 " These are all the suppositions I have to make to-night, 
 Mr. Duke. I felt that I ought to present them for your 
 consideration. In my farther action in the case I shall be 
 guided by my counsel." 
 
 After regarding Barney for several moments Mr. Duke 
 said, 
 
 " Your citation see in paper to-day, eh ? Thought your 
 name Jarrell. Claim to be Fitzgerald, sir?" 
 
 "My name is not Jarrell, Mr. Duke, nor is it Fitzgerald. 
 That, however, has nothing to do with the matters of pres- 
 ent discussion. I will now bid you good-night, sir." 
 
 His companion, saying that he would walk as far as the 
 church, and return home by the main street, went along. 
 Neither spoke for some time. Finally Mr. Duke broke the 
 silence. 
 
 " Very hard, Mr. Jarrell, like me, getting old, have self 
 
A TALE OP DUKE'S CKEEK. 309 
 
 and family tore up with lawsuits, and — and — such as 
 that." 
 
 Barney was sensibly touched by the profound sadness of 
 these words. But he made no answer. They walked on 
 to the church-well, where they must separate. 
 
 " Can't understand," said Mr. Duke, stopping, "how such 
 things, 'stead of coming on before, wait till man getting old." 
 
 " Mr. Duke, what we know, or believe we know, we did 
 not until very lately. If we had known we should have 
 moved long ago." 
 
 " Would suppose, Mr. Jarrell, that people would be mon- 
 stous careful believin' what they hear — 'specially from nig- 
 gers — and bringing 'em up against old men with families. 
 Should suppose they'd be willing to compromise." 
 
 " Mr. Duke, without being able to see how just such a 
 matter can be compromised, I will suggest to you to consid- 
 er that yourself at your leisure. Should you wish to see me 
 particularly hereafter, I will be at your service. My mother 
 is far from being well, and I must now return to her." 
 
 Barney, bidding good-night, walked on home, and Mr. 
 Duke turned up the street. He had proceeded a couple of 
 hundreds of yards, when two horsemen, who had turned in 
 from the road leading from the north, overtook him. One 
 of them he recognized to be Lewis Sanders. The other 
 seemed to be a man of sixty years or thereabout. Lewis 
 checked his horse for a moment to salute Mr. Duke, and 
 as these moved, chatting together, the other horseman 
 reined back a few paces, and followed on behind, until they 
 reached the walk that led to Mr. Duke's mansion. The 
 stranger looked at the latter as he moved off, and so con- 
 tinued for several rods. 
 
 " I expected to find him," said he to Lewis, " and I am 
 already about sure that I have." 
 
310 OI,D MARK LAN6ST0N: 
 
 Chapter XXXIX. 
 
 MRS. TOLIVER'S SPECULATIONS AS TO NEWS BROUGHT BY 
 LEWIS SANDERS. 
 
 At about nine o'clock Mrs. Toliver and her boarder had 
 just risen from their seats in the parlor preparatory to go 
 up-stairs to their chambers, when a negro boy from the tav- 
 ern came running to the door with a note to Eebecca. 
 
 " Tell him, all right : I will remain here until he comes." 
 
 " Who can that be a-sendin' of letters this time o' night ? 
 'Pears like it fetches good news, the way you smiles." 
 
 " My dear friend, Lewis has returned, is now at Hallier's, 
 and will call by here in half an hour, on his way home." 
 
 " That so ? He mout of come a little sooner or a little 
 later, and of not of egzited you out of a night's sleep. How- 
 beever, people ain't young but onst, and they has to have 
 their times. But don't you and him set up down here too 
 late. You both of you done cut all your teeth before now, 
 and ought to know what's what. They ain't so mighty 
 powerful many young people I'd go off to bed and leave 
 'em down-stars with young men. But somehow I feel like 
 I can trust you and Lewis." 
 
 " That's a good dear ! He will not wish to remain very 
 long, or, if he does, I will not let him." 
 
 Mrs. Toliver then went up-stairs. An hour and a half 
 afterward, Eebecca, having also ascended, was moving soft- 
 ly into her chamber, when she heard, spoken in quite a 
 wakeful tone, 
 
A TALK OF DUKE'S CEEEK. 311 
 
 "Nobody needn't to be a-crcepin' along out thar. No- 
 body's asleep here as anybody knows of, nor not a-nigh 
 of it." 
 
 Pushing open the door, Eebecca passed into Mrs. Toli- 
 ver's room, set the candle on the bureau, ran to the bed 
 whereon her hostess was resting, leaned over, lifted her 
 arms, and, putting them around her own neck, said, 
 
 " I'm so glad you are not asleep ! I wanted, before I 
 slept myself, to feel these dear arms around me again." 
 
 Then she fell upon her breast and sobbed. 
 
 The old lady's alarm was but momentary. Rude though 
 her nature was, she felt assured that Rebecca's sobs did not 
 proceed from grief. 
 
 "Lookee here, young 'oman: now, none o' your tryin' to 
 smother me ; you jes git right straight off'n top o' me." 
 
 Rising to a sitting position, she desired Rebecca to seat 
 herself upon the bed-rail ; then, opening wide her arms, she 
 drew her within them. 
 
 " Ef I've got to hug you, let a body do it when she can 
 do it convenant. Come, now," she continued, after a few 
 moments, "that '11 do. I'd ruther hear what you got to 
 say than so much carrin' on. I don't know — not as for 
 myself, I don't — how people could 'spect people to go to 
 sleep when thar's candles a-bumin' down-stars, and people 
 a-talkin', and a body mout "natchelly ast theirselves, ef they 
 got nobody else to ast but theirselves, what can people 
 have to be talkin' about so much at this time o' night that 
 they can't wait till mornin' ?" 
 
 " My best, dearest friend, I rejoice that you are awake, 
 so that you can say another prayer for me and bless me 
 to-night." 
 
 " Lawsamercy, child ! you ought by good rights to know 
 that it ain't in people, 'special a ole sinner like me, to be 
 
312 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 a-blessin' of people. People can pray to Godamighty, and 
 I do try to pray ; but I don't deny that it's not freckwent 
 enough, and it's in a po', blind, lame, and haltin' way. Buj; 
 the blessin's a-got to come from Godamighty. But what 
 about Lewis Sanders? Ef you got anything to tell me, 
 don't keep a-talkin' and a-keepin' me awake all night 
 a-waitin' to hear what it is.'' 
 
 " Well, my friend, Lewis has been to the grave of his 
 mother." 
 
 "Well, my child, you know, and Lewis ought to know, 
 that it's appinted to all onst to die, and arfter that the jedg- 
 ment. I hope he found that she were a respectable person 
 of the female sect and sections." 
 
 " Of that there is no doubt. She is of as good family 
 as — as any in this neighborhood." 
 
 She took a chair by the bedside and looked eagerly at 
 Mrs. Toliver. 
 
 " When you begin to talk about good famblies in this 
 here neighborhood here, Miss Arbecca Woodidge, a body 
 got to stop and think; and the question is, what kind o' 
 goodness people means by sich langwidges. F' instant, 
 thar's the Jooks : as for them, they now, it seem, runs on 
 famblies, 'special since Sister Jook, who were a Baswell, 
 from Broad River, got among 'em. Before her day the 
 Jooks runned on nothin' but gittin' and getherin' up all 
 they could. Sence she have got among 'em it 'pear like 
 that people got to understand that the Jooks is all of 'em 
 King George's childern, or ef not his'n they at leastways 
 come from some o' his ars, egzecntors, or administrators, so 
 to speak, and which it's appinted to them special to keep 
 the breed o' sich people from runnin' out o' date. Now, 
 as for Kernel Porter and the Quillians, they never runned 
 on thar famblies, but they, ever sence I've knowed 'em, 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CBEEK. 313 
 
 opens thai' doors, and keeps 'em open, for po' and rich. Yit, 
 in old Virginny, people says that knows that they was jest 
 as free along with governors and jedges as they is now 'ith 
 Br'er Mark and me. And then thar's us, me and Br'er Mark ; 
 or, a-leavin' of me out, for decent politeness' sake, thar's 
 Br'er Mark, that I don't supposen thar's anybody in this 
 neighborhood, man or 'oman, grown person or child, old 
 or young, maled or femaled, white or black, or mcrlatter, 
 but what, ef they was to git on the stand and kiss the book, 
 they'd swar that, to the best o' thar knowledge, Br'er Mark 
 never stoled nothin' from them that they knowed of ; and 
 which Br'er Mark's grandfather — that's, you mind, on his 
 mother's side — were a 'Piscapolian preacher; and Sister 
 Quillian say that, as for them, they used, them and their 
 famblies, they used to live on the fat o' the land, and they 
 runned along on the very top o' the pot in 'siety ; and 
 which the fambly turned agin Br'er Mark's mother, and 
 which she were, in cose, obleeged to be mine also, and like- 
 wise because she got married to a po' man and a Babtis', 
 and so thar it is ; but which Br'er Mark hisself keer nothin' 
 about famblies, and he say that Jim Griffin — which, as for 
 him and his fambly, they mout of jest growed out o' the 
 ground as fur as anybody know whar they ris from — but 
 which Br'er Mark say that as long as Jim Griffin make the 
 shoe he do, and don't try -to palm off mean leather and 
 rotten thread on people, and fling in shoe-strings (and them 
 greased honest and fa'r), him and his fambly 's as good as 
 nary 'nother. But which, upon my soul, Arbecca Woodige, 
 if you keep on a-talkin' about the warous famblies in this 
 here neighborhood here, and keep me awake and a-waitin', 
 I sha'n't git no sleep till daybreak ; and it look like by 
 good rights as to-morrow is of a meetin'-day ; and it not 
 a-comin' but onst a month, a body ought to try to git some 
 
314 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 sleep, and not to be a-constant a-noddin' and a-bnmpin' of 
 thai- heads agin the benches before 'em ner the back o' 
 them that's a settin' on' em, and 'special endaorin of the 
 sermon, which I were allays ashamed o' myself and morti- 
 fied with myself to boot that somehow I sildom can keep 
 from noddin' in the sermon, onlest it's a fun'il sermon, or 
 in time of a rewival, so I can get to cryin' and give my 
 nose a good blowin', and — But, law me ! ain't you never 
 goin' to tell me about Lewis Sanders'es people ?" 
 
 She settled herself more firmly on her seat, drew up first 
 one pillow, then the other, rested her elbows upon them, 
 and looked as though she intended, if compelled to listen 
 to Miss Woodbridge all night, to guard herself, if possible, 
 against fatigue. 
 
 " Lewis's mother, dear friend, is — or was — exactly of the 
 rank of Mr. Langston." 
 
 The mysterious look Rebecca gave was answered by the 
 a stern inquiry : 
 
 " Look at me, young 'omnn — look straight at me. What 
 you drivin' at with them langwidgcs and them 'spicious 
 looks?" 
 
 " Lewis Sanders is the son of Emily Langston !" 
 
 Tossing away the pillows from beneath her arms, lifting 
 the bedclothes and dashing them against the foot-board, 
 Mrs. Toliver rose from the bed, strode to the bureau, seized 
 her spectacles, and put them on. Her nightcap was awry, 
 and her tangled gray locks were dispersed over her back 
 and bosom. Glaring upon Eebecca, she said, 
 
 " That can't be so." 
 
 " It can be, and is." 
 
 The old lady looked up, joined her hands, and prayed, 
 
 "May Godamighty forgive you, Kinsey Jook, for flingin' 
 off her child and yonrn to boot !" 
 
A TALE OE DUKE'S CEEEK. 315 
 
 " Mr. Duke, thank God, dear friend, is not Lewis's father!" 
 
 "What?" cried Mrs. Toliver, in increased consternation. 
 
 " Lewis was afraid he was until reaching home to-night." 
 
 " Afraid ! My Lord ! is the boy afraid o' bein' the child 
 of his father which and who his mother were married to ? 
 What sort o' talk's that? What's this world a-comin' to ?" 
 
 "Now, my dear friend, I've, told you all I know. He 
 tells me that brother says we must rest perfectly secure — 
 that in a very shc/rt time, perhaps next week, the whole 
 history will fully appear, and show that Lewis is the son 
 of Emily Langston, and not the son of Mr. Duke, and yet 
 is as honorably born as any other man." 
 
 The old lady was bewildered. 
 
 " I understands no sich doctrings of people's a-gittin' of 
 married and a-havin' of childern and" yit a-not of bein' the 
 fathers of 'em. What will po' Br'er Mark say to sich as 
 that ? He have had enough already, seem like — " 
 
 She sank into a chair and wept heartily. As soon as 
 possible Eebecca got away to her own chamber. She was 
 awakened more than once during the night by groans 
 uttered in that adjoining. 
 
 The next day was the monthly meeting for the Baptist 
 church. In the mind of Lucius Woodbridge was a "sense of 
 regret that he had been so much engrossed with earthly in- 
 terests as not to feel fully prepared for this solemn occasion. 
 But for its recurrence he would have visited or called upon 
 Barney Jarrell early in the morning, in order to confer 
 with him upon startling intelligence he had received the 
 night before from the old gentleman who had come with 
 Lewis Sanders. As it was, he sent him a note next morn- 
 ing, just before going to church. It was a line or two of 
 introduction to this stranger, and invited Barney to a con- 
 ference early in the afternoon. 
 
316 OLD MAKE LANGSTON; 
 
 Chapter XL. 
 
 ONE MORE VISIT PROM MR. DUKE TO HIS INVALID FRIEND. 
 
 In spite of something like assurance in the mind of Kin- 
 sey Duke that he was safe against assault through the 
 courts — the danger that from long experience he regarded 
 as most to be dreaded — he spent a restless night. Annoyed 
 by the anxiety of his wife on account of his unusual wake- 
 fulness, he at length rose from bed, after muttering several 
 imprecations upon her, and retired to another chamber. 
 Next morning he waited for the time to come when stricter 
 privacy could be had at the house of Jesse Lines by the 
 withdrawal of Doolana, who he supposed would go to 
 church. Looking over toward Barney Jarrell's as he passed, 
 and seeing no person, he concluded that all had gone on to 
 meeting, though it was half an hour at least before it would 
 be necessary for those who resided so near to set out. 
 
 Now, Barney an hour before had taken his mother over 
 to Jesse's. She had been in rather depressed spirits for 
 several days, and complained of being unwell. They had, 
 therefore, determined to keep away from religious service 
 that morning and spend the day at Jesse's. 
 
 When his arrival was announced Barney's mother was 
 sitting by Jesse's bedside, while Barney and Doolana were 
 walking in the garden in the rear of the house. About 
 half a mile from the village Mr. Duke overtook the stranger 
 whom he had seen the night before, who was walking lei- 
 surely along the road. Only a few words passed between 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CEEEK. 317 
 
 thorn, in the uttering of which the old man eyed liira in a 
 manner which so annoyed him that he spurred his horse on. 
 
 At his approach Barney's mother rose and retired into 
 the adjoining chamber. After his entrance, the stranger 
 coming up and inquiring for Barney, the latter left Doo- 
 lana, came around the house to the gate, and, having read 
 Woodbridge's note, the two stood there and talked earnest- 
 ly together for some time, after which they walked quietly 
 to the front steps of the mansion, on the lowest of which 
 they sat down and waited for Mr. Duke to come out. 
 
 Never had Kinsey Duke gone to this place with greater 
 heaviness upon his heart. Conscious that if he had a forte 
 it was not the employment of words for comforting the af- 
 flicted, even while trying to frame a few phrases he remem- 
 bered with pain how often he had ridiculed the woman who 
 had lately died, and been the means, not only of diminish- 
 ing the value of her counsels and remonstrances, but of sub- 
 tracting from her husband's respect and affection. Though 
 never having been an inebriate, yet this morning his face, 
 red and swollen, looked as if he had lately been in a de- 
 bauch. 
 
 When he saw the pale, dead-looking countenance of Jesse 
 he shuddered ; but, blundering out a few words of sympa- 
 thy, he took the chair vacated by Barney's mother, sat 
 down, and the two looked in silence at each other. The 
 look, the sound of Jesse's voice, assured the visitor that a 
 great change had been wrought since he had been there last. 
 
 " Mr. Jook," said Jesse, after a pause of several moments, 
 " ef you come to see me about the losin' of my wife, I some, 
 ruther you wouldn't name her name. She's dead and goned, 
 and somehows I don't keer to hear her name named, except- 
 in' o' them that keerd anything for her when she were a-liv- 
 in\ I were never that to her I ought to of been, and which 
 
318 OLD MAHK LANGSTON: 
 
 I know and I'm oblecged to acknowledge that that's mosely 
 ray own lookout, and nobody else's ; and yit — " 
 
 He paused, and a tear was in his eye. He wiped it 
 away, and proceeded : 
 
 "And yit it weren't so much what I done to her, but 
 what I done to myself. I never beat her, ner cussed her, 
 ner 'bused her jes so right out and out, though I has freck- 
 w'ent got mad, and cussed all around and about her. I'm 
 thankful to say that I never cussed her pine-blank, pinted, 
 straight up and down. For she were one o' them kind that 
 — well, upon my soul ! I don't see how a mean, bitin' dog, ef 
 he could of knowed how too cuss, could of had the heart 
 to cuss a person that meant no more harm than what she 
 did, nother for man ner for beast. But what I were a-talk- 
 in' about were this : she were a person that hated — because 
 she were a kind of a person that couldn't jes natchel keep 
 from hatin' — the ways of people that she knowed weren't 
 fa'r and straight up and down. I knowed that, and, 'stid 
 o' honorin' her for it, and a-follerin' o' her adwioe, I turned 
 my heart agin her, and I follered the adwice o' your father 
 before you, and arfter he died I follered yourn. I had a 
 toler'ble good start, and were a-doin' of reason'ble well, when 
 your father he made me a jestice o' the peace, and lavnt me 
 tricks that now, when it's too late, I'm sorry I ever larnt. 
 But let them go. He got the 'vantage of many another 
 man by 'em, and what good did that do him the day he 
 died ? But let that go too, and let everythin' go, exceptin' 
 o' what him and you made me do about them childern." 
 
 "Jes," said Mr. Duke, looking around in an agony of 
 anxiety, while he drew from his pocket the deed he had 
 prepared, " for Godamighty's sake let me settle — " 
 
 " Hush !" said Jesse, in a voice that sounded as if it had 
 come from the bottom of a grave — "hush ! tell I git through, 
 
319 
 
 and then we'll try to see what can be done. When I mar- 
 ried them childern I never seed a prettier nor a loviner 
 couple. When they ast me not to tell on 'em tell they give 
 the word and told on thcirselves, I told 'em sich as that 
 weren't right to be kep' hid too long, and they promised 
 me that before long he'd other write to his father or go to 
 him — and which the po' boy was afraid of his father, and 
 that he mout turn his back agin the gnrl he married. I 
 broke my word to 'em, and I told your father, because I 
 were afeard not to, when I knowed that no sooner did old 
 Ab Semmes die, a-leavin' o' that prop'ty, he writ to you in Fir- 
 ginny, a-orderin' you to come on home and marry the gnrl. 
 For he had sot his heart on the land, and 'special on that 
 mill-seat, and he had swore he'd have it when old Ab died. 
 And when I told him the gurl was already done gone-goned 
 and married to that boy, he cussed and he swore agin, he 
 did, and then he made me adwise 'em to keep on a-hidin' 
 o' their secret, a-hopin' the boy 'd git tired of her arfter a 
 while, and go off and leave her, a-knowin' he were the onlest 
 child, and his father were rich and old, and helt hisself fur 
 above sich as Mr. Langson ; and when he found the boy 
 had no notion o' forsakin' her, and things got to whar they 
 couldn't be hid much longer, we all of us hustled 'em off, 
 and you went along with 'em. And then your father — not 
 me : God know I didn't take no part in that — he spread the 
 news that the gurl had runned off with you, and in your 
 name he took possession o' the niggers and the land. No- 
 body upon the top o' Godamighty's blessed yeth but Am 
 Jook 'd a-done sich a oudacious piece of business ; but he 
 were that kind that look like what he wanted bad — like he 
 had been wantin' that land — he'd march into hell-fire for 
 it, or leastways up to its very mouth. He were a-calkilatin' 
 on you a-doggin' of them childern, and a-keepin' 'cm from 
 
320 OLD MAEK LANGSTOX: 
 
 the boy's father long as you could, and a-puttin' his mind 
 agin the gurl more'n it 'd a-been anyways, and a-insinooat- 
 in' agin her, like she were the offscourin' o' creation. And 
 then, ef that didn't work as he calkilatcd, he, a-havin' o' 
 possession, spected you'd git a compermise rather 'n they'd 
 have a law-sn.it so fur from home, and which they'd know 
 he'd know how to keep it in cote, and fret 'em and bother 
 'em more'n what they'd think the land were worth. As for 
 me, I were to have nothin' to do with it, exceptin' to keep 
 my mouth shet ; and at the time, though I knowed it weren't 
 right, yit — yit — oh, my God ! ef it was to do over again — 
 But let that go; it's too late for me now to have much luck 
 a-tryin' to gether up pieces o' chainey that's been broke, and 
 scattered, and trompled" on, and buried in warous places in 
 the ground now for thirty year. When the letter come from 
 the boy's father that he got drownded, and he said nothin' 
 about the gurl, and your father told me that you had mar- 
 ried her so quick because her and you was already fell in 
 love with one another before her husband died, and arfter 
 a while you come back and fotch news that she were dead, 
 I never had — God know I never had — nary doubt that him 
 and you was both a-tellin' o' the truth." 
 
 " What / said, Jes, was the truth, and — " 
 
 " Wait, I tell you. Wait till I git through. Somehow 
 I don't feel — not this mornin', I don't — like I could stand 
 bein' fooled with like I has been ; and yit I feels like I 
 wanted, arfter I git through, of a-tryin' to give you some 
 adwice, and tharf ore ■ and wharfore I don't want you to 
 make me mad and make me go to cussin', so I can't do you 
 the favor I've got on my mind, in givin' you adwice, if you 
 don't rile me and you'll let me go on with what it's on my 
 mind to say pinted and particklar. Now, will you keep 
 still till I git through — will you or won't you ?" 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 321 
 
 Mr. Duke breathed hard and fast. 
 
 " Cert'nly, Jes. Let me defend myself when you git 
 through?" 
 
 "When I've done said what I've got to say you may 
 talk all day, ef you want to." 
 
 He rested a few moments, then resumed : 
 
 " That little nigger gal that you all took along with you, 
 because your father, and you, too, knowed that, little as she 
 were, she 'bleeged to know a few things which suit nary 
 one o' you to git out — when you said she were dead, 
 and her young mistess died without any a'r, I b'lieved 
 them, too, Godamighty know I did, or I wouldn't — at least- 
 ways I hope now I wouldn't — of gone pardners along with 
 you all in the 'vidin' o' that prop'ty, be the pile that fell 
 to me even littler 'n what it were, or be it bigger. I'm 
 thankful I b'lieved all them things. So we jined pardners 
 — me and your pa and you. Your pa he built his mill, 
 and when he got her to runnin' to suit him, no sooner had 
 she got to runnin' smooth and easy, death struck him, and, 
 my Godamighty ! I wonder now it didn't strike me and you 
 with a backhanded lick when it bounced back from him !" 
 
 His eyes glared with a horror that was awful to behold. 
 As Kinsey Duke made an uneasy motion he continued, 
 hastily : 
 
 " Wait, I tell you ; I ain't nigh through yit. I jes 
 stopped to git my breath. I'll let yon know when I'm 
 through. Well," he continued, slowly, in a low tone, " we 
 jined pardners. My part o' the profits, so to speak, little 
 as they was, 'peared to me reason'ble for jest of keepin' o' 
 my mouth shet. My wife, that's dead and goned, though 
 she knowed nothin' o' that cussed business, she were agin 
 my takin' o' them niggers, and she begged me not to do 
 it, because she knowed it were obleeged to be a lie of my 
 
 21 
 
322 OLD MAKK LANGSTON: 
 
 havin' o' the money to buy 'era ; and she knowed ef a Jook 
 give 'era to me there were obleeged to be somethin' rotten 
 somewhars or somewhars else. It were me then that 
 thought she were a fool. My Lord ! the defier'nt views 
 that deffer'nt people has at deffer'nt times !" 
 
 The invalid, as he lay panting, feebly gathering his re- 
 maining strength for his last talk, was less an object of 
 commiseration than the powerful man whose breathing could 
 be heard in the four corners of the room. Jesse, without 
 moving the rest of his body, had gradually turned his head 
 until he could look without constraint fully into his visitor's 
 face. Pale, seeming as dead but for the eyes that glistened 
 through the glaze of age and sickness, he pursued deliberate- 
 ly what he had to say, with an occasional interjection of 
 self-reproach of one and another kind, by which it was to 
 be seen that his mind was preyed upon both by remorse 
 and the pain that a bad man suffers when he finds that 
 even in the evil he has done he has been deluded and sur- 
 passed by one to whom he believed himself to have been 
 superior in craftiness. 
 
 " Now, Kinch Jook," he said, in a tone low but distinct- 
 ly audible, " they is some things I know positive, and they 
 is some that, if I couldn't sw'ar to, I'm jest as certain of in 
 my mind as if I'd a-been thar and seed 'em ; and I've been 
 a-thinkin' jes here lately — jes this week, you may say — 
 I've been a-runnin' over in my mind how I ever could of 
 been sich a Godforsakened fool, although I seed the re-cords 
 o' the case whar they had made out like they sued you for 
 that little nigger and made you compermise the damage 
 — I jes gits disgusted with myself, and see that I must of 
 never had sense enough to git out o' a shower o' rain to of 
 believed any sich a piece o' foolerin'. And yit I'm glad I 
 b'lieved that, too, disgusted as what I am now with myself 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CKEEK. 323 
 
 fer believin' of it. For it make my skeerts cle'r o' what 
 po' old Wilet underwent, though I hain't never been a man 
 that thought much about niggers a-troublin' o' theirselves 
 about the partin' o' women and childern, exceptin' that my 
 wife, that's now dead and goned, were worked up nigh as 
 bad as old Wilet, and both of 'em a-cryin' bothered and 
 pestered me. And yit I'm thankful, for warous reasons, 
 that she didn't die. Now, don't you interrup' me, Kinch 
 Jook, because it's onuseless, and which I have seed the said 
 nigger as aforesaid, and talked with her, and got a pile, jes 
 a level pile, o' information out'n her, and which, ef they 
 can't be fotch up in cote, Godamighty is bound to fetch 
 'em out some day ; and you may mark what I tell you. For 
 somehow, jes here lately, I'm a-beginnin' to b'lieve in God- 
 amighty more'n I used to, and Doolana have said that He 
 want me, before my head git cold, to out with all the mean- 
 ness I've done myself, and what I know of other people of 
 doin' by my help, and so have everything acknowledged 
 and settled up now ; and it's for that reason I sent for you. 
 One time I jes thought I'd shet up my mouth tighter 'n 
 befo' and die jes so, and let things take keer o' theirselves ; 
 but Doolana say that won't begin to do, and she have tore 
 up my mind to that, Kinch Jook, that other you got to 
 out with these lies, that's got to be so old that they've got 
 to be rotten, or I will. And that not to be a-waitin' for 
 no cote. For, I tell you now, I got no time to be projeck- 
 in' with the argin' about nigger evidence." 
 
 Slight as it was, Kinsey Duke was thankful for the mo- 
 mentary sense of relief from these words, which showed that 
 the evidence of facts, ruinous if established, was of a kind 
 that, in such view of his case, was not to be dreaded. Jesse 
 seemed not to notice this relief. After a moment's rest 
 he proceeded : 
 
324 OLD mark.langston: 
 
 " Now, Kinch Jook, I want you to b'ar in mind that this 
 here case here it ain't a case before Jedge Dooly, ner nary 
 'nother jedge, that '11 let in this and hustle out that, and stop 
 this lawyer here and that 'n thar, and order the jury what 
 they got to b'lieve and what they gotn't not to b'lieve ; and 
 not to save my life can I keep from bein' of sorry for you, 
 a-knowin' bow you 'bleeged to feel when you know how 
 this case, onbeknownst to you and suddent, have been sas- 
 sarared and carr'd up to Godamighty, who keer no more 
 about the pints o' law and fetchin' in this and flingin' out 
 that kind o' evidence than— than you did for them little 
 childern o' Emily Langson, and which you can't look me 
 and Godamighty both in the face and say you didn't never 
 knowed of 'em." 
 
 They looked upon each other in silence for several mo- 
 ments. Then the accuser turned his head and, looking 
 upward, said, 
 
 " My God ! you, 'ithout my a-tellin' of you — you know how 
 he done and projecked 'ith that boy and that girl, and kept 
 'em both from writin' to nary one o' thar parrents ; and how, 
 when the po' boy got drownded, he grabbed hold o' his 
 widder, and promised to car' her to his father ; and, 'stid of 
 doin' o' that, how be pulled her here and pulled her thar, 
 up and down, up and down, ontell the po' thing couldn't 
 stand it, and she died, after havin' of her childern ; and then 
 how he leff one where it were borned, and hustled off with 
 the tother somewhars, and let it die,- or mout a' drownded 
 it, for what I know ; but — Oh, my Lord ! you ought to 
 know, by good rights, what he done with that 'un when he 
 took it away ; and I got no doubt you does know, and 
 been a-knowin' of it ever sence he done it, and ef it were 
 the truth or a lie he told that little nigger that it were 
 dead and goned ; and the wonder have been with me, 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CKEEK. 325 
 
 Kinch Jook " (turning his eyes upon him again), " how 
 Godainighty could of stood sich as that so long, and how 
 He could of let you fool people like you did in makin' 
 out like you'd married that poor little widder, and lookin' 
 like you felt so bad for losin' o' your wife, and yit a-goin' 
 straight off and marryin' of another." 
 
 Kinsey Duke drew out his handkerchief and wiped away 
 the tears that gushed from his eyes. Compassion at once 
 seized the invalid, and he said, 
 
 " You're sorry, is you, Mr. Jook ? Ton my word, I'm 
 sorry for yon." 
 
 " Oh, Jes, Jes !" he said, bitterly, " I done nothing in this 
 case wasn't obliged to do. Had my way I'd gone back to 
 Virginny. Didn't want to marry when I did. You know 
 sort of man pa was. But you don't know all. Got all 
 wrong." 
 
 He rose and paced the room. It was a brief conflict 
 between the promptings of conscience and those of self- 
 preservation, and the latter soon prevailed. He looked 
 upon the dying man, and, though he dreaded the persistent 
 deception of one who seemed as if in the very presence of 
 the Almighty, yet he thought of his wife, his son, his large 
 possessions, his headship of the school-board, his good name 
 among men, and felt there was too much to lose without 
 a desperate struggle. He stopped and looked down upon 
 the old invalid whom he had always owned as a slave, until 
 now, when death was approaching, the bonds were breaking, 
 and the master being abused and compassionated ; and the 
 thought that ruin was to come upon himself from such a 
 witness, with his one fact and a telltale negro, roused his 
 disgust and impelled him to defiance. The change was 
 observed by Jesse ; and though his voice grew not louder, 
 his eyes dilated as he proceeded : 
 
326 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 " You thought that little nigger were too young and too 
 afeard o' the threats you gin her, and you carried her away 
 too fur for her to hurt you with her tellin' about them chil- 
 dern, and the nigger 'oman that you fotch home when you 
 come back, and which your old father, as people usened to 
 'spicion, pizened her to death — Godamighty know ef that's 
 so too — / don't ; but I've found out, jes only here this last 
 week, that when she that same nigger were a-dyin' she told 
 the tother niggers that you treated Emily Langson like a 
 dog, and that she weren't no more your wife than she were 
 herself — and not as much — and that she left some childern. 
 But that's not so much to the pint as what I'm goin' to 
 tell you about that little nigger who you carr'ed her away 
 and sold her in the upper part o' Firginny ; and that man 
 that you sold her to got broke, jes only las' year, and 
 Barney Jarrell seed her in a speckerlator's gang in Eich- 
 mond, and bought her ; and — " 
 
 A low, contemptuous laugh broke from Mr. Duke. 
 
 "Jes Lines, perfect wonder to me how man your sense 
 can believe such stuff." 
 
 "Umph! humph!" muttered Jesse, with the satisfied 
 smile that a man wears when, having intended, after just 
 remonstrance, to offer salutary advice, he turns away from 
 another by whom his friendly admonitions have been re- 
 jected. "He 'tends to fight it out, I see, like he allays 
 do, and think he can whip, like he allays have. Well, my 
 skeerts is cler — at leastways o' that." 
 
 He tapped with his flap on the table and called twice, 
 " Betsy Semmes ! Betsy Semmes !" 
 
 Immediately the door of the adjoining chamber was 
 opened, and Aggy came forth, followed by her mistress. 
 The negro was trembling. The white woman stood erect, 
 and looked Mr. Duke full in the face. 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CKEEK. 327 
 
 " At last — at last !" she said. 
 
 Kinsey Duke regarded the two as if suddenly roused- 
 from a horrid, drunken dream. 
 
 " At last, Mr. Lines !" she said, looking, not at him, but 
 at Mr. Duke. " I know not how many wives this gallant 
 gentleman has had, nor how many among them he has 
 forgotten, as he seems to have done in the case of me, 
 Caroline Jamison. Little did I and my son suspect that 
 it was his father that had so outraged Emily Langston 
 Fitzgerald." 
 
 " What !" screamed Jesse Lines. Struggling, he raised 
 himself upon his elbows. " And him Doolana's plotted to 
 git married to is his son, and the onlest by good rights he's 
 got !" Then he gave a loud, prolonged shriek of exaltation, 
 Doolana, rushing in, seated herself upon the bed and took 
 to her bosom his tottering head. He looked up into her 
 face with a smile, and instantly expired. Mr. Duke, draw- 
 ing from his pocket a knife, strode forward to Aggy, seized 
 her by the throat, and as she dropped upon the floor and 
 he bit at the long, keen blade, it flew to the spring-back 
 handle -with a suddenness that drove the point into his 
 mouth and pierced far into the cheek. At that instant 
 Barney and Mr. Granger, coming in, dragged him from the 
 prostrate woman, and wrested the knife from his hand. 
 
 " I don't know," said Barney, " whether I ought to kill 
 you or not, you cruel — " 
 
 " Hold, my son !" cried his mother. " Hold both your 
 hand and your tongue ! That man is your father !" Bar- 
 ney recoiled and leaned against the wall. 
 
 " Mr. Duke," said the stranger, " it don't look right to 
 be adding to a man's embarrassments when they're already 
 as much as he can carry. But my name is Granger, and I 
 had the honor of making your acquaintance thirty years 
 
328 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 ago, in Norfolk. As you seem to l>e occupied with other 
 business just now, I refer you for what I had to say about 
 some old transactions to Mr. Lewis Sanders, one of your 
 neighbors." 
 
 Until this moment none but Doolana had observed that 
 her father was dead, for what had since occurred was al- 
 most in a twinkling. A moan from her, as, with his head 
 reclined upon her bosom, her own leaned against the head- 
 board, attracted attention. Kinsey Duke, staring wildly 
 alternately at Mr. Granger, Barney, and the woman he had 
 deserted, turned toward the bed, whereon the yet open eyes 
 of Jesse seemed to return his gaze. Blood from the wound 
 in his cheek trickled down his shirt-bosom. Lifting his 
 hands, trembling, as if he would screen himself from sight 
 of the emaciated corpse, just as his fingers were meeting 
 before his face he groaned and fell prostrate upon the floor. 
 
 Chapter XLI. 
 
 SEPARATION AND UNION. 
 
 The news flew into the village. The sermon had just 
 been concluded, followed by the hymn and the prayer. 
 Mrs. Duke had been observed to be pale and anxious. Mrs. 
 Toliver, thankful for being saved from somnolency, had felt 
 sweet with the words of consolation as to the recognition 
 of the departed in the next world. For though it was not 
 a set sermon in honor of Sister Lines, who had so recently 
 departed in the midst of holy hopes, it was understood to 
 have been suggested by that peaceful death, and prognostic 
 of what would eventuate when that event was becomingly 
 
A TALE OP DUKE'S CHEEK. 329 
 
 solemnized. Mark Langston seemed serene in the thought 
 that the blessedness of such reunion was not far off from 
 him, in preparing himself for which he neither rested nor 
 hasted. Lucius Woodbridge was disquieted by thoughts of 
 having been thinking more of things earthly than heavenly. 
 The Quillians, as always, whether in church or out, were 
 composed and calm. Mrs. Catlin, still as a statue, withheld 
 from nodding by that instinctive sense of politeness which 
 invited guests, who know what is decent, are bound to feel 
 in other folks'- houses, was revolving in her mind how it 
 could be that people could preach with such unction, pray 
 so fervently, and sing so with the understanding, and yet 
 confine baptism to immersion, and withhold it from children 
 even when dying. Baldwin Eiddle, from honest, humble 
 principle, having occupied a remote back seat, full of re- 
 spectful deportment, willing to acknowledge himself noth- 
 ing but a poor worldly fiddler, was neither congratulating 
 in his mind nor envying those who had derived more com- 
 fort and instruction than himself from these exercises. 
 
 The first to issue from the door heard the news, and, 
 whispering back, it was known before the house was emp- 
 tied. Several men — some on foot, and some on horseback 
 — repaired to the house of Jesse Lines. Doctor Stone was 
 met at the gate, moving off with the patient, who had been 
 placed in a spring-wagon. 
 
 Arrived at home, Mr. Duke called beseechingly for Mark 
 Langston. Mrs. Duke, frantic with terror, after spreading 
 a bed in the parlor, according to her husband's request, 
 knelt beside him as he was laid upon it. 
 
 " My Godamighty, Belle !" he exclaimed. " Go away — 
 go clean away — you and Am too. Oh, Lord Godamighty !" 
 
 Instinct — fear of she knew not what — made her leap up 
 and shrink as from a dragon. Eepairing to her chamber, 
 
830 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 she threw herself upon the bed. Seeing the pillow by the 
 side of her own, she sprang forth, and rushing into another 
 room, where her own peculiar belongings were kept, she 
 prostrated herself upon the floor. 
 
 The confession made by the sufferer to Mark Langston 
 was complete and abject. Ruined in name, prostrate from 
 bodily exhaustion, which he felt to be incurable, he pleaded 
 the tyranny of his father, who, from his boyhood, had made 
 him the instrument to further, to the extent of his powers, 
 his schemes for family aggrandizement. Him he had never 
 known what it was even to attempt to disobey without pun- 
 ishment that was terrible to remember. The old man had 
 set his heart upon the property of Emily Langston, especial- 
 ly the land. Heretofore, while trading in Virginia, Kinsey, 
 according to instructions from home, had assumed various 
 names, and he assured Mark that even now he did not know' 
 to what name he was entitled, as his father had more than 
 once told him that Duke was the last of many himself had 
 borne, and that it was of vital importance that his iden- 
 tity should never be ascertained in North Carolina and 
 Virginia. On the death of Albert Semmes he was sum- 
 moned from Virginia, where he had lately become enamored 
 of Mrs. Jamison, a young widow of the County of Nottaway. 
 On his return his father, finding that the purpose of marry- 
 ing him to Emily Langston had been disappointed by her 
 previous marriage to the lad Fitzgerald, hurried him ofE 
 with the young couple, with orders to watch them closely, 
 and, at all events, obtain by any means possible ownership 
 of the bride's landed estate. When they had reached the 
 borders of Virginia the sickness she suffered from on leav- 
 ing home, and which had increased on the journey, became 
 so serious that she and her husband had to rest, while him- 
 self pursued his way, and was married to Mrs. Jamison. 
 
A. TALE OP DUKE'S CKEEK. 331 
 
 It was two months afterward when he received a letter 
 from Fitzgerald, urging him to go on to his father and en- 
 deavor to prepare him for the news of his marriage, and 
 implore his forgiveness. Instead of doing this he repaired 
 to where they were staying. Finding that the wife had 
 somewhat improved, Fitzgerald left her, in compliance with 
 his advice, and, on the way to his father, was drowned 
 while attempting to cross the Bapidan River. 
 
 It was in pursuance of his counsels that, besides the brief 
 notes sent from Augusta, they concluded to write no more 
 until reaching their destination. These counsels were in 
 obedience to Ammon Duke, who had determined to mate all 
 that was possible out of secrecy, and the increased chances 
 by such conduct that the elder Fitzgerald's disgust would 
 be exacerbated by suspicions of the dishonor of his son's 
 connection. When informed of the lad's death Ammon, 
 who knew not of his son's marriage, sent peremptory orders 
 to him to marry the widow if possible, or, at all events, to 
 prevent her access to her husband's father, or at least his 
 recognition. Finding that Mr. Fitzgerald, now old and in- 
 firm, had not heard of his son's marriage, and knowing that 
 it was believed at Dukesborough that he, not young Fitzger- 
 ald, was the husband, he took her in charge, under pretence 
 of conducting her to her father-in-law, to whom, in her 
 frantic grief for the loss of her husband, she desired to go. 
 After travelling hither and thither he at last succeeded in 
 convincing her that she would not be recognized by a fam- 
 ily so aristocratic. She then fell into despair, and begged 
 to be carried back home. Overcome by pity, he determined 
 to comply with her entreaties, and it was while on the way 
 that, having camped for the night near a country inn in 
 the County of Surry, after giving birth to twins — a male 
 and a female — she died. 
 
332 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 The disposition he made of these he solemnly declared 
 to have been intended as only temporary, and to provide 
 for whatever contingencies he should find matters had been 
 placed in by his father in Georgia. On his return he found 
 that he, to whom he had written of these circumstances, 
 had already spread the report of Emily Langston having 
 died — and, of course, childless — and in his name had taken 
 possession of her whole estate. In vain he remonstrated, 
 for it was now evident that farther concealment of facts 
 was necessary to the safety of the whole family. When 
 informed that Kinsey was already married to Mrs. Jamison 
 the old man shuddered with fright and wrath, and said 
 that of all persons the Jamisons were those whom it most 
 behooved him to avoid, and that it had been mainly from 
 some transactions he had had with them that he had fled 
 from North Carolina and taken the name by which he was 
 then known. Compliance with commands seemed inevita- 
 ble to avoid his father's being disgraced and punished as a 
 felon. It seemed fortunate for the chances of farther con- 
 cealment of his own doings that his real name while in Vir- 
 ginia had been unknown, except to the child Betsy Semmes 
 and a negro woman whom young Fitzgerald had bought, 
 with his assistance, to wait upon his wife during the period 
 of her sickness. The former he carried to a county far 
 North and sold. The sham suit was afterward instituted, 
 at his father's suggestion, by the advice of the lawyer Sta- 
 ples. The woman he had brought with him. Her he had 
 never had any fear of keeping harmless, from the terror 
 that all his negroes had of him, even if — what he had al- 
 ways suspected — she had doubted the truth of his own as- 
 severations and the general report in the community of his 
 marriage with Emily Langston. What only he had regarded 
 as at all dangerous was the knowledge by Jesse Lines of the 
 
A. TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 333 
 
 marriage with Fitzgerald. But be had not been in great 
 apprehension from that source, because of the liberal allow- 
 ance made to him of the spoils and his ignorance of all the 
 other facts in the case. 
 
 In all Mr. Duke said to Mark nothing was more affecting 
 than when he spoke of the desertion of his wife. Com- 
 mitted to his father's career of crime, he had obeyed his 
 injunction in marrying the woman whom the latter had 
 chosen for him, though not until after repeated entreaties 
 to be allowed to return to the wife for whom, during thirty 
 years of absence, he had not ceased to feel the affection 
 born during his brief conjugal life. He bewailed most hum- 
 bly the wrongs he had done to all ; but he called upon God 
 to witness that he had done nothing throughout all that 
 sad history from his own volition, except in the marriage 
 with Mrs. Jamison. The tears streamed from his eyes when 
 he spoke of what he would have done and sacrificed, if he 
 had ever known that a child had been born of that mar- 
 riage. He admitted that for many months he had been 
 tormented by the fear that Amanda Jarrell was a descend- 
 ant of Emily Langston, but declared, with evident sincerity, 
 that he had never suspected until to-day that such was the 
 case with Lewis Sanders. He appealed finally to Mark for 
 forgiveness, and implored him to use his endeavors to ob- 
 tain for Mrs. Duke and Ammon as favorable terms as possi- 
 ble. The old man, having no feeling but compassion, freely 
 forgave, and encouraged him to seek the peace of Heaven. 
 When he rose to go Mr. Duke wept aloud. 
 
 When Mark had left, Mrs. Duke, clad in the plainest 
 attire, cloaked and bonneted, came from her chamber and, 
 advancing to the parlor-door, said, 
 
 " Liar, scoundrel, robber, seducer, assassin ! God Almighty 
 may forgive you. He can afford it, I suppose. I cannot." 
 
334 OLD MAKE LANGSTON: 
 
 Looking at him for a few moments, she abruptly turned 
 away, and walked out of the house down the street to the 
 ■church, where, taking the road leading north, her son 
 found her, an hour afterward, five miles from the village, 
 endeavoring to plod onward upon her weary way. 
 
 Mark proceeded slowly up the street to his sister's, where, 
 besides herself, were Rebecca, Amanda, Lewis Sanders, and 
 Baldwin Riddle. 
 
 "My Lordofmighty, Br'er Mark!" cried Mrs. Toliver, 
 "what's all this about Mr. Jook's warous wives and 
 women ? Is the world a-comin' to a eend ? Look like it 
 ought to, by good rights." 
 
 " Come, come, now, Sister Nancy. We must think of 
 our own shortcomings, and be thankful that we haven't been 
 beset by the temptations that poor Mr. Duke has had. If 
 I ever saw a case to be pitied it is his, and I hope that 
 never a hard word against him will be spoke by anybody 
 that's nigh to me." 
 
 Calm, solemn, majestic, he looked around ; then added : 
 
 " A heap more has come to me in my old age than I had 
 any right to expect, Lewis. I hain't a doubt but what God 
 put it into my heart to love you soon as you come here, a 
 boy, fifteen year ago. This little one," he continued, as 
 Amanda, answering his beckon, approached him, and he 
 took her hair tenderly in his hands, " she's new to me ; 
 but Fin thankful she's been raised so well, and has come, 
 before I die, to take the place of my dear child. Now let 
 your poor old grandfather beg a blessing on you two." 
 
 Amanda sank upon her knees. Lewis took the hand 
 of Rebecca, and lingered, looking alternately at her and 
 Mark. 
 
 "That's so, then, what I hear?" said Mark, smiling. 
 " Well, my daughter, from what they tell me of you, I'm 
 
A TALE OF DUKE S CKEEK. 335 
 
 glad of it. Bring her along, Lewis. There's another yit," 
 he continued, when they had knelt before him. " Baldy, 
 my son, nobody can git fur ahead of you in my heart." 
 
 Baldy made some uncertain steps. When he had ap- 
 proached within a few feet he suddenly stopped, and, the 
 tears streaming from his eyes, shouted, " Ob, Uncle Mark ! 
 sich transactions ain't for me." He then rushed from 
 the house and mounted Charles Henry, who, impelled by 
 spur and imprecation, dashed furiously away. 
 
 " Poor dear boy !" said Mark, as he fled. " Tou must 
 all be good to him when I'm gone." 
 
 Chapter XLII. 
 
 SETTLEMENTS. 
 
 The occurrences of Sunday precipitated the settlement 
 of issues that Lucius Woodbridge for some time had been 
 meditating upon, with suspicions that, after the meeting 
 with Mr. Granger, amounted to moral certainty, or at least 
 strongest conviction. Comparing dates of the death of 
 Emily Fitzgerald and of the desertion of Barney Jarrell's 
 mother by her husband, and the descriptions of the latter 
 as given by Barney, with Mr. Granger's recollections of the 
 man who had brought Lewis Sanders when an infant to 
 Norfolk, he had concluded that they were identical. This 
 conclusion was reached too late to notify Barney that night, 
 and, as before said, next morning he wrote to him asking 
 him to call upon him after church or early after dinner. 
 The note was borne by Mr. Granger, who, in his haste to 
 confer with Barney, was unwilling to wait. 
 
 Matters that so long had been involved came thus to 
 
336 OLD MAKE. LANGSTON : 
 
 sudden solution. Kinsey Duke became a whimpering, 
 harmless imbecile. He conceived an ardent, childish fond- 
 ness for Barney, and seemed to have wholly forgotten Am- 
 nion and his mother. A few days before he died — six 
 months afterward — in a lucid interval, he begged for a 
 sight of Barney's mother. She went to him at once. His 
 penitence was so anguishing that his reason almost imme- 
 diately again left him, never to return. Although Mrs. 
 Duke would not accept of any property except what she 
 had brought at her intermarriage, Barney without much dif- 
 ficulty, after setting off to Lewis and Amanda that belong- 
 ing to them, induced Ammon to take half the remainder. 
 "When Mr. Duke died, Barney, now married to Doolana, re- 
 moved to the far west. Aggy and her son Charles accom- 
 panied them, as there was now no motive to induce her to 
 remain in her native place. Her mother, already in dotage, 
 could never be brought to realize that Aggy was her daugh- 
 ter. Sometimes she seemed to be on the point of recog- 
 nition, and as if her natural tenderness would gush forth, 
 but, turning suddenly away, she would cry piteously, and 
 say, 
 
 " This here's a gweat big 'oman, and name Aggy. My 
 child was a'raost a baby, and she were name Betsy. Don't 
 know what make people try to projick wid old people dat 
 way." 
 
 Her memory, ever travelling back, brought the long past 
 nearer and nearer, and she could not comprehend the 
 changes wrought in thirty years. As Jesse Lines said when, 
 looking upon the corpse of his wife, he thought how differ- 
 ently he might have treated her, it was too late. Yet she 
 grew more and more fond of croning lullaby songs, in 
 mumbling over one of which one day she died. 
 
 Not lr>ng after the disclosures we have narrated Baldwin 
 
A TALE OF DUKE'S CREEK. 337 
 
 Eiddle, having obtained from Mark Langston a reluctant 
 consent, went, at his own expense, to Virginia, and brought 
 back Emily's remains. The servant who accompanied him 
 reported that on their return his master had slept in the 
 wagon during the day, and at night watched at the camp- 
 fire, with a loaded musket by his side. 
 
 Mark Langston now, as when he believed himself child- 
 less, neither exalted nor depressed, referred all to God. He 
 lived to see several children born to Lewis and Rebecca, 
 and Amanda married to Colin Quillian, Jr., his cousin 
 Harriet having been given to Lucius Woodbridge some 
 years before. 
 
 The widows Catlin and Toliver henceforward had doc- 
 trinal wars more infrequent and less acrimonious, and their 
 truces were more prolonged and affectionate. The former 
 had grown to be mainly occasional fond entreaties each to 
 the other to study more carefully the words of our Saviour 
 and His first, most favored apostles, if for no other purpose 
 than that they two might be united in all things, as they 
 were in mutual affection. Yet the great mystery, on which 
 each had pondered so many years, as to how the other 
 could have become so pious and lovable in spite of the 
 errors to which she clung to the last, was not to be re- 
 solved until, not far apart, they had followed old Mark on 
 the inevitable way. 
 
 Baldwin Eiddle was long reluctant to admit himself to 
 be an old man. He appointed himself the especial beau of 
 Rebecca Woodbridge's first child, a daughter, named Emily 
 Langston Fitzgerald, until she became old enough to perceive 
 the incongruity, and it then became his pride to be called 
 "grandpa" by her and the younger brothers and sisters. 
 These were the last to hear the discoursings of " Miss 
 Nancy ;" but they had been born too late to know, except 
 
 22 
 
338 OLD MARK LANGSTON: 
 
 by tradition, what used to be the " Walls o' Jericho." The 
 aged warrior-bard, conscious of the decay of strength need- 
 ed for the rendition of this solemn, heroic piece, was wont 
 to answer their teasings in painless sadness about thus : 
 
 "Childern, grandpa's old fingers has got too stiff for 
 them old-fashion, Bible-transactious, fightin' chunes. You 
 ought to of heerd him when he were young and lively, and 
 he had the strenk and the sperrit. For I tell you it take 
 strenk and sperrit, sich as old grandpa ain't got now, to 
 fetch down them everlastin' walls. Even Miss Nancy, seem 
 like, have got stiff like grandpa. Everything have its day — 
 folks and fiddles. But if you childern '11 allays mind what 
 your ma tell you, and never learns how to tell no lies, you '11 
 go through safe." 
 
A Catalogue of American and Foreign Books Published or 
 
 Imported by Messrs. Sampson Low & Co. can 
 
 be had on application. 
 
 Crown Buildings, 1 88, Fleet Street, London, 
 September, 1883. 
 
 3 Selection from tfte %i$t of 25oofesi 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEA RLE, & RIVINGTON. 
 
 ALPHABETICAL LIST. 
 
 AB OUT Some Fellows. By an Eton Boy, Author of "A 
 "^^ Day of my Life." Cloth limp, square i6mo, 2s. 6d. 
 Adams (C. K.) Manual of Historical Literature. Crown 8vo, 
 
 I2J. td. 
 Alcott {Louisa M). Jack and Jill. i6mo, $s. 
 
 Proverb Stories. i6mo, 3-f. td. 
 
 Old-Fashioned Thanksgiving Day. 3s. 6d. 
 
 Shawl Straps. 2s. 6d. 
 
 - See also " Low's Standard Novels" and "Rose Library." 
 
 Aldrich (T. B.) Friar Jerome's Beautiful Book, &*c. Very 
 
 choicely printed on band-made paper, parchment cover, 3j\ 6d. 
 ■ Poetical Works. Hdition de Luxe. Very handsomely 
 
 bound and illustrated, 21s. 
 
 Allen (£. A.) Rock me to Sleep, Mother. With 18 full-page 
 
 Illustrations, elegantly bound, fcap. 4to, $s. 
 American Men of Letters. Lives of Thoreau, Irving, Webster. 
 
 Small post 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. each. 
 Andersen {Hans Christian) Fairy Tales. With 10 full-page 
 
 Illustrations in Colours by E. V. B. Cheap Edition, 5s. 
 Angler's Strange Experiences {An). By Cotswold Isys. With 
 
 numerous Illustrations, 4to, 5-r. 
 
 Angling. See " British Fisheries Directory," " Cutcliffe," 
 
 " Lambert," " Martin," and " Theakston. " 
 
 Archer ( William) English Dramatists of To-day. Crown 8vo, 
 Ss. 6d. ' - 
 
 Arnold (G. M.) Robert Pocock, the Gravesmd Historian. 
 Crown 8vo, cloth, 5-r. 
 
 Art Education. See " Biographies of Great Artists," " Illus- 
 trated Text Books," "Mollett's Dictionary." 
 
 Audsley (G. A.) Ornamental Arts of Japan. 90 Plates, 74 
 in Colours and Gold, with General and Descriptive Text. 2 vols., 
 folio, ;£i6 i6j. 
 
 A 
 
Sampson Low, Marston, <$>• Co.'s 
 
 Audsley (G. A.) The Art of Chromo-Lithography. Coloured 
 
 Plates and Text. Folio, by. 
 
 Audsley ( W. and G. A.) Outlines of Ornament. Small folio, 
 
 very numerous Illustrations, 31.?. 6d. 
 Auerbach (B.) Spinoza. Translated. 2 vols., i8mo, 4s. 
 
 JDALDWIN (/.) Story of Siegfried. Emblematical bind- 
 
 ■*-J ing, 6s. 
 
 Bankruptcy ; Inutility of the Laws. Lord Sherbroohe 's Remedy. 
 Crown 8vo, Is. 
 
 Bathgate {Alexander) Waitaruna : A Story of New Zealand 
 Life. Crown 8vo, cloth, Sj. 
 
 Batley {A. IV.) Etched Studies for Interior Decoration. Im- 
 perial folio, c,2s. 6d. 
 
 THE BAYARD SERIES. 
 
 Edited by the late J. Hain Fmsweix. 
 
 Comprising Pleasure Books of Literature produced in the Choicest Style as 
 Companionable Volumes at Home and Abroad. 
 
 "We can hardly imagine better books for boys to read or for men to ponder 
 Over." — Times. 
 
 Price 2s. td. each Volume, complete in itself, flexible cloth extra, gilt edges, 
 with silk Headbands and Registers. 
 
 Coleridge's Christabel, and other 
 Imaginative Poems. With Preface 
 by Algernon C. Swinburne. 
 
 Lord Chesterfield's Letters, Sen- 
 tences, and Maxims. With In- 
 
 The Story of the Chevalier Bayard. 
 By M. De Berville. 
 
 De Joinville's St. Louis, King of 
 France. 
 
 The Essays of Abraham Cowley, in- 
 cluding all his Prose Works. 
 
 Abdallah ; or, The Four Leaves. 
 By Edouard Laboullaye. 
 
 Table-Talk and Opinions of Na- 
 poleon Buonaparte. 
 
 Vathek : An Oriental Romance. 
 By William Beckford. 
 
 Words of Wellington : Maxims and 
 Opinions of the Great Duke. 
 
 Dr. Johnson's Rasselas, Prince of 
 Abyssinia. With Notes. 
 
 Hazlitt's Round Table. With Bio- 
 graphical Introduction. 
 
 The Religio Medici, Hydviotaphia, 
 and the Letter to a Friend. By 
 Sir Thomas Browne, Knt. 
 
 Ballad Poetry of the Affections. By 
 Robert Buchanan. 
 
 traduction by the Editor, and 
 Essay on Chesterfield by M. de 
 Ste.-Beuve, of the French Aca- 
 demy. 
 
 The King and the Commons. A 
 Selection of Cavalier and Puritan 
 Songs. EditedbyProfessorMorley. 
 
 Essays in Mosaic. By Thos. Ballan- 
 tyne. 
 
 My Uncle Toby ; his Story and his 
 Friends. Edited by P. Fitzgerald. 
 
 Reflections ; or, Moral Sentences and 
 Maxims of the Duke de la Roche- 
 foucauld. 
 
 Socrates : Memoirs for English 
 Readers from Xenophon's Memo- 
 rabilia. By Edw. Levien. 
 
 Prince Albert's Golden Precepts. 
 
 A Case containing 12 Volumes, price 31J. fid. ; or the Case separately, price 3$. td. 
 
List of Publications. 
 
 Bell (Major) : Rambla — Spain. From Irun to Cerbere. 
 
 Crown 8vo, 8s. 6d. 
 Banners' German Copybooks. In six gradations at $d. each. 
 
 Biart (Lucieri) Adventures of a Young Naturalist. Edited and 
 adapted by Parker Gillmore. With 117 Illustrations on Wood. 
 Post 8vo, cloth extra, gilt edges, New Edition, 7-r. 6d. 
 
 Bickersteth's Hymnal Companion to Book of Common Prayer 
 may be had in various styles and bindings from id. to 21s. Price 
 List and Prospectus will be forwarded on application. 
 
 Bickersteth {Rev. E. H, M.A.) The Clergyman in his Home. 
 
 Small post 8vo, is. 
 Evangelical Churchmanship and Evangelical Eclecticism. 
 
 8vo, is. 
 From Year to Year : a Collection of Original Poetical 
 
 Pieces. Small post 8vo. 
 ■ The Master's Home-Call ; or, Brief Memorials of Alice 
 
 Frances Bickersteth. 20th Thousand. 32mo, cloth gilt, is. 
 The Master's Will. A Funeral Sermon preached on 
 
 the Death of Mrs. S. Gurney Buxton. Sewn, 6d. ; cloth gilt, is. 
 The Shadow of the Pock. A Selection of Religious 
 
 Poetry. l8mo, cloth extra, is. 6d. 
 • The Shadowed Home and the Light Beyond. 71I1 
 
 Edition, crown 8vo, cloth extra, $s. 
 Bilbrough (E. J.) " Twixt France and Spain." [In the press. 
 Biographies of the Great Artists (Illustrated). Crown 8vo, 
 
 emblematical binding, 3s. 6d. per volume, except where the price is given. 
 
 Claude Lorrain.* 
 
 Correggio, by M. E. Heaton, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Delia Robbia and Cellini, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Albrecht Diirer, by R. F. Heath. 
 
 Figure Painters of Holland. 
 
 FraAngelico,Masaccio,andBotticelli. 
 
 Fra Bartolommeo, Albertinelli, and 
 
 Andrea del Sarto. 
 Gainsborough and Constable. 
 Ghiberti and Donatello, 2S. 6d. 
 Giotto, by Harry Quilter. 
 Hans Holbein, by Joseph Cundall. 
 Hogarth, by Austin Dobson. 
 Landseer, by F. G. Stevens. 
 Lawrence and Romney, by Lord 
 
 Ronald Gower, is. 6d. 
 Leonardo da Vinci. 
 Little Masters of Germany) by W. 
 
 B. Scott. 
 
 * Not yet published. 
 A 3 
 
 Mantegna and Francia. 
 Meissonier, by J. W. Mollett, 2s. 6d. 
 Michelangelo Buonarotti,by Clement. 
 Murillo, by Ellen E. Minor, is. bd. 
 Overbeck, by J. B. Atkinson. 
 Raphael, by N. D'Anvers. 
 Rembrandt, by J. W. Mollett. 
 Reynolds, by F. S. Pulling. 
 Rubens, by C. W. Kett. 
 Tintoretto, by W. R. Osier. 
 Titian, by R. F. Heath. 
 Turner, by Cosmo Monkhouse. 
 Vandyck and Hals, by P. R. Head. 
 Velasquez, by E. Stowe. 
 Vernet and Delaroche, by J. R. 
 
 Rees. 
 Watteau, by J. W. Mollett, is. 6d. 
 Wilkie, by J. W. Mollett. 
 
Sampson Low, Marston, &• Co.'s 
 
 Bird {F.J.) American Practical Dyer's Companion. 8vo, 42 s. 
 
 Bird (H. E.) Chess Practice. 8vo, zs. 6d. 
 
 Black (Wm.) Novels. See "Low's Standard Library." 
 
 Blackburn {Henry) Breton Folk : An Artistic Tour in Brittany. 
 With 171 Illustrations by Randolph Caldecott. Imperial 8vo, 
 cloth extra, gilt edges, 21s. ; plainer binding, io\r. 6d. 
 
 Pyrenees (The). With 100 Illustrations by Gustave 
 
 Dor£, corrected to 1881. Crown 8vo, Is. 6d. 
 
 Blackmore (R. D.) Lorna Doone. Edition de luxe. Crown 4to, 
 very numerous Illustrations, cloth, gilt edges, 3 u. 6d.; parchment, 
 uncut, top gilt, 35J. Cheap Edition, small post 8vo, 6s. 
 
 Novels. See " Low's Standard Library." 
 
 Blaikie (William) Sow to get Strong and how to Stay so. 
 A Manual of Rational, Physical, Gymnastic, and other Exercises. 
 With Illustrations, small post 8vo, 5-r. 
 
 Boats of the World, Depicted and Described by one of the Craft. 
 With Coloured Plates, showing every kind of rig, 4to, 3j. 6d. 
 
 Bock (Cart). The Head Hunters of Borneo: Up the Mahak- 
 kam, and Down the Barita; also Joumeyings in Sumatra. 1 vol., 
 super-royal 8vo, 32 Coloured Plates, cloth extra, 36J. 
 
 Temples and Elephants. A Narrative of a Journey 
 
 through Upper Siam and Lao. With numerous Coloured and other 
 Illustrations, 8vo. 
 
 Bonwick (James) , First Twenty Years of Australia. Crown 
 8vo, 5j. 
 
 Port Philip Settlement. 8vo, numerous Illustrations, 2 1 s. 
 
 Borneo. See Bock. 
 
 Bosanquet (Rev. C.) Blossoms from the King's Garden : Sermons 
 
 for Children. 2nd Edition, small post 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. 
 
 Boussenard (L.) Crusoes of Guiana; or, the White Tiger. 
 Illustrated by J. Ferat. Js. 6d. 
 
 Boy's Froissart. King Arthur. Mabinogion. Percy. See 
 Lanier. 
 
 Bradshaw (J.) New Zealand as it is. 8vo, 12^. 6d. 
 
 Brassey (Lady) Tahiti. With 31 Autotype Illustrations after 
 
 Photos, by Colonel Stuart- Wortley. Fcap. 4to, very tastefully 
 
 bound, 2 1 s. 
 
 Braune (Wilhelm) Gothic Grammar. Translated by G. H. 
 Bulg. 3*. 6d. 
 
List of Publications. 
 
 Brisse (Baron) Minus (366, one for each day of the year). Each 
 Menu is given in French and English, with the recipe for making 
 every dish mentioned. Translated from the French of Baron Brisse, 
 by Mrs. Matthew Clarke. 2nd Edition. Crown 8vo, $s. 
 
 British Fisheries Directory, 1883-84. Small 8vo, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Brittany. See Blackburn. 
 
 Broglie (Due de) Frederick II. and Maria Theresa. 2 vols., 
 8vo, 30J. 
 
 Browne (G. Lathoni) Narratives of Nineteenth Century State 
 Trials. First Period : From the Union with Ireland to the Death 
 of George IV., 1801 — 1830. 2nd Edition, 2 vols., crown 8vo, cloth, 26s. 
 
 Browne (Lennox) and Behnke (Emit) Voice, Song, and Speech. 
 Medium 8vo, cloth. 
 
 Bryant (W. C.) and Gay (S. H) History of the United States. 
 4 vols.j royal 8vo, profusely Illustrated, 60s. 
 
 Bryce (Rev. Professor) Manitoba : its History, Growth, and 
 Present Position. Crown 8vo, with Illustrations and Maps, "]s. 6d. 
 
 Bunyaris Pilgrim's Progress. With 138 original Woodcuts. 
 Small post 8vo, cloth gilt, y. 6d. 
 
 Burnaby (Copt.) On Horseback through Asia Minor. 2 vols., 
 8vo, 38*. Cheaper Edition, crown 8vo, ioj. 6d. 
 
 Burnaby {Mrs. F.) High Alps in Winter; or, Mountaineering 
 in Search of Health. By Mrs. Fred Burnaby. With Portrait of 
 the Authoress, Map, and other Illustrations. Handsomely bound in 
 cloth, 14J. 
 
 Butler ( W. F.) The Great Lone Land; an Account of the Red 
 River Expedition, 1869-70. With Illustrations and Map. Fifth and 
 Cheaper Edition, crown 8vo, cloth extra, "js. 6d. 
 
 * Invasion of England, told twenty years after, by an Old 
 
 Soldier. Crown 8vo, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Red Cloud ; or, the Solitary Sioux. Imperial i6mo, 
 
 numerous illustrations, gilt edges, ys. 6d. 
 
 — The Wild North Land; the Story of a Winter Journey 
 
 with Dogs across Northern North America. Demy 8vo, cloth, with 
 numerous Woodcuts and a Map, 4th Edition, l8.r. Cr. 8vo, Js. 6d. 
 
 Buxton (H. y. W.) Painting, English and American. With 
 numerous Illustrations. Crown 8vo, %s. ' 
 
Sampson Low, Marston, <Sr» Co.'s 
 
 f*ADOGAN (Lady A.) Illustrated Games of Patience. 
 '-' Twenty-four Diagrams in Colours, with Descriptive Text. Foolscap 
 4to, cloth extra, gilt edges, 3rd Edition, \2s. 6d. 
 
 California. See " Nordhoff." 
 
 Cambridge Staircase (A). By the Author of "A Day of my 
 
 Life at Eton." Small crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. 
 Cambridge Trifles; or, Splutterings from an Undergraduate 
 
 Pen. By the Author of "A Day of my Life at Eton," &c. i6mo, 
 
 cloth extra, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Capello (LI.) and Lvens (R.) From Benguella to the Territory 
 of Yacca. Translated by Alfred Elwes. With Maps and over 
 130 full-page and text Engravings. 2 vols., 8vo, 42.J. 
 
 Carleton ( TV.). See " Rose Library." 
 
 Carlyle (T.) Reminiscences of my Irish jrourney in 1849. 
 
 Crown 8vo, Js. 6d. 
 Carnegie (A.) American Four-in-Hand in Britain. Small 
 4to, Illustrated, 10/. 6d. 
 
 Chairman's Handbook (The). By R. F. D. Palgrave, Clerk of 
 the Table of :he House of Commons. 5th Edition, enlarged and 
 re-written, 2s. 
 
 Challamel (M. A.) History of Fashion in France. With 21 
 Plates, coloured by hand, satin-wood binding, imperial Svo, 2%s. 
 
 Changed Cross (The), and other Religions Poems. i6mo, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Charities of London. See Low's. 
 
 Chattock (R. S.) Practical Notes on Etching. Second Edition, 
 Svo, 1$. 6d. 
 
 Chess. See Bird (H. E.). 
 
 China. See Colquhoun. 
 
 Choice Editions of Choice Books. 2s. 6d. each. Illustrated by 
 C. W. Cope, R.A., T. Creswick, R.A., E. Duncan, Birket 
 Foster, J. C. Horsley, A.R.A., G. Hicks, R. Redgrave, R.A., 
 C. Stonehouse, F. Tayler, G. Thomas, H. J. Townshend, 
 E. H. Wehnebt, Harrison Weir, &c. 
 
 Bloomfield's Farmer's Boy. 
 Campbell's Pleasures of Hope. 
 Coleridge's Ancient Mariner. 
 Goldsmith's Deserted Village. 
 Goldsmith's Vicar of Wakefield. 
 Gray's Elegy in a Churchyard. 
 Keat's Eve of St. Agnes. 
 
 Milton's L' Allegro. 
 Poetry of Nature. Harrison Weir. 
 Rogers' (Sam.) Pleasures of Memory. 
 Shakespeare's Songs and Sonnets. 
 Tennyson's May Queen. 
 Elizabethan Poets. 
 Wordsworth's Pastoral Poems. 
 ' Such works are a glorious beatification for a poet." — A thenar wn. 
 
List of Publications. 
 
 Christ in Song. By Dr. Philip Schaff. A New Edition, 
 
 revised, cloth, gilt edges, 6s. 
 Chromo-Lithography. See "Audsley." 
 Cid (Ballads of the). By the Rev. Gerrard Lewis. Fcap. 
 
 8vo, parchment, 2s. 6d. 
 Clay (Charles M.) Modem Hagar. 2 vols., crown 8vo, 21s. 
 
 See also " Rose Library." 
 Colquhoun (A. R.) Across Chryse ; From Canton to Mandalay. 
 
 With Maps and very numerous Illustrations, 2 vols., 8vo, ofls. 
 Composers. See " Great Musicians.'' 
 
 Confessions of a Frivolous Girl (The) : A Novel of Fashionable 
 Life. Edited by Robert Grant. Crown 8vo, 6s. Paper boards, is. 
 
 Cook (Duttori) Book of the Play. New and Revised Edition. 
 1 vol., cloth extra, 3*. 6d. 
 
 On the Stage: Studies of Theatrical History and the 
 
 Actor's Art. 2 vols., 8vo, cloth, 24?. 
 
 Coote (W.) Wanderings South by East. Illustrated, 8vo, 21^. 
 
 New and Cheaper Edition, lor. 6d. 
 
 Western Pacific. Illustrated, crown 8vo, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Costume. See Smith (J. Moyr). 
 
 Cruise of the Walnut Shell (The). An instructive and amusing 
 
 Story, told in Rhyme, for Children. With 32 Coloured Plates. 
 
 Square fancy boards, $s. 
 Curtis (C. B.) Velazquez and Murillo. With Etchings &c, 
 
 Royal 8vo, 31s. 6d.\ large paper, 6y. 
 Cutcliffe (IT. C.) Trout Fishing in Rapid Streams. Cr. 8vo, $s. 6d. 
 
 TJANVERS (N.) An Elementary History of Art. Crown 
 
 •*-' 8vo, 10s. 6d. 
 
 Elementary History of Music. Crown 8vo, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Handbooks of Elementary Art — Architecture; Sculp- 
 ture ; Old Masters : Modem Painting. Crown 8vo, 3.J. 6d. each. 
 
 Day of My Life (A) ; or, Evcry-Day Experiences at Eton. 
 By an Eton Boy, Author of " About Some Fellows." i6mo, cloth 
 extra, 2s. 6d. 6th Thousand. 
 
 Day's Collacon : an Encyclopaedia of Prose Quotations. Im 
 perial 8vo, cloth, 31^. 6d. 
 
 Decoration. Vol. II., folio, 6s. Vols. Ill , IV, V, and VI., 
 New Series, folio, "js. 6d. each. 
 
 See also Batley. 
 
8 Sampson Low, Marston, &r° Co.'s 
 
 De Leon (E.) Egypt under its Khedives. With Map and 
 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, 4s. 
 Don Quixote, Wit and Wisdom of. By Emma Thompson. 
 
 Square fcap. 8vo, %s. (id. 
 
 Donnelly {Ignatius) Atlantis ; or, the Antediluvian World. 
 Crown 8vo, \2s. 6d. 
 
 Ragnarok : The Age of Fire and Gravel. Illustrated, 
 
 Crown 8vo, I2j. (id. 
 
 Dos Passos (y. R.) Law of Stockbrokers and Stock Exchanges. 
 8vo, 35-r. 
 
 Dougall {James Dalziel, F.S.A., E.Z.A.) Shooting: its Ap- 
 pliances, Practice, and Purpose. New Edition, revised with additions. 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, Js. 6d. 
 
 ''The book is admirable in every way We wish it every success." — Globe. 
 
 "A very complete treatise Likely to take high rank as an authority on 
 
 shooting." — Daily News. 
 
 Drama. See Archer, Cook (Dutton), Williams (M.). 
 
 Durnford {Col. A. W.) A Soldier's Life and Work in South 
 
 Africa, 1872-9. 8vo, 14J. 
 Dyeing. See Bird (F. J.). 
 
 EDUCATIONAL Works published in Great Britain. 
 "*■-' Classified Catalogue. Second Edition, revised and corrected, 8vo, 
 cloth extra, $s. 
 
 Egypt. See "De Leon," "Foreign Countries," "Senior." 
 Eidlitz {Leopold) Nature and Functions of Art {The) , and 
 especially of Architecture. Medium 8vo, cloth, z\s. 
 
 Electricity. See Gordon. 
 
 Emerson Birthday Book. Extracts from the Writings of R. W. 
 
 Emerson. Square i6mo, cloth extra, numerous Illustrations, very 
 
 choice binding, 3^. 6d. 
 
 Emerson {R. W.) Life. By G. W. Cooke. Crown 8vo, 8s. 6d. 
 English Catalogue of Books. Vol. III., 1872—1880. Royal 
 
 8vo, half-morocco, 42J. 
 
 English Philosophers. Edited by E. B. Ivan Muller, M.A. 
 
 A series intended to give a concise view of the works and lives of English 
 thinkers. Crown 8vo volumes of 180 or 200 pp., price $s. 6d. each 
 
 Francis Bacon, by Thomas Fowler. 
 Hamilton, by W. H. S. Monck. 
 Hartley and James Mill, by G. S. 
 Bower, 
 
 Not yet published. 
 
 *John Stuart Mill, by Miss Helen 
 
 Taylor. 
 Shaftesbury and Hutcheson, by 
 
 Professor Fowler. 
 Adam Smith, by J. A. Farrer, 
 
List of Publications. 
 
 Episodes in the Life of an Indian Chaplain. Crown Svo, 
 cloth extra, 12*. 6d. 
 
 Episodes of French History. Edited, with Notes, Maps, and 
 Illustrations, by Gustave Masson, B.A. Small 8vo, 2s. 6d. each. 
 
 1. Charlemagne and the Carlovingians. 
 
 2. Louis XI. and the Crusades. 
 
 3. Fart I. Francis I. and Charles V. 
 
 „ II. Francis I. and the Renaissance. 
 
 4. Henry IV. and the End of the Wars of Religion. 
 
 Esmarch {Dr. FriedricK) Handbook on the Treatment of 
 Wounded in War. Numerous Coloured Plates and Illustrations, 8vo, 
 strongly bound, 1/. &r. 
 
 Etcher {The). Containing 36 Examples of the Original 
 Etched-work of Celebrated Artists, amongst others : Birket Foster, 
 J. E. Hodgson, R.A., Colin Hunter, J. P. Heseltine, Robert 
 W. Macbeth, R. S. Chattock, &c. Vols, for 1881 and 1882, 
 imperial 410, cloth extra, gilt edges, 2/. 12s. 6d. each. 
 
 Etching. See Batley, Chattock. 
 
 Etchings {Modern) of Celebrated Paintings. 4to, 31s. 6d. 
 
 T^ARM Ballads, Festivals, and Legends. See " Rose Library." 
 
 Fashion {History of). See " Challamel." 
 
 Fawcett {Edgar) A Gentleman of Leisure, is. 
 
 Fechner {G. T.) On Life after Death. i2mo, vellum, zs. 6d. 
 
 Felkin {R. W.) and Wilson {Rev. C. T.) Uganda and the 
 Egyptian Soudan. With Map, numerous Illustrations, and Notes. 
 By R. W. Felkin, F.R.G.S., &c, &c. ; and the Rev. C. T. 
 Wilson, M.A. Oxon., F.R.G.S. 2 vols., crown 8vo, cloth, z%s. 
 
 Fenn {G. Manville) Off to the Wilds: A Story for Boys. 
 Profusely Illustrated. Crown 8vo, Js. 6d. 
 
 Ferguson {John) Ceylon in 1883. With numerous Illustrations. 
 
 Crown 8vo. 
 Ferns. See Heath. 
 
 Fields (y. T.) Yesterdays with Authors. New Ed., 8vo., 16s. 
 Florence. See "Yriarte." 
 
 Flowers of Shakespeare. 32 beautifully Coloured Plates, with 
 the passages which refer to the flowers. Small 4to, $s. 
 
10 
 
 Sampson Low, Marston, <S-= Co.'s 
 
 Foreign Countries and British Colonies. A series of Descriptive 
 
 Handbooks. Each volume will be the work of a writer who has 
 special acquaintance with the subject. Crown 8vo, y. bit. each. 
 
 Australia, by J. F. Vcsey Fitzgerald. 
 
 Austria, by D. Kay, F.R.G.S. 
 *Canada, by W. Fraser Rae. 
 
 Denmark and Iceland, by E. C.Otte. 
 
 Egypt, by S. Lane Poole, IS. A. 
 
 France, by Miss M. Roberts. 
 
 Germany, by S. Baring-Gculd. 
 
 Greece, by L. Sergeant, 13. A. 
 ♦Holland, by R. L. Poole. 
 
 Japan, by S. Mossman. 
 *New Zealand. 
 
 *Persia, by Major-Gen. Sir F. Gold- 
 smid. 
 
 * Not ready yet. 
 
 Fortunes made in BusinesSi 2 vols., demy 8vo, cloth, 32J. 
 Franc (Maud Jeanne). The following form one Series, small 
 
 post 8vo, in uniform cloth bindings, with gilt edges: — 
 
 Peru, by Clements R. Markham, 
 
 C.B. 
 Russia, by W. R. Morfill, M.A. 
 Spain, by Rev. Wentworth Webster. 
 Sweden and Norway, by F. H. 
 
 Woods. 
 *S\vitzerland, by W. A. P. Coolidgc, 
 
 M.A. 
 *Turkey-in-Asia, by J. C. McCoan, 
 
 M.P. 
 West Indies, by C. H. Eden, 
 
 F.RG.S. 
 
 Emily's Choice. $s. 
 Hall's Vineyard. 4*. 
 John's Wife : A Story of Life in 
 
 South Australia. 4s. 
 Marian ; or, The Light of Some 
 
 One's Home. 5 J - 
 Silken Cords and Iron Fetters. 4s. 
 
 Vermont Vale. S J - 
 
 Minnie's Mission. 4s. 
 
 Little Mercy. 4s. 
 
 Beatrice Melton's Discipline. 4s. 
 
 No Longer a Child. 4s. 
 
 Golden Gifts. 4s. 
 
 Two Sides to Every Question. 4s. 
 
 Francis (F.) War, Waves, and Wanderings, including a Cruise 
 
 in the "Lancashire Witch." 2 vols.,, crown 8vo, cloth extra, 24s. 
 Frederick the Great. See " Broglie." 
 French. See "Julien." 
 Froissart. See " Lanier." 
 
 GENTLE Life (Queen Edition). 
 
 2 vols, in 1, small 4to, 6s. 
 
 THE GENTLE LIFE SERIES. 
 
 Price 6s. each ; or in calf extra, price 10s. 6d. ; Smaller Edition, cloth 
 extra, 2s. 6d., except where price is named. 
 
 The Gentle Life, Essays in aid of the Formation of Character 
 
 of Gentlemen and Gentlewomen. 
 About in the World. Essays by Author of " The Gentle Life." 
 Like unto Christ. A New Translation of Thomas h, Kempis' 
 
 " De Imitatione Christi." 
 
List of Publications. 1 1 
 
 Familiar Words. An Index Verborum, or Quotation Hand- 
 book. 6j. 
 
 Essays by Montaigne. Edited and Annotated by the Author 
 of "The Gentle Life." 
 
 The Gentle Life. 2nd Series. 
 
 The Silent If our: Essays, Original and Selected. By the 
 
 Author of ' ' The Gentle Life. " 
 
 Half-Length Portraits. Short Studies of Notable Persons. 
 
 By J. Hain Friswell. 
 Essays on English Writers, for the Self-improvement of 
 
 Students in English Literature. 
 
 Other People's Windows. By J. Hain Friswell. 6s. 
 
 A Man's Tfwughts. By J. Hain Friswell. 
 
 The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia. By Sir Philip Sidney. 
 New Edition, 6s. 
 
 George Eliot: a Critical Study of her Life. By G. W. Cooke. 
 
 Crown 8vo, 1 ox. 6ii. 
 German. See Beumer. 
 Germany. By S. Baring-Gould. Crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. 
 
 Gibbs (y. R.) British Honduras, Historical and Descriptive. 
 
 Crown 8vo, "]s. 6d. 
 Gilder (W. H.) Ice-Pack and Tundra. An Account of the 
 
 Search for the " Jeannette." 8vo, i8j. 
 Schwatka's Search. Sledging in quest of the Franklin 
 
 Records. Illustrated, 8vo, 12s. 6d. 
 
 Gilpin's Forest Scenery. Edited by F. G. Heath. Large 
 post 8vo, with numerous Illustrations. Uniform with " The Fern 
 World," re-issued, "]s. 6d. 
 
 Glas {John) The Lord's Supper. Crown 8vo, 5-r. 
 
 Gordon (/. E. H., B.A. Cantab?) Fozir Lectures on Electric 
 Induction. Delivered at the Royal Institution, 1878-9. With 
 numerous Illustrations. Cloth limp, square i6mo, %s. 
 
 Electric Lighting. [In preparation. 
 
 Physical Treatise on Electricity and Magnetism. New 
 
 Edition, revised and enlarged, with coloured, full-page, and other 
 Illustrations, 2 vols., 8vo, 42s. 
 
 Gouffe. The Royal Cookery Book. By Jules Gouffe ; trans- 
 lated and adapted for English use by Alpiionse GouffiS, Head 
 Pastrycook to Her Majesty the Queen. Illustrated with large plaies 
 printed in colours. 161 Woodcuts, 8vo, cloth extra, gilt edges, 42s. 
 
 Domestic Edition, half-bound, 10s. 6d. 
 
12 
 
 Sampson Low, Marston, &-» Co.'s 
 
 Great Artists. See " Biographies." 
 
 Great Historic Galleries of England {The). Edited by Lord 
 Ronald Gower, F.S.A., Trustee of the National Portrait Gallery. 
 Illustrated by 24 large and carefully executed permanent Photographs 
 of some of the most celebrated Pictures by the Great Masters. Vol. I. , 
 imperial 4to, cloth extra, gilt edges, 36J. Vol. II., with 36 large 
 permanent photographs, 2/. \zs. dd. 
 
 Great Musicians. Edited by F. 
 Biographies, crown 8vo, 3*. each : — 
 
 Hueffer. A Series of 
 
 Bach. 
 *Beethoven. 
 *Berlioz. 
 
 English Church Com- 
 posers. By Barett. 
 *Gliick. 
 
 Handel. 
 *Haydn. 
 *Marcello. 
 
 Mendelssohn. 
 
 Mozart. 
 *Palestrina. 
 
 * In preparation. 
 
 Purcell. 
 Rossini. 
 Schubert. 
 *Schumann. 
 Richard Wagner. 
 Weber. 
 
 Grohmann (W. A. B.) Camps in the Rockies. 8vo, 12.?. 6d. 
 
 Guizofs History of France. Translated by Robert Black. 
 Super-royal 8vo, very numerous Full-page and other Illustrations. In 
 8 vols. , cloth extra, gilt, each 24J. This work is re-issued in cheaper 
 binding, 8 vols., at lew. 6d. each. 
 
 " It supplies a want which has long been felt, and ought to be in the hands of all 
 students of history." — Times. 
 
 Masson's School Edition. The 
 
 History of P'rance from the Earliest Times to the Outbreak of the 
 Revolution; abridged from the Translation by Robert Black, M.A., 
 with Chronological Index, Historical and Genealogical Tables, &c. 
 By Professor Gustave Masson, B.A., Assistant Master at Harrow 
 School. With 24 full-page Portraits, and many other Illustrations. 
 I vol., demy 8vo, 600 pp., cloth extra, 10s. 6d. 
 
 Guizofs History of England. In 3 vols, of about 500 pp. each, 
 
 containing 60 to 70 Full-page and other Illustrations, cloth extra, gilt, 
 24s. each ; re-issue in cheaper binding, 10s. 6d. each. 
 
 " For luxury of typography, plainness of print, and beauty of illustration, these 
 volumes, of which but one has as yet appeared in English, will hold their own 
 against any production of an age so luxurious as our own in everything, typography 
 not excepted." — Times. 
 
 Guyon (Mde.) Life. By Upham. 6th Edition, crown 8vo, 6s. 
 
 TJTALL (W. W.) How to Live Long; or, 1408 Health Maxims, 
 11 Physical, Mental, and Moral. By W. W. Hall, A.M., M.D. 
 Small post 8vo, cloth, 2s. 2nd Edition. 
 
 Harper's Christmas No., 1882. Elephant folio, 2s. 6d. 
 
List of Publications. 13 
 
 Harper's Monthly Magazine. Published Monthly. 160 pages, 
 fully Illustrated, is. 
 
 Vol. I. December, 1880, to May, 1881. 
 ,, II. June to November, 1881. 
 ,, III. December, 1881, to May, 1882. 
 ,, IV. June to November, 1882. 
 ,, V. December, 1882, to May, 1883. 
 Super-royal 8vo, 8s. 6d: each. 
 
 <€ - Harper's Magazine ' is so thickly sown with excellent illustrations that to count 
 them would be a work of time ; not that it is a picture magazine, for the engravings 
 illustrate the text after the manner seen in some of our choicest Liitions de luxe" — 
 St. James's Gazette. 
 
 " It is so pretty, so big, and so cheap. . . . An extraordinary shillingsworth— 
 160 large octavo pages, with over a score of articles, and more than three times as 
 many illustrations." — Edinburgh Daily Review. 
 
 " An amazing shillingsworth . . . combining choice literature of both nations." — 
 Nonconformist. 
 
 Hatton (Joseph) Journalistic London : with Engravings and 
 Portraits of Distinguished Writers of the Day. Fcap. 4to, 12s. 6d. 
 
 Three Recruits, and the Girls they left behind them. 
 
 Small post 8vo, 6s. 
 
 " It hurries us along in unflagging excitement." — Times. 
 
 See also " Low's Standard Novels." 
 
 Heath (Francis George). Autumnal Leaves. New Edition, 
 with Coloured Plates in Facsimile from Nature. Crown 8vo, 14J. 
 
 Burnham Beeches. Illustrated, small 8vo, is. 
 
 Fern Paradise. New Edition, with Plates and Photos., 
 
 crown 8vo, 12s. (sd. 
 
 Fern World. With Nature-printed Coloured Plates. 
 
 New Edition, crown 8vo, \2s. 6d. 
 
 Gilpin's Forest Scenery. Illustrated, 8vo, 12s. 6d.; 
 
 New Edition, "js. 6d. 
 
 Our Woodland Trees. With Coloured Plates and 
 
 Engravings. Small 8vo, \2s. (sd. 
 
 Peasant Life in the West of England. Crown 8vo, 
 
 iqt. 6d. 
 
 Sylvan Spring. With Coloured, &c, Illustrations. 
 
 1 2 s. 6d. 
 
 Trees and Ferns. Illustrated, crown 8vo, 3*. 6d. 
 
 Where to Find Ferns. Crown 8vo, 2s. 
 
 Heber (Bishop) Hymns. Illustrated Edition. With upwards 
 of 100 beautiful Engravings. Small 4to, handsomely bound, "js. 6d. 
 Morocco, 18s. 6d. and 21s. New and Cheaper Edition, cloth, 3s. 6d. 
 
14 Sampson Low, Marston, & Co.'s 
 
 Heldmann {Bernard) Mutiny on Board the Ship " Leander." 
 Small post 8vo, gilt edges, numerous Illustrations, 7-r. 6d. 
 
 Henty (G. A.) Winning his Spurs. Numerous Illustrations. 
 
 Crown 8vo, $s. 
 Cornet of Horse : A Story for Boys. Illustrated, crown 
 
 8vo, js. 
 
 •Jack Archer: Tale of the Crimea. Illust., crown 8vo, 5.?. 
 
 Herrick {Robert) Poetry. Preface by Austin Dobson. With 
 numerous Illustrations by E. A. Abbey. 4to, gilt edges, 42J. 
 
 History and Principles of Weaving by Hand and by Power. With 
 several hundred Illustrations. By Alfred Barlow. Royal 8vo, 
 cloth extra, I/. 5-r. Second Edition. 
 
 Hitchman {Francis} Public Life of the Right Hon. Benjamin 
 Disraeli, Earl of Beaconsfield. New Edition, with Portrait. Crown 
 8vo, 3s. 6d. 
 
 Hole {Rev. Canon) Nice and Her Neighbours. Small 4to, 
 
 with numerous choice Illustrations, i6j. 
 Holmes {O. W.) The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes. 
 
 In 2 vols., i8mo, exquisitely printed, and chastely bound in limp 
 
 cloth, gilt tops, lew. 6d. 
 Hoppus {J. D.) Riverside Papers. 2 vols., 12.?. 
 Hovgaard {A.) See " Nordenskiold's Voyage." 8vo, 21s. 
 Hugo {Victor) "Ninety-Three." Illustrated. Crown 8vo, 6s 
 Toilers of the Sea. Crown 8vo, fancy boards, 2s. 
 
 and his Times. Translated from the French of A. 
 
 Barbou by Ellen E. Frewer. 120 Illustrations, many of them 
 from designs by Victor Hugo himself. Super-royal 8vo, cloth extra, 
 24J. 
 
 ■ History of a Crime {The); Deposition of an Eye-witness. 
 
 The Story of the Coup d'Etat. Crown 8vo, 6s. 
 
 Hundred Greatest Men {The). 8 portfolios, 2i.f. each, or 4 
 vols., half-morocco, gilt edges, 10 guineas. 
 
 Hutchinson {Thos.~) Diary and Letters. Demy 8vo* cloth, i6y. 
 
 Hutchissoti {W. H) Pe?i and Pencil Sketches: Eighteen Years 
 in Bengal. 8vo, i8j. 
 
 Hygiene and Public Health {A Treatise on). Edited by A. H. 
 Buck, M.D. Illustrated by numerous Wood Engravings. In 2, 
 royal 8vo vols. , cloth, 42J. 
 
 Hymnal Companion of Common Prayer. See Bickersteth. 
 
List of Publications. 15 
 
 ILLUSTRATED Text-Books of Art-Education. Edited by 
 ■*■ Edward J. Poyntee, R.A. Each Volume contains numerous Illus- 
 trations, and is strongly bound for the use of Students, price $s. The 
 Volumes now ready are : — 
 
 PAINTING. 
 
 French and Spanish. 
 English and American. 
 
 Classic and Italian. By Percy 
 
 R. Head. 
 German, Flemish, and Dutch. 
 
 ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 Classic and Early Christian. 
 
 Gothic and Renaissance. By T. Roger Smith. 
 
 SCULPTURE. 
 
 Antique : Egyptian and Greek. | Renaissance and Modern. 
 
 Italian Sculptors of the 14th and 15th Centuries. 
 
 ORNAMENT. 
 
 Decoration in Colour. | Architectural Ornament. 
 
 Irving ( Washington). Complete Library Edition of his Works 
 in 27 Vols., Copyright, Unabridged, and with the Author's Latest 
 Revisions, called the " Geoffrey Crayon " Edition, handsomely printed 
 in large square 8vo, on superfine laid paper. Each volume, of about 
 500 pages, fully Illustrated, izs. (id. pervol. Seealso " Little Britain." 
 
 (" American Men of Letters.") 2s. 6d. 
 
 ^fAMES (C) Curiosities of Law and Lawyers. 8vo, is. 6d. 
 
 Japan. See Atjdsley. 
 
 Jarves (J.J.) Italian Rambles. Square i6mo, 5^. 
 
 Johnson (O.) W. Lloyd Garrison and his Times. Crown 8vo, 
 
 12s. 6d. 
 Jones (Major) The Emigrants' Friend. A Complete Guide to 
 
 the United States. New Edition. 2s. dd. 
 
 Jones (Mrs. Herbert) Sandringham : Past and Present. Illus- 
 trated, crown 8vo, 8.r. 6d. 
 
 Julien (F.) English Student's French Examiner. i6mo. zs. 
 
 First Lessons in Conversational French Grammar. 
 
 Crown 8vo, if. 
 
 Conversational French Reader. i6mo, cloth, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Petites Lemons de Conversation et de Grammaire. New 
 
 Edition, 3s. 6d. ; without Phrases, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Phrases of Daily Use. Limp cloth, 6d, 
 
 Jung (Sir Salar) Life of . \In the press 
 
1 6 Sampson Low, Marston, & Co.'s 
 
 JSEMPIS {Thomas a) Daily Text-Book. Square i6mo, 
 2s. 6d. \ interleaved as a Birthday Book, 3-r. 6d. 
 
 Kingston (W. H. G.) Dick Cheveley. Illustrated, i6mo, gilt 
 edges, 7s. 6d. ; plainer binding, plain edges, $s. 
 
 Fresh and Salt Water Tutors : A Story, y. 6d. 
 
 Heir of Kilfinnan. Uniform, "js. 6d. ; also 5 s. 
 
 — — Snow-Shoes and Canoes. Uniform, "js. 6d. ; also $s. 
 
 Two Supercargoes. Uniform, 7^. 6d. ; also $s. 
 
 With Axe and Rifle. Uniform, 7 s. 6d. ; also 51. 
 
 Knight {E. F.) Albania and Montenegro. Illust. 8vo. 12s. 6d. 
 
 Knight {E.J.) The Cruise of the "Falcon." A Voyage round 
 the World in a 30-Ton Yacht. Numerous Illust. 2 vols., crown 8vo. 
 
 T AMBERT {O.) Angling Literature in England ; and 
 
 ■L-* Descriptions of Fishing by the Ancients. With a Notice of some 
 Books on other Piscatorial Subjects. Fcap. 8vo, vellum, top gilt, 3-r. 6d. 
 
 Lanier {Sidney) The Boy's Froissart, selected from the Chroni- 
 cles of England, France, and Spain. Illustrated, extra binding, gilt 
 edges, crown 8vo, Js. 6d. 
 
 Boy's King Arthur. Uniform, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Boy's Mabinogion ; Original Welsh Legends of King 
 
 Arthur. Uniform, Js. 6d. 
 
 Boy's Percy : Ballads of Love and Adventure, selected 
 
 from the " Reliques." Uniform, 7.?. 6d. 
 Lansdell {H.) Through Siberia. 2 vols., demy 8vo, 305. ; New 
 
 Edition, very numerous illustrations, 8vo, 10s. 6d. 
 
 Larden {W.) School Course on Heat. Second Edition, Illus- 
 trated, crown 8vo, 5.?. 
 Lathrop {G. P.) Ln the Distance. 2 vols., crown 8vo, 21^. 
 Legal Profession : Romantic Stories, is. 6d. 
 Lennard {T. B.) To Married Women and Women about to be 
 
 Married, &c. 6d. 
 
 Lenormant {F.) Beginnings of History. Crown 8vo, 12s. 6d. 
 
 Leonardo da Vinci's Literary Works. Edited by Dr. Jean 
 Paul Richter. Containing his Writings on Painting, Sculpture, 
 and Architecture, his Philosophical Maxims, Humorous Writings, and 
 Miscellaneous Notes on Personal Events, on his Contemporaries, on 
 Literature, &c. ; for the first time published from Autograph Manu- 
 scripts. By J. P. Richter, Ph. Dr., Hon. Member of the Royal and 
 Imperial Academy of Rome, &c. 2 vols., imperial 8vo, containing 
 about 200 Drawings in Autotype Reproductions, and numerous other 
 Illustrations. Twelve Guineas. 
 
List of Publications. 1 7 
 
 Leyland(P. W.) Holiday in South Africa. Crown 8vo, 12s. 6d. 
 
 Library, of Religious Poetry. A Collection of the Best Poems 
 of a'.l Ages and Tongues. Edited by Philip Schaff, D.D., LL.D., 
 and Arthur Gilman, M.A. Royal 8vo, 1036 pp., cloth extra, gilt 
 edgek,2U.; re-issue in cheaper binding, lew. 6d. 
 
 Lindsay ( W. S.) History of Merchant Shipping and Ancient 
 Commerce. Over 150 Illustrations, Maps, and Charts. In 4 vols., 
 demy 8vo, cloth extra. Vols. I and 2, lis. each; vols. 3 and 4, 141. 
 each. 4 vols, complete, 50J. 
 
 Lillie (Lucy £.) Prudence : a Story of ^Esthetic London. 
 
 Small 8vo, <,s. 
 
 Little Britain; together with The Spectre Bridegroom, and A 
 Legend of Sleepy Hollow. By Washington Irving. An entirely 
 New Edition de luxe, specially suitable for Presentation. Illustrated 
 by 120 very fine Engravings on Wood, by Mr. J. D. Cooper. 
 Designed by Mr. Charles O. Murray. Re-issue, square crown 
 8vo, cloth, 6s. 
 
 Logan (Sir William E.) Life. By Bernard J. Harrington. 
 8vo, 12s. 6d. 
 
 Long (Mrs. W. H. C.) Peace and War in the Transvaal. 
 
 i2mo, 3 j. 6d. 
 Low's Standard Library of Travel and Adventure. Crown 8vo, 
 
 bound uniformly in cloth extra, price Js. 6d., except where price is 
 
 given. 
 
 1. The Great Lone Land. By Major W. F. Butler, C.B. 
 
 2. The "Wild North Land. By Major W. F. Butler, C.B. 
 
 3. How I found Livingstone. By H. M. Stanley. 
 
 4. Through the Dark Continent. By H. M. Stanley. 12s. 6d. 
 
 5. The Threshold of the Unknown Region. By C. R. Mark- 
 
 ham. (4th Edition, with Additional Chapters, ior. 6d. ) 
 
 6. Cruise of the Challenger. By W. J. J. Spry, R.N. 
 
 7. Burnaby's On Horseback through Asia Minor. 10s. ~6d. 
 
 8. Schweinfurth's Heart of Africa. 2 vols., 15^. 
 
 9. Marshall's Through America. 
 
 10. Lansdell's Through Siberia. Illustrated and unabridged, 
 ioj. 6d. 
 
 Low's Standard Novels. Small post 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. each, 
 unless otherwise stated. 
 
 Work. A Story of Experience. By Louisa M. Alcott. 
 A Daughter of Heth. By W. Black. 
 In Silk Attire. By W. Black. 
 Kilmeny. A Novel. By W. Black. 
 
Sampson Low, Marston, &° Co.'s 
 
 Low's Standard Novels — continued. 
 
 Lady Silverdale's Sweetheart. By W. Black. 
 
 Sunrise. By W. Black. 
 
 Three Feathers. By William Black. 
 
 Alioe Lorraine. By R. D. Blackmore. 
 
 Christowell, a, Dartmoor Tale. By R. D. BLACKMORE. 
 
 Clara Vaughan. By R. D. Blackmore. 
 
 Cradock Howell. By R. D. Blackmore. 
 
 Cripps the Carrier. By R. D. Blackmore. ' 
 
 Erema ; or, My Father's Sin. By R. D. BLACKMORE. 
 
 Lorna Doone. By R. D. Blackmore. 
 
 Mary Anerley. By R. D. Blackmore. 
 
 An English Squire. By Miss Coleridge. 
 
 Mistress Judith. A Cambridgeshire Story. By C. C. Fraser- 
 
 Tytler. 
 A Story of the Dragonnades ; or, Asylum Christi. By the Rev. 
 
 E. Gilliat, M.A. 
 A Laodicean. By Thomas Hardy. 
 Ear from the Madding Crowd. By Thomas Hardy 
 The Hand of Ethelfcerta. By Thomas Hardy. 
 The Trumpet Major. By Thomas Hardy. 
 Two on a Tower. By Thomas Hardy. 
 Three Eeoruits. By Joseph Hatton. 
 A Golden Sorrow. By Mrs. Cashel Hoey. New Edition. 
 Out of Court. By Mrs. Cashel Hoey. 
 History of a Crime : The Story of the Coup d'Etat. Victor 
 
 Hugo. 
 Ninety-Three. By Victor Hugo. Illustrated. 
 Adela Cathoart. By George Mac Donald. 
 Guild Court. By George Mac Donald. 
 Mary Marston. By George Mac Donald. 
 Stephen Archer. New Edition of "Gifts." By George Mac 
 
 Donald. 
 The Vicar's Daughter. By George Mac Donald. 
 Weighed and Wanting. By George Mac Donald. 
 Diane. By Mrs. Macquoid. 
 Elinor Dryden. By Mrs. Macquoid. 
 My Lady Greensleeves. By Helen Mathers. 
 John Holdsworth. By W. Clark Russell. 
 A Sailor's Sweethearts By W. Clark Russell. 
 
List of Publications. 1 9 
 
 Wreck of the Grosvenor. By W. Clark Russell. 
 
 The Lady Maud. By W. Clark Russell. 
 
 Little Loo. By W. Clark Russell. 
 
 My "Wife and I. By Mrs. Beecher Stowe. 
 
 Foganuc People, Their Loves and Lives. By Mrs. B. Stowe. 
 
 Ben Hut: a Tale of the Christ. By Lew. Wallace. 
 
 Anne, By Constance Fenimore Woolson. 
 
 For the Major. By Constance Fenimore Woolson. 5?. 
 
 Low's Handbook to the Charities of London (Annual). Edited 
 and revised to date by C Mackeson, F.S.S., Editor of " A Guide 
 to the Churches of London and its Suburbs," &c. Paper, is. ; cloth, 
 is. 6d. 
 
 TUfCCORMICK (R., R.N). Voyages of Discovery in the 
 
 ■L'-*- Arctic and Antarctic Seas in the "Erebus" and " Terror," in 
 Search of Sir John Franklin, &c, with Autobiographical Notice by 
 R. McCormick, R.N., who was Medical Officer to each Expedition. 
 With Maps and very numerous Lithographic and other Illustrations. 
 2 vols., royal 8vo, 52*. 6d. 
 
 Macdonald (A.) "Our Sceptred Isle" and its World-wide 
 Empire. Small post 8vo, cloth, 4s. 
 
 MacDonald (G.) Oris. Small post 8vo, 6*. 
 
 See also " Low's Standard Novels." 
 
 Macgregor (John) "Rob Roy" on the , Baltic. 3rd Edition, 
 
 small post Svo, 2s. 6d. ; cloth, gilt edges, 3-r. 6d. 
 A Thousand Miles in the " Rob Roy" Canoe, nth 
 
 Edition, small post 8vo, 2s. 6d. ; cloth, gilt edges, 3.?. 6d. 
 
 Description of the " Rob Roy" Canoe. Plans, &c, is. 
 
 Voyage Alone in the Yawl " Rob Roy.'' New Edition, 
 
 thoroughly revised, with additions, small post 8vo, $s. ; boards, 2s. 6d. 
 Macquoid (Mrs.). See Low's Standard Novels. 
 Magazine. See Decoration, Etcher, Harper, Union Jack. 
 Magyarland. A Narrative of Travels through the Snowy Car- 
 
 pathians, and Great Alfold of the Magyar. By a Fellow of the Car- 
 pathian Society (Diploma of 1881), and Author of" The Indian Alps." 
 2 vols., 8vo, cloth extra, with about 120 Woodcuts from the Author's 
 own sketches and drawings, 38*. 
 
 Manitoba. See Rae. 
 
 Maria Theresa. See Broglie. 
 
 Marked " In Haste?' A Story of To-day. Crown 8 to, 8s, 6d. 
 
zo Sampson Low, Mars ton, &* Co.'s 
 
 Markham (Admiral) A Naval Career during the Old War. 
 8vo, cloth, 14J. 
 
 Markham (C. R.) The Threshold of the Unknown Region. 
 Crown 8vo, with Four Maps, 4th Edition. Cloth extra, ioj. 6d. 
 
 War between Peru and Chili, 1879-1881. Crown 
 
 8vo, with four Maps, &c. Third Edition. lor. 6d. See also " Foreign 
 Countries." 
 
 Marshall (W. G.) Through America. New Edition, crown 
 8vo, with about 100 Illustrations, •js. 6d. 
 
 Martin (y. W.) Moat Fishing and Spinning in the Nottingham 
 Style. Crown 8vo, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Marvin {Charles) Russian Advance towards India. 8vo, ids. 
 
 Maury (Commander) Physical Geography of the Sea, and its 
 Meteorology. Being a Reconstruction and Enlargement of his former 
 Work, with Charts and Diagrams. New Edition, crown 8vo, ds. 
 
 Men of Mark : a Gallery of Contemporary Portraits of the most 
 Eminent Men of the Day taken from Life, especially for this publica- 
 tion Complete in Seven Vols., handsomely bound, cloth, gilt edges, 
 25.1-. each. 
 
 Mendelssohn Family (The), 1729 — 1847. From Letters and 
 Journals. Translated from the German of Sebastian Hensel. 
 3rd Edition, 2 vols., 8vo, 30J. 
 
 Mendelssohn. See also " Great Musicians." 
 
 Mitford (Mary Russell) Our Village. Illustrated with Frontis- 
 piece Steel Engraving, and 12 full-page and 157 smaller Cuts. Crown 
 4to, cloth, gilt edges, 2IJ-.; cheaper binding, 10s. 6d. 
 
 Mollett (J. W.) Illustrated Dictionary of Words used in Art 
 and Archaeology. Explaining Terms frequently used in Works on 
 Architecture, Arms, Bronzes, Christian Art, Colour, Costume, Deco- 
 ration, Devices, Emblems, Heraldry, Lace, Personal Ornaments, 
 Pottery, Painting, Sculpture, &c, with their Derivations. Illustrated 
 with 600 Wood Engravings. Small 4to, strongly bound in cloth, 15.J. 
 
 Morley (H.) English Literature in the Reign of Victoria. The 
 2000th volume of the Tauchnitz Collection of Authors. l8mo, 
 2s. 6d. 
 
 Midler (E.) Noble Words and Noble Deeds. Containing many 
 Full-page Illustrations by Philippoteaux. Square imperial i6mo, 
 eloth extra, Js. 6d. ; plainer binding, plain edges, 5*. 
 
 Music. See " Great Musicians." 
 
List of Publications. 21 
 
 J\JE WBIGGIN'S Sketches and Tales. 1 8mo, 4s. 
 
 New Chilis Play {A). Sixteen Drawings by E. V. B. Beauti- 
 fully printed in colours, 4to, cloth extra, 12s. 6d. 
 
 New Zealand. See Bradshaw. 
 
 Newfoundland. See Rae. 
 
 Norbury {Henry P.) Naval Brigade in South Africa. Crown 
 8vo, cloth extra, ioj. 6d. 
 
 Nordenskib'ld's Voyage around Asia and Europe. A Popular 
 Account of the North- East Passage of the "Vega." By Lieut. A. 
 Hovgaard, of the Royal Danish Navy, and member of the " Vega " 
 Expedition. 8vo, with about 50 Illustrations and 3 Maps, 21s. 
 
 Nordhoff (C.) Calif ornia, for Health, Pleasure, and Residence. 
 New Edition, 8vo, with Maps and Illustrations, \2s. 6d. 
 
 Northern Fairy Tales. Translated by H. L. Braekstad. 5s. 
 
 Nothing to Wear ; and Two Millions. By W. A. Butler. 
 New Edition. Small post 8vo, in stiff coloured wrapper, is. 
 
 Nursery Playmates {Prince of ). 217 Coloured Pictures for 
 Children by eminent Artists. Folio, in coloured boards, 6s. 
 
 O'BRIEN {P. B.) Fifty Years of Concessions to Ireland. 
 
 8vo. 
 
 Irish Land Question, and English Question. New 
 
 Edition, fcap. 8vo, 2s. 
 
 Our Little Ones in Heaven. Edited by the Rev. H. Robbins. 
 With Frontispiece after Sir Joshua Reynolds. Fcap., cloth extra, 
 New Edition — the 3rd, with Illustrations, z,s. 
 
 Outlines of Ornament in all Styles. A Work of Reference for 
 the Architect, Art Manufacturer, Decorative Artist, and Practical 
 Painter. By W. and G. A. Audsley, Fellows of the Royal Institute: 
 of British Architects. Only a limited number have been printed and 
 the stones destroyed. Small folio, 60 plates, with introductory text, 
 cloth gilt, 3U. 6d. 
 
 Owen {Douglas) Marine Insurance Notes and Clauses. 10s. 6d. 
 
22 Sampson Low, Marston, £r» Co.'s 
 
 UALGRA VE (R. F. D.). See " Chairman's Handbook." 
 Falliser (Mrs.) A History of Lace, from tlie Earliest Period. 
 
 A New and Revised Edition, with additional cuts and text, upwards of 
 ioo Illustrations and coloured Designs. I vol., 8vo, il. is. 
 
 Historic Devices, Badges, and War Cries. 8vo, xl. is. 
 
 ■ The China Collector's Pocket Companion. With up- 
 wards of iooo Illustrations of Marks and Monograms. 2nd Edition, 
 with Additions. Small post 8vo, limp cloth, $s. 
 
 Perseus, the Gorgon Slayer. Numerous coloured Plates, square 
 
 8vo, 5*. 
 
 Pharmacopmia of the United States of Ainerica. 8vo, 21s. 
 Photography (History and Handbook of). See Tissandier. 
 
 Pinto (Major Serpa) How I Crossed Africa : from the Atlantic 
 to the Indian Ocean, Through Unknown Countries ; Discovery of the 
 Great Zambesi Affluents, &c— Vol. I., The King's Rifle. Vol. II., 
 The Coillard Family. With 24 full-page and 118 half-page and 
 smaller Illustrations, 13 small Maps, and 1 large one. 2 vols., demy 
 8vo, cloth extra, 42s. 
 
 Pocock. See Arnold (G. M.). 
 
 Poe (E. A.) The Raven. Illustrated by Gustave Doe£ 
 Imperial folio, cloth, 63J. 
 
 Poems of the Inner Life. Chiefly from Modern Authors. 
 
 Small 8vo, 5^. 
 
 Polar Expeditions. See Koldewey, Markham, MacGahan, 
 Nares, Nordenskiold, Gilder, McCormick. 
 
 Politics and Life in Mars. i2ino, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Powell ( W.) Wanderings in a Wild Country ; or, Three Years 
 among the Cannibals of New Britain. Demy 8vo, Map and numerous 
 Illustration 1 ;, i8.r. 
 
 Prisons, Her Majesty's, their Effects and Defects. New and 
 cheaper Edition, 6s. 
 
 Poynter (Edward J., R.A.). See " Illustrated Text-books." 
 
 Publishers' Circular (The), and General Record of British and 
 Foreign Literature. Published on the 1st and 15th of every Month, yi. 
 
List of Publications. 23 
 
 £X4.E ( W. Fraser) From Newfoundland to Manitoba ; a 
 ■*■ *• Guide through Canada's Maritime, Mining, and Prairie Provinces. 
 With Maps. Crown 8vo, 6s. 
 
 Rambaud (A.) History of Russia. 2 vols , 8vo, 36s. 
 
 Reber(F.) History of Ancient Art. 8vo, i8.r. 
 
 Redford (G.) Ancient Sculpture. Crown 8vo, $s. 
 
 Reid (T. TV.) Land of the Bey. Post 8vo, \os. 6d. 
 
 Remusat (Madame de), Memoirsof 1802 — 1808. By her Grand- 
 son, M. Paul de Remusat, Senator. Translated by Mrs. Cashel 
 Hoey and Mr. John Lillie. 4th Edition, cloth extra. 2 vols., 
 8vo, 32s-. 
 
 Selection from t/te Letters of Madame de Remusat to Iter 
 
 Husband and Son, from 1804 to 1813. From the French, by Mrs. 
 Cashel Hoev and Mr. John Lillie. In 1 vol., demy 8vo (uniform 
 with the "Memoirsof Madame de Remusat," 2 vols.), cloth extra, i6j. 
 
 Richter (Dr. Jean Paul) Italian Art in the National Gallery. 
 4to. Illustrated. Cloth gilt, 2/. 2s.\ half-morocco, uncut, 2.1. 12s. 6d. 
 
 See also Leonardo da Vinci. 
 
 Robin Hood; Merry Adventures of. Written and illustrated 
 by Howard Pyle. Imperial 8vo, cloth. \_I11 the press. 
 
 Robinson (Phil) In my Indian Garden. With a Preface by 
 Edwin Arnold, M.A., C.S.I., &c. Crown 8vo, limp cloth, 4th 
 Edition, 3s. 6d. 
 
 ■ Noah's Ark. A Contribution to the Study of Unnatural 
 
 History. Small post 8vo, 12s. 6d. 
 
 Sinners and Saints : a Tour across the United States of 
 
 America, and Round them. Crown 8vo, \os. (sd. 
 Under the Punkah. Crown 8yo, limp cloth, 5s. 
 
 Robinson (Sergeant) Wealth and its Sources. Stray Thoughts. $s. 
 
 Roland ; the Story of. Crown 8vo, illustrated, 6s. 
 
 Romantic Stories of the Legal Profession. Crown 8vo, cloth, 
 •js. 6d. 
 
 Rose (^.) Complete Practical Machinist. New Edition, 121110, 
 
 1 2 J-. d.l. 
 
24 Sampson Low, Marston, &° Co.'s 
 
 Rose Library (The). Popular Literature of all Countries. Each, 
 volume, is. ; cloth, 2s. 6d. Many of the Volumes are Illustrated— 
 
 Little Women. By Louisa M. Alcott. Dble. vol., zs. 
 Little Women Wedded. Forming a Sequel to " Little Women.'' 
 Little Women and Little Women Wedded. I vol. , cloth gilt, 3^. 6d. 
 Little Men. By L. M. Alcott. zs.; cloth gilt, 3.?. 6d. 
 An Old-Fashioned Girl. By Louisa M. Alcott. 2s. ; cloth, 
 
 3s. 6d. 
 Work. A Story of Experience. By L. M. Alcott. 2 vols., is. each. 
 Stowe (Mrs. H. B.) The Pearl of Orr's Island. 
 
 The Minister's Wooing:. 
 
 We and our Neighbours. 2s. ; cloth, 3s. 6d. 
 
 My Wife and I. 2s. ; cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. 
 
 Hans Brinker ; or, the Silver Skates. By Mrs. DODGE. 
 
 My Study Windows. By J. R. Lowell. 
 
 The Guardian Angel. By Oliver Wendell Holmes. 
 
 My Summer in a Garden. By C. D. Warner. 
 
 Bred. Mrs. Beecher Stowe. 2s.; cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. 
 
 Farm Ballads. By Will Carleton. 
 
 Farm Festivals. By Will Carleton. 
 
 Farm Legends. By Will Carleton. 
 
 The Clients of Dr. Bernagius. 2 parts, Is, each. 
 
 The Undiscovered Country. By W. D. Howells. 
 
 Baby Kue. By C. M. Clay. 
 
 The Rose in Bloom. By L. M. Alcott. 2s. ; cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. 
 
 Eight Cousins. By L. M. Alcott. 2s. ; cloth gilt, 3*. 6d. 
 
 Under the Lilacs. By L. M. Alcott. 2s. ; also 3s. da. 
 
 Silver Pitchers. By Louisa M. Alcott. 
 
 Jimmy's Cruise in the "Pinafore," and other Tales. By 
 
 Louisa M. Alcott. 2s.; cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. 
 Jack and Jill. By Louisa M. Alcott. 2s. 
 Hitherto. By the Author of the " Gay worthys." 2 vols., U. each; 
 
 1 vol., cloth gilt, 3.T. 6d. 
 Friends : a Duet. By E. Stuart Phelps. 
 A Gentleman of Leisure. A Novel. By Edgar Fawcett. 
 The Story of Helen Troy. 
 
 Round the Yule Log: Norwegian Folk and Fairy Tales. 
 Translated from the Norwegian of P. Chr. Asbjornsen. With 100 
 Illustrations after drawings by Norwegian Artists, and an Introduction 
 by E. W. Gosse. Imperial l6mo, cloth extra, gilt edges, "]s. 6d. 
 
List of Publications. 25 
 
 Rousselet (Louis) Son of the Constable of France. Small post 
 8vo, numerous Illustrations, 5*. 
 
 The Drummer Boy : a Story of the Days of Washington. 
 
 Small post 8vo, numerous Illustrations, 5^ 
 
 Russell (W. Clark) The Lady Maud. 3 vols., crown 8vo, 
 3 1 j. 6d. New Edition, small post 8vo, 6s. 
 
 Little Loo. 6s. 
 
 My Watch Below ; or, Yarns Spun when off Duty, 
 
 2nd Edition, crown 8vo, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Sailor's Language. Illustrated. Crown 8vo, y. 6d. 
 
 Sea Queen. 3 vols., crown 8vo, 3 if. 6d. 
 
 Wreck of the Grosvenor. 4to, sewed, 6d. 
 
 See also Low's Standard Novels. 
 
 Russell (W. II., LL.D.) Hesperothen: Notes from the Western 
 World. A Record of a Ramble through part of the United States, 
 Canada, and the Ear West, in the Spring and Summer of 1881. By 
 W. H. Russell, LL.D. 2 vols., crown 8vo, cloth, 24J. 
 
 The Tour of the Prince of Wales in India. By 
 
 W. H. Russell, LL.D. Fully Illustrated by Sydney P. Hall, 
 M.A. Super-royal 8vo, cloth extra, gilt edges, 52*. (id.; Large 
 Paper Edition, 84*. 
 
 C^AINTS and their Symbols : A Companion in the Churches 
 *-* and Picture Galleries of Europe. With Illustrations. Royal i6mo, 
 cloth extra, J,s. 6d. 
 
 Scherr (Prof y.) History of English Literature. Translated 
 from the German. Crown 8vo, %s. 6d. 
 
 Schuyler (Eugene). The Life of Peter the Great. By Eug|ne 
 Schuyler, Author of " Turkestan." 2 vols., 8vo. 
 
 Schweinfurth (Georg) Heart of Africa. Three Years' Travels 
 
 and Adventures in the Unexplored Regions of Central Africa, from 
 1868 to 187 1. With Illustrations and large Map. 2 vols., crown 8vo, 
 15*. 
 Scott (Leader) Renaissance of Art in Italy. 4to, 31J. 6d. 
 
26 Sampson Low, Marston, &* Co.'s 
 
 Sedgwick (Major W.) Light the Dominant Force of the Universe, 
 p. 6d. 
 
 Senior {Nassau W.) Conversations and Journals in Egypt and 
 Malta. 2 vols., 8vo, 24J. 
 
 Shadbolt (S. H.) South African Campaign, 1879. Compiled 
 by J. V. Mackinnon (formerly 72nd Highlanders) and S. H. 
 Shadbolt; and dedicated, by permission, to Field-Marshal H.R.H. 
 the Duke of Cambridge. Containing a portrait and biography of 
 every officer killed in the campaign. 4to, handsomely bound in cloth 
 extra, 2.1. \os. 
 
 The Afghan Campaigns of 1878 — 1880. By Sydney 
 
 Shadbolt, Joint Author of " The South African Campaign of 1879." 
 2 vols., royal quarto, cloth extra, 3/. 
 
 Shakespeare. Edited by R. Grant White. 3 vols., crown 
 8vo, gilt top, 36.C; tdition de luxe, 6 vols., 8vo, cloth extra, 63J. 
 
 See also " Flowers of Shakespeare.'' 
 
 Sidney (Sir P.) Arcadia. New Edition, 6s. 
 
 Siegfried : The Story of. Crown 8vo, illustrated, cloth, 6s. 
 
 Sikes ( Wirt). Rambles and Studies in Old South Wales. With 
 numerous Illustrations. Demy 8vo, 18s. 
 
 British Goblins, Welsh Folk Lore. New Edition, 8vo, 
 
 i8j. 
 
 Studies of Assassination. i6mo, 3s. 6d. 
 
 Sir Roger de Coverley. Re-imprinted from the " Spectator." 
 
 With 125 Woodcuts, and steel Frontispiece specially designed and 
 engraved for the Work. Small fcap. 4to, 6s. 
 
 Smith (G.) Assyrian Explorations and Discoveries. By the late 
 George Smith. Illustrated by Photographs and Woodcuts. Demy 
 8vo, 6th Edition, i8j. 
 
 The Chaldean Account of Genesis. By the late G. 
 
 Smith, of the Department of Oriental Antiquities, British Museum. 
 With many Illustrations. Demy 8vo, cloth extra, 6th Edition, ids. 
 An entirely New Edition, completely revised and re-written by the 
 Rev. Professor Sayce, Queen's College, Oxford. Demy 8vo, \%s. 
 
 Smith (J. Moyr) Ancient Greek Female Costume. 112 full- 
 page Plates and other Illustrations. Crown 8vo, Js. (id. 
 
 Hades of Ardenne : a Visit to the Caves of Han. Crown 
 
 8vo, Illustrated, $s. 
 
List of Publications. 2 7 
 
 Smith {T. Roger) Architecture, Gothic and Renaissance. Il- 
 lustrated, crown 8vo, 5.J. 
 
 Classic and Early Christian. 
 
 Illustrated. Crown 8vo, 5.1. 
 South Kensington Museum. Vol. II., 2 is. 
 
 Spanish and French Artists. By Gerard Smith. (Poynter's 
 Art Text-books.) 5-r. [In the press. 
 
 Spy {W. J. J., R.N) The Cruise of H.M.S. " Challenger." 
 With Route Map and many Illustrations. 6th Edition, demy 8vo, cloth, 
 I&r. Cheap Edition, crown 8vo,with some of the Illustrations, 7.5-. (id. 
 
 Stack (E.) Six Months in Persia. 2 vols., crown 8vo, 24*. 
 
 Stanley {H. M.) How I Found Livingstone. Crown 8vo, cloth 
 extra, <]s. 6d. ; large Paper Edition, io.r. 6d. 
 
 "My Kalulu," Prince, King, and Slave. A Story 
 
 from Central Africa. Crown 8vo, about 430 pp. , with numerous graphic 
 Illustrations after Original Designs by the Author. Cloth, Js. 6d. 
 
 Coomassie and Magdala. A Story of Two British 
 
 Campaigns in Africa. Demy 8vo, with Maps and Illustrations, tbs. 
 
 Through the Dark Continent. Cheaper Edition, 
 
 crown 8vo, \2s. 6d. 
 
 Stenhouse {Mrs.) An Englishwoman in Utah. Crown 8vo, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Stoker {Brain) Under the Sunset. Crown 8vo, 6s. 
 
 Story without an End. From the German of Carove - , by the late 
 Mrs. Sarah T. Austin. Crown 4to, with 15 Exquisite Drawings 
 by E. V. B., printed in Colours in Fac-simile of the original Water 
 Colours ; and numerous other Illustrations. New Edition, Js. 6d. 
 
 square 4to, with Illustrations by Harvey. 2s. 6d. 
 
 Stowe {Mrs. Beecher) JDred. Cheap Edition, boards, 2s. Cloth, 
 gilt edges, y. 6d. 
 
 Footsteps of the Master. With Illustrations and red 
 
 borders. Small post 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. 
 
 Geography. With 60 Illustrations. Square cloth, 
 
 4s. 6d. 
 
 Little Foxes. Cheap Edition, is. ; Library Edition, 
 
 4r. 6d. 
 
 Betty's Bright Idea. is. 
 
28 Sampson Low, Mars fan, &» Co.'s 
 
 Stowe {Mrs. Beecher) My Wife and I; or, Harry Henderson's 
 History. Small post 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.* 
 
 Minister's Wooing. $s.; Copyright Series, is. 6d.; cL, 2 s.* 
 
 Old Town Folk. 6s. ; Cheap Edition, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Old Town Fireside Stories. Cloth extra, $s. 6d. 
 
 Our Folks at Poganuc. 6s, 
 
 We and our Neighbours. 1 vol., small post 8vo, 6s. 
 
 Sequel to " My Wife and I."* 
 
 Pink and White Tyranny. Small post 8vo, $s. 6d. 
 
 Cheap Edition, is. 6d. and 2s. 
 
 Poganuc People: their Loves and Lives. Crown 8vo, 
 
 cloth, 6s. 
 
 Queer Little People, is. ; cloth, 2s. 
 
 Chimney Corner, is. ; cloth, is. 6d. 
 
 The Pearl of Orr's Island. Crown 8vo, 5 s.* 
 
 Woman in Sacred History. Illustrated with 15 
 
 Chromo-lirtiographs and about 200 pages of Letterpress. Demy 
 4to, cloth extra, gilt edges, 25^. 
 
 Sullivan {A. M., late M.P.) Nutshell History of Ireland. 
 From the Earliest Ages to the Present Time. Paper boards, 6d. 
 
 'T'ACCHI (A.) Madagascar and the Malagasy Embassy. 
 •^ Demy 8vo, cloth. 
 
 Taine (H. A.) " Les Origines de la France Contemporaine." 
 Translated by John Durand. 
 
 Vol. 1. The Ancient Regime. Demy 8vo, cloth, 16s. 
 Vol. 2. The French Revolution. Vol. I . do. 
 Vol. 3. Do. do. Vol. 2. do. 
 
 Talbot {Hon. E.) A Letter on Emigration, is. 
 
 Tauchnitz's English Editions of German Authors. Each 
 volume, cloth flexible, 2s. j or sewed, is. 6d. (Catalogues post free 
 on application. ) 
 
 Tauchnitz (P.) German and English Dictionary. Paper, if. 6d,; 
 cloth, 2s.\ roan, 2s. 6d. 
 
 * See also Rose Library. 
 
List of Publications. 2 9 
 
 Tauchnitz {B.) French and English Dictionary. Paper, is. 6d. ; 
 cloth, zs.; roan, 2s. 6 J. 
 
 Italian and English Dictionary. Paper, is. 6d.; cloth, 
 
 2s.; roan, zs. 6d. 
 
 Spanish and English. Paper, is. 6d. ; cloth, 2s. ; roan, 
 
 zs. 6d. 
 
 T"aylor {W. M.) Paul the Missionary. Crown 8vo, "js. 6d. 
 
 Thausing (Prof.) Preparation of Malt and the Fabrication of 
 Beer. 8vo, 45*. 
 
 Theakston {Michael) British Angling Flies. Illustrated. Cr. 
 8vo, s^. 
 
 Thoreau. By Sanborn. (American Men of Letters.) Crown 
 
 8vo, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Thousand Years Hence {A). By Nunsowe Greene. Crown 
 8vo, 6s. 
 
 Tolhausen {Alexandre) Grand Supplement du Dictionnaire 
 Technologique. 3s. 6d. 
 
 Tolmer {Alexander) Reminiscences of an Adventurous and Che- 
 quered Career. 2 vols., 2IJ. 
 
 Trials. See Browne. 
 
 Tristram {Rev. Canon) Pathways of Palestine : A Descriptive 
 Tour through the Holy Land. First Series. Illustrated by 44 Per- 
 manent Photographs. 2 vols., folio, cloth extra, gilt edges, 31s. 6d. 
 each. 
 
 Tuckerman {Bayard) History of English Prose and Fiction. 
 %s.6d. 
 
 Tunis. See Reid. 
 
 Turner {Edward) Studies in Russian Literature. Crown 8vo, 
 8s. 6d. 
 
 T JNION Jack {The). Every Boy's Paper. Edited by G. A. 
 *-^ Henty. Profusely Illustrated with Coloured and other Plates. 
 Vol. I., 6s. Vols. II., III., IV., js. 6d. each. 
 
 Up Stream : A Journey from the Present to the Past. Pictures 
 and Words by R. Andr£ Coloured Plates, 4to, 5*. 
 
BOOKS BYJULES VERNE. 
 
 CELEBRATED TRAVELS and TRAVELLERS. 3 Vols., Demy 
 
 8vo, 600 pp., upwards of 100 full-page Illustrations, 12s. 6d.; 
 gilt edges, 14*. each : — 
 
 /. The Exploration of the World. 
 II. The Great Navigators of the Eighteenth Century. 
 III. The Great Explorers of the Nineteenth Century. 
 
 Bgp" The letters appended to each book refer to the various Editions and Prices 
 
 given at the foot of the page. 
 ae TWENTY THOUSAND LEAGUES UNDER THE SEA. 
 ae HECTOR SEB7ADAC. 
 a e THE FTTH COUNTRY. 
 af FROM THE EARTH TO THE MOON, AND A TRIP 
 
 ROUND IT. 
 ae MICHAEL STROGOFF, THE COURIER OP THE CZAR. 
 ae DICK SANDS, THE BOY CAPTAIN. 
 bod PIVE WEEKS IN A BALLOON. 
 bed ADVENTURES OP THREE ENGLISHMEN AND THREE 
 
 RUSSIANS. 
 bed AROUND THE WORLD IN EIGHTY DAYS. 
 , IdA FLOATING CITY. 
 ( fl!THE BLOCKADE RUNNERS. 
 
 ,JDK. OX'S EXPERIMENT. 
 , )°IMASTER ZACHARIUS. 
 00 ) ,( A DRAMA IN THE AIR. 
 
 V I A WINTER AMID THE ICE. 
 , WTHE SURVIVORS OP THE " CHANCELLOR." 
 " ° MMARTIN PAZ. 
 bed THE CHILD OP THE CAVERN. 
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS ISLAND, 3 Vols. :— 
 bed I. DROPPED PROM THE CLOUDS. 
 bed II. ABANDONED. 
 led III. SECRET OP THE ISLAND. 
 , f d THE BEGUM'S FORTUNE. 
 60 1 THE MUTINEERS OF THE "BOUNTY." 
 led THE TRIBULATIONS OF A CHINAMAN. 
 THE STEAM HOUSE, 2 Vols. :— 
 5 c I. DEMON OF CAWNPORE. 
 be II. TIGERS AND TRAITORS. 
 
 THE GIANT RAFT, 2 Vols.:— 
 b I. EIGHT HUNDRED LEAGUES ON THE AMAZON. 
 b II. THE CRYPTOGRAM. 
 b GODFREY MORGAN. 
 
 THE GREEN RAY. Cloth, gilt edges, 6s. ; plain edges, S-f- 
 a Small 8vo, very numerous Illustrations, handsomely bound in cloth, with gilt 
 edges, 10s. fid. ; ditto, plainer binding, 5*. 
 
 b Large imperial 16mo, very numerous Illustrations, handsomely bound in cloth, 
 with gilt edges, 7s. Gd. 
 c Ditto, plainer binding, 3s. 6d. 
 
 d Cheaper Edition, 1 Vol., paper boards, with some of the Illustrations, Is. ; bound 
 in cloth, gilt edges, 2s. 
 
 e Cheaper Edition as (rf), in 2 Vols., Is. each ; bound in cloth, gilt edges, 1 Vol., 
 3s. id. 
 f Same as (e), except in cloth, 2 Vols., gilt edges, 2s, each. 
 
Sampson Low, Marston, &•= Co.'s List of Publications. 31 
 
 J/ELAZQUEZ and Murillo. By C. B. Curtis. With 
 Original Etchings. Royal 8vo, 3U. 6d. ; large paper, 6y. 
 
 Victoria (Queen) Life of. By Grace Greenwood. With 
 numerous Illustrations. Small post 8vo, 6s. 
 
 Vincent (F.) Norsk, Lapp, and Finn. By Frank Vincent, 
 Jun., Author of "The Land of the White Elephant," "Through 
 and Through the Tropics," &c. 8vo, cloth, with Frontispiece and 
 Map, \2.s. 
 
 Viollet-le-Duc (E.) Lectures on Architecture. Translated by 
 Benjamin Bucknall, Architect. With 33 Steel Plates and 200 
 Wood Engravings. Super-royal 8vo, leather back, gilt top, with 
 complete Index, 2 vols., 3/. 3.C 
 
 Vivian (A. P.) Wanderings in the Western Land. 3rd Edition, 
 
 lor. 6d. 
 Voyages. See McCormick. 
 
 TJ/ALLACE (L.) Ben Hur : A Tale of the Christ. Crown 
 
 ' ' 8vo, 6s. 
 
 Waller (Rev. C. H.) The Names on tlie Gates of Pearl, 
 and other Studies. By the Rev. C. H. Wali.ee, M.A. New 
 Edition. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, %s. 6d. 
 
 A Grammar and Analytical Vocabulary of the Words in 
 
 the Greek Testament. Compiled from Briider's Concordance. For 
 the use of Divinity Students and Greek Testament Classes. By the 
 Rev. C. H. Waller, M.A. Part I. The Grammar. Small post 8vo, 
 cloth, 2J. 6d. Part II. The Vocabulary, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Adoption and the Covenant. Some Thoughts on 
 
 Confirmation. Super-royal i6mo, cloth limp, is. 6d. 
 
 Silver Sockets; and other Shadows of Redemption. 
 
 Eighteen Sermons preached in Christ Church, Hampstead. Small 
 
 post 8vo, cloth, 6s. 
 Warner (C. £>.) Back-log Studies. Boards, u. 6d. ; cloth, 2s. 
 Washington Irving 's Little Britain. Square crown 8vo, 6s. 
 Webster. (American Men of Letters.) i8mo, is. 6d. 
 Weismann (A.) Studies in the Theory of Descent. One of the 
 
 most complete of recent contributions to the Theory of Evolution. 
 
 With a Preface by the late Charles Darwin, F.R.S., and numerous 
 
 Coloured Plates. 2 vols., 8vo, 40J. 
 Wheatley (H. B.) and Delamotte (P. If.) Art Work in Porce- 
 
 lain. Large 8vo, is. 6d. 
 Art Work in Gold and Silver. Modem. Large 8vo, 
 
 2s. 6d. 
 White (Rhoda E.) From Infancy to Womanhood. A Book of 
 
 Instruction for Young Mothers. Crown 8vo, cloth, \os. 6d. 
 
32 Sampson Low, Marston, &•» Co.'s List of Publications. 
 
 White (R. G.) England Without and. Within. New Edition, 
 
 crown 8vo, ioj. 6d. 
 Whittier (J. G.) The King's Missive, and later Poems. i8mo, 
 
 choice parchment cover, 3.C 6d. 
 The Whittier Birthday Book. Extracts from the 
 
 Author's writings, with Portrait and numerous Illustrations. Uniform 
 with the "Emerson Birthday Book." Square i6mo, very choice 
 binding, 3^. 6d. 
 
 ■ Life of. ByR. A. Underwood. Cr. 8vo, cloth, ios.6d. 
 
 Wild Flowers of Switzerland. With Coloured Plates, life-size, 
 from living Plants, and Botanical Descriptions of each Example. 
 Imperial 4to, $2s. (>d. 
 
 Williams (C. P.) The Tariff Laws of the United States. 8vo, 
 
 cloth, lew. dd. 
 
 Williams (H. W.) Diseases of the Eye. $vo, 21s, 
 
 Williams (M.) Some London Theatres: Past and Preesnt. 
 
 Crown 8vo, Js. 6d. 
 Wills, A Pew Hints on Proving, without Professional Assistance. 
 
 By a Probate Court Official. 5th Edition, revised, with Forms 
 
 of Wills, Residuary Accounts, &c. Fcap. 8vo, cloth limp, is. 
 Winckelmann (John) History of Ancient Art. Translated by 
 
 John Lodge, M.D. With very numerous Plates and Illustrations. 
 
 2 vols. , 8vo, 36s. 
 Winks (W. E.) Lives of Lllustrious Shoemakers. With eight 
 
 Portraits. Crown 8vo, "js. 6d. 
 
 Woodbury (Geo. E.) History of Wood Engraving. Illustrated, 
 
 8vo, 18s. 
 Woolsey (C. D., LL.D.~) Introduction to the Study of Inter- 
 
 national Law ; designed as an Aid in Teaching and in Historical 
 
 Studies. 5th Edition, demy 8vo, iSs. 
 
 Woolson (Constance P.) See " Low's Standard Novels." 
 
 Wright (the late Rev. Henry) The Friendship of God. With 
 Biographical Preface by the Rev. E. H. Bickersteth, Portrait, 
 &c. Crown 8vo, 6s. 
 
 yrRIARTE (Charles) Florence: its History. Translated by 
 ■*■ C. B. Pitman. Illustrated with 500 Engravings. Large imperial 
 
 4to, extra binding, gilt edges, 6y. 
 
 History ; the Medici ; the Humanists ; letters ; arts ; the Renaissance ; 
 
 illustrious Florentines; Etruscan art; monuments; sculpture; painting. 
 
 UoiiBon: 
 
 SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, & RIVINGTON, 
 
 CROWN BUILDINGS, 188, FLEET STREET, E.C. 
 
■v;;. '. ■.. 
 ■■■■■..■■ 
 
 ■ '