i^»»lli ,; 
 
CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PS 2514.P2 1908 
 
 Pastime stories^oems. 
 
 3 1924 022 147 635 
 
 
 DATE DUE 
 
 
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 i 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 CAYLORD 
 
 
 
 PHINXeOINU.S.A. 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022147635 
 
1 
 
 PLANTATION 
 EDITION 
 
 VOLUME X 
 
* THE NOVELS. STORIES, 
 SKETCHES AND POEMS OF 
 THOMAS NELSON PAGE * 
 
 PASTIME STORIES 
 POEMS 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 NEW YORK, ♦ * * ♦ 1908 
 
PASTIME STOBISS 
 Copyriglit, 1894, ty 
 Habpbb & Bbos. 
 
 Copyright, 1898, 1906, by 
 Ohaslbs Sobibneb's Sons 
 
 POEMS 
 
 Copyright, 1888, 1906, by 
 
 OhabiiES SoBiBmB's Sons 
 
 AH Bights Beserved 
 
 K 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PASTIME STORIES page 
 
 HOW JINNY EASED HER MIND 3 
 
 BILLINGTON'S VALENTINE 15 
 
 OU5 SUE 28 
 
 THE PROSECUTION OF MRS. DULLET 34 
 
 ISRUUS BARGAIN 42 
 
 THE TRUE STORY OF THE SURRENDER OF THE MARQUIS 
 
 CORNWALUS 52 
 
 WHEN UTTLE MORDICAI WAS AT THE BAR 59 
 
 CHARUE WHITTLER-S CHRISTMAS PARTY 69 
 
 HOW REUUS "BOSSED THE RANCH" 80 
 
 ONE FROM FOUR 87 
 
 THE DANGER OF BEING TOO THOROUGH 93 
 
 UNCLE JACK'S VIEWS ON GEOGRAPHY 99 
 
 SHE HAD ON HER GERANIUM LEAVES 104 
 
 A STORY OF CHARLES HARRIS Ill 
 
 HE WOULD HAVE GOTTEN A LAWYER 115 
 
 HOW ANDREW CARRIED THE PRECINCT 121 
 
 "RASMUS" 136 
 
 HER SYMPATHETIC EDITOR 142 
 
 HE KNEW WHAT WAS DUE TO THE COURT 152 
 
 HER GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GHOST 159 
 
 RACHEL'S LOVERS 172 
 
 JOHN'S WEDDING SUIT 187 
 
 WHEN THE COLONEL WAS A DUELLIST 198 
 
 V 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 POEMS PAGE 
 
 DEDICATION 211 
 
 THE COAST OF BOHEMIA 213 
 
 THE VOICE OF THE SEA 217 
 
 LONG ROLL AT NAPOLEON'S TOMB 221 
 
 THE PRINCESS'S PROGRESS 224 
 
 YOUTH 227 
 
 AMERICA: GREETING 228 
 
 DAWN 230 
 
 THE POET ON AGRADINA 231 
 
 THE SHEPHERD OF THE SEAS 232 
 
 SLEEP 233 
 
 TO A LADY AT A SPRING 234 
 
 UNFORGOTTEN 235 
 
 THE OLD UON 236 
 
 THE DRAGON OF THE SEAS 237 
 
 THE BENT MONK 241 
 
 THE MESSAGE 244 
 
 THE NEEDLE'S EYE 246 
 
 THE CLOSED DOOR 249 
 
 CONVENTION 250 
 
 THE MAGDALEN 251 
 
 THE REQUIRtMENlT 252 
 
 THE LISTENER 253 
 
 CONTRADICTION 253 
 
 THE QUESTION 254 
 
 OUR DEAD 256 
 
 MY MOTHER 258 
 
 HER INFLUENCE 260 
 
 MATTHEW ARNOLD 261 
 
 THE STRANGER 262 
 
 LOVE 264 
 
 vi 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGI 
 
 AN OLD REFRAIN 265 
 
 TO CLAUDIA 268 
 
 THE APPLE TREES AT EVEN ... 269 
 
 MY TRUE-LOVE-S WEALTH 271 
 
 A VALENTINE 273 
 
 A PORTRAIT 274 
 
 FeIice 275 
 
 LOVE SONG 277 
 
 THE HARBOUR UGHT 278 
 
 FADED SPRAY OF MIGNONETTE 279 
 
 LOST ROSES 280 
 
 DE NAME OF OLE VIRGINL\ SONG 281 
 
 THE DANCER 282 
 
 THE APRIL-FACE: OR. THE STUB-TAILED MULE. . . .283 
 
 COME BACK TO US, DAVIE 285. 
 
 THE WITCH 287 
 
 HUMANITY 287 
 
 REAUTY 287 
 
 ASPIRATION 288 
 
 UTTLE DOLLY DIMPLE 289 
 
 A VALENTINE 290 
 
 DIALECT POEMS ( From " Brfo' de War •• ) 
 
 UNCLE GABE'S WHITE FOLKS 293 
 
 UTTLE JACK 2% 
 
 ASHCAKE 300 
 
 ZEKYL'S INFIDELITY 303 
 
 MARSE PHIL 306 
 
 ONE MOURNER 310 
 
 L'ENVOY. 313 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 From Drawings by A. B. Frost. 
 "*I WASIN UNDMAN'SBED"" Frontiipiece 
 
 FACING PAGE 
 
 •■•YOUR PA NEVER WOULD 'A' STOOD NO SICH 7HING 
 
 AS DAT"" 112 
 
 •••YOU KNOWS DEM CRUEL S'OETY ANIMALS IS LOOKIN" 
 
 'ROUND"" 140 
 
PEEFACE 
 
 It used to be the custom for a writer on coming 
 before the public to address a word to the 
 "gentle reader," a custom which had this 
 double advantage: that the author had his 
 "word," and the reader, on his side, was not 
 obliged to hear it. I wish now to avail myself 
 of this old custom, and my gentle readers, if 
 such there shall be, may take advantage of their 
 privilege also. I will simply say that no one 
 will be as sensible of the demerits of these^ 
 stories as I am myself. So, my "gentle 
 reader, ' ' we agree on that point at least. If you 
 ask me why, then, I wrote them, I will say 
 truthfully, because I was asked and chose to do 
 so. Then, why did I publish them? Because I 
 found a publisher. 
 
 There are some good stories in the lot, old 
 stories which have survived for generations — 
 
 xi 
 
PREFACE 
 
 one, I am satisfied, for at least a century— and 
 if they do not read well, it is because I have 
 marred them in the telliag. This is as much my 
 misfortune as yours ; so do not complain, when 
 I have tried to entertain you. The only persons 
 who have that right are my friends. Major 
 J. Horace Lacy, Connelly F. Trigg, Polk Mil- 
 ler, Henry W. Hobson, William F. Gordon, Jr., 
 and a few others, who told me stories too good 
 to be lost, whether I have been able to preserve 
 them or not. 
 
 I must make my acknowledgments to "Porte 
 Crayon" for an incident in "Rachel's Lovers;" 
 and if, "gentle reader," I can excite your cu- 
 riosity so far as to make you go back to that 
 early and delightful chronicle of old Virginia 
 life, you will owe me a debt of gratitude which 
 will offset all my deficiencies. 
 
 Thos. Nelson Page. 
 
 xu 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
TO 
 
 ALL GOOD STORY-TELLERS 
 
 WHO HAVE SWEETENED UFE 
 
 WITH THEIR HUMOR 
 
HOW JINNY EASED HER 
 MIND 
 
 UNCLE BEN WILLIAMSON was as well 
 known in town as the mayor or the gov- 
 ernor. He was an "old-time darky," and to 
 this character owed his position, which was a 
 good one. He had been "Boy" about law Of- 
 fices in the Law Building ever since the first 
 evening some years before when he had knocked 
 gently at Judge Allen's door, and then, after 
 a tardy invitation, had slipped slowly in side- 
 ways, with his old beaver hat in his hand, and, 
 having taken in, in his comprehensive glance, 
 the whole room, including the Judge himself, 
 had said, apparently satisfied, that he had 
 heard they wanted a boy, and he wanted a place. 
 It was an auspicious moment for the old fellow ; 
 the last "boy," a drunkard and a thief, had 
 just been discharged, and the judge had been 
 much worried that day trying to wait on him- 
 self. His thoughts had turned in the waning 
 
 3 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 evening light to his home, from which the light 
 had faded for all time, and his heart was soft- 
 ened. The old lawyer had looked Ben over 
 too, and been satisfied. Something about him 
 had called up tender recollections of his little 
 office at the old Court-house before he became 
 a successful lawyer and a celebrated judge, and 
 when his best friend was the old drunken ne- 
 gro who waited on him, "cleaned up" (?) his 
 room, and was his principal client and most 
 sympathetic friend and counsellor in his long 
 love-affair with his sweetheart, the old colo- 
 nel's brown-eyed daughter. He had just been 
 dreaming of her, first as she wore his first 
 violets, and then as she lay for the last time, 
 with her head pillowed in his roses, and her 
 white, slender hands, whiter than ever, clasped 
 over his last violets on her quiet breast. 
 
 He had recalled all the sweet difficulties in 
 winning her; his falling back into dissipation, 
 his picking himself up again, and again his 
 failure; and then the lonely evening when he 
 had sat in front of the dying fire, sad, despair- 
 ing, and had wondered if life were worth hold- 
 ing longer: then old William sHpping in, hat 
 in hand. He recalled the old man's keen look 
 at him as he sat before the fire with the pis- 
 tol half hidden under the papers on his desk, 
 
 4 
 
HOW JINNY EASED HEE MIND 
 
 and his sudden breaking of the silence with: 
 "Don't you give her up, Marse Johnny; don't 
 you nuver give her up, Ef she 's wuth havia', 
 she 's wuth fightin' for; an' ef she say No, she 
 jes beginnin' to mean Yes. Don't you give 
 her up." And he had not given her up, and 
 she had called him from the dead and had 
 made him. He would not have given the right 
 to put those violets in her calm hands for a 
 long life of unbroken happiness with any one 
 else. So, when the door opened quietly, and 
 Uncle Ben, in his clean shirt, time-browned 
 coat, and patched breeches, slipped in, it was 
 an auspicious moment for him. 
 
 "Where did you come from?" he asked him. 
 
 "From old Charlotte, suh; used to 'longst 
 to de Bruces." 
 
 "Can you clean up?" 
 
 He laughed a spontaneous, jolly laugh. ' * Kin 
 I clean up? Dat 's what I come to do. Jiuuy 
 ken, too." 
 
 "Can you read?" 
 
 "Well, nor, suh, not edzactly. I ain't no 
 free-issue nigger ner preacher." The shade 
 of disappointment on his face counterbalanced 
 this, however. 
 
 "Do you get drunk?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, sometimes."— Cheerfully. "Not 
 5 
 
PASTIME STOEIES 
 
 so often. I 'ain't got nuttin to git de whiskey. 
 But ef I 's drunk, Jinny cleans up." 
 
 "Who is Jinny?" 
 
 "She 's my wife." 
 
 'What sort of a woman is she?" 
 
 "She 's a black woman. Oh!— she 's a good 
 sort o' ooman— a toler'ble good sort o' ooman, 
 ef you know how to git 'long wid her. Sort o' 
 raspy sometimes, like urr wimmens, but I kin 
 manage her. You kin try us. Ef you don't 
 like us we ken go. We 'ain't got no root to 
 we foots." 
 
 "You 'U do. I 'U try you," said the judge; 
 and from that time Uncle Ben became the cus- 
 todian of the offices. He was a treasure. As 
 he had truly said, he got drunk sometimes, but 
 when he did, Jinny took his place and cleaned 
 up. Her temper was, as he had said, certainly 
 "raspy." Even flattery must have admitted 
 this, and Uncle Ben wore a bandage or plas- 
 ter on some part of his head a considerable 
 part of his time; but no one ever heard him 
 complain. "Jinny jes been kiud o' easin' her 
 mine," he said, in answer to questions. 
 
 At length it culminated: one night Jinny 
 went to work on him with a flat-iron to such 
 good purpose that first a policeman came in, 
 
 6 
 
HOW JINNY EASED HER MIND 
 
 and then a doctor had to be called to bring 
 him to, and Jinny was arrested. 
 
 Next morning, when Jinny was sent on to 
 the grand jury for striking with intent to maim, 
 disfigure, disable, and kUl, Ben was a trifle 
 triumphant. When the justice announced his 
 decision, he rose, and shaking his long finger 
 at her, exclaimed, "Aye, aye, what I teU you?'* 
 
 "Silence!" roared the big tipstaff, and Ben 
 sat down with a puzzled look on his face. 
 
 When the police court closed he went up to 
 his wife, and said, in a commanding tone: 
 "Now come 'long home wid me an' 'have your- 
 self. I '11 teach you to sling flat-iron at folks* 
 head!" 
 
 The officer announced, however, that Jumy 
 would have to go to jail— the case had passed 
 beyond his jurisdiction. She had been "sent 
 on to the grand jury." 
 
 Ben's countenance fell. "Got to go to jail!" 
 he repeated, mechanically, in a dazed Mnd of 
 way. "Got to go to jail!" Then the prison- 
 ers were taken down to the jail. He followed 
 behind the line of stragglers that generally at- 
 tended that interesting procession, and he sat 
 on a stone outside the iron door nearly all day. 
 
 That afternoon he spent ia the judge's office. 
 7 
 
PASTIME STOEIES 
 
 The grand jury was in session, and next day 
 "a true bill" was found agaiast Jinny Will- 
 iamson for an attempt to maim, disfigure, dis- 
 able, and kill — a felony. The same day her 
 case was called, the first on the docket. 
 
 She had good counsel. She could have had 
 every lawyer in the building had she wanted 
 them, so efficiently had old Ben polled the bar. 
 But the case was a dead open-and-shut one. 
 Unhappily, the judge was ill with gout. The 
 Commonwealth called Ben, first man, and he 
 told simply the same story he had told at the 
 police court and to the grand jury. Jinny had 
 always had a vicious temper, and had often 
 exercised it towards him. That evening she 
 had gone rather far, and finally he had at- 
 tempted to remonstrate with her, had "tapped 
 her with his open hand," and she had pounded 
 his head with the flat-iron. The officer was 
 called, and corroborated the story. He had 
 heard the noise; had gone in and found Ben 
 unconscious, and the woman in a fury, swear- 
 ing to kill him. The surgeon pronounced the 
 wound one which came near being very seri- 
 ous; but for Ben's exceptionally hard head, 
 the skull would have been fractured ; as it was, 
 only the outer plate of the frontal bone was 
 
 8 
 
HOW JINNY BASED HEE MIND 
 
 broken. He had known several men kiUed by 
 blows much less vigorous. No cross-examina- 
 tion affected the witnesses. Ben had evident- 
 ly told his story unwillingly. The jury was 
 solemn. Earnest if short speeches were made. 
 The judge gave a strong instruction upon the 
 evil of women being lawless and murderous, 
 and the jury retired. The counsel leaned over 
 and told Ben he thought they had lost the case, 
 and the jury would probably send his wife up 
 for at least a year. Ben said nothing. He only 
 looked once at Jinny sitting sullen and lower- 
 ing in the prisoner's box beside a thief. Then, 
 after a while, he got up and went out, and a 
 minute later slipped in again at the door side- 
 ways, and making his way over to her, put an 
 orange — ^not a very large or fresh one— into 
 her lap. She did not look at him. 
 
 The appearance of the jury filing in glum 
 and important sent him to his seat. The clerk 
 called the names and asked, ' ' Gentlemen of the 
 jury, have you agreed on a verdict?" The con- 
 sumptive-looking foreman bowed, and handed 
 in the indictment, amid a sudden silence, and 
 the clerk read, slowly, "We, the jury, find the 
 prisoner guilty," etc., "and sentence her to 
 confinement in the penitentiary for two years." 
 
 9 
 
PASTIME STOEIES 
 
 Neither Jinny nor Ben stirred, nor did the 
 counsel. He was evidently considering. The 
 judge, in a voice slightly troubled, said he 
 would pronounce sentence at once, and asked 
 the prisoner if she had anything she wished to 
 say. She rocked a little and glanced shyly over 
 towards Ben with a sort of appealing look— 
 her first—; said nothing, looked down again, 
 and turned her orange over in her lap. 
 
 "Stand up," said the judge; and she stood 
 up. 
 
 Just then Ben stood up too, and makiag his 
 way over to her, said, "Jedge, ken I say a 
 wud?" 
 
 "Why— ah— yes," said the judge, doubt- 
 fully. "It is very unusual, but go on." He sat 
 back in his arm-chair. 
 
 "Well, gent 'mens," began Ben, " I jes wants 
 to say" (he paused, and took in the entire 
 court-room in the sweep of his glance)— "I jes 
 wants to say dat I don't think you ought to 
 do Jinny dat a- way. T' all 'aint' got nuttin 't 
 all 'ginst Jinny. She 'aint' do nuttin to you all 
 — ^nuttin 't all. She 's my wife, an' what she 
 done she done to me. Ef I kin stan' it, y' all 
 ought to be able to, dat 's sho '. Now hit 's dis 
 a-way. Y' all is married gent 'mens, an' yo' 
 knows jest how 't is. Yo' knows sometimes a 
 
 10 
 
HOW JINNY EASED HER MIND 
 
 ooman gits de debil in her. 'Taint her fault; 
 't is de debil 's. Hit jes like wolf in cows. 
 Sometimes dee gits in de skin an' mecks 'em 
 kick up an' run an' mean. Dat 's de way 't is 
 wid wimmens. I done know Jinny ever sence 
 she wuz a little gal at home in de country. I 
 done know how mean she is. I done know all 
 dat, an' I done marry her, 'cuz she suit me. I 
 had plenty o' urr gals I could 'a' marry, but I 
 ain't want dem. I want Jinny, an' I pester 
 her tell she had me. Well, she meaner eben 
 'n I think she is; but dat ain' nuttin: I satis- 
 fied wid her, an' dat 's 'nough. Y' all don' 
 know how mean she is. She mean as a narrer- 
 faced mule. She kick an' she fight an' she quoil 
 tell sometimes I hardly ken stay in muh house ; 
 but dat ain' nuttin. I stay dyah, an' when she 
 git thoo I right dyah jes same as befo', an' 
 I know den I gwine have a good supper, an' I 
 ain' got to pester my mine 'bout nuttin. Y' all 
 done been all 'long dyah, 'cuz y' all is married 
 gent 'mens. Well, dat 's de way 'twuz turr 
 night. Jinny been good so long, I feared she 
 got some'n de matter wid her, an' I kind o' git 
 oneasy, an' sort o' poke her up. But she ain't; 
 she all right. I so glad to find her dat way, I 
 sort o' uppish, an' when she hit me I slapped 
 her. I didn' mean to hu't her; I jest hit her a 
 
 11 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 little tap side her head, so, an' she went all to 
 pieces in a minute. I done hurt her feelin's. 
 Y' all knows how 'tis yo'self. Wimmen's got 
 mighty cu'ious feelin's, ain' like children's nor 
 men's. Ef you slap 'em, dey goes dat a- way. 
 Dey gits aggervated, an' den dey got to ease 
 dee mine. WeU, Jinny she got mighty big mine, 
 an' when she dat a-way it tecks right smart 
 to ease it— to smoove it. Fust she done try 
 broom, den cheer, den shovel, den skillet; but 
 ain' none o' dem able to ease her, an' den she 
 got to try de flat-iron. She got to do it. Y' all 
 knows how 'tis. Ef wimmen's got to do any- 
 thing dey got to do it, an' dat 's all. Flat- 
 iron don' hu't none. I 'ain' eben feel it. Hit 
 jes knock me out muh head little while, an' I 
 jes good as I wuz befo'. When I come to I 
 fine dee done 'rest Jinny. Dat 's what hu't me. 
 Jinny done been easin' her mine all dese years, 
 an' we 'ain' nuver had no trouble befo'. An' 
 now y' all say she got to go to de pen'tentia'y. 
 How 'd y' all like somebody to sen' you' wife 
 to pen'tentia'y when she jes easin' her mine! 
 I ax you dat. How she gwine ease her mine 
 dyah? I ax you dat. I know y' all gwine sen' 
 her dyah, gent 'mens, 'cuz you done say you is. 
 I know you is, an' I 'ain' got nuttin to say 
 
 12 
 
HOW JINNY EASED HEE MIND 
 
 'bout it, not a wud; but aU I ax you is to le' 
 me go dyah too. I don' want stay here b'dout 
 Jinny, an' y' all ain' gwine to know how to man- 
 age her b'dout me. I is de on'iest one kin do 
 dat. Jumy got six chillem — ^little cMUem— 
 dis las' crap; sbe didn' hab none some sevrul 
 years, an' den she had six. I gwine bring 'em 
 all right up heah to y' all to teck keer on, 'cuz 
 I gwine wid her— ef you le' me. I kyarn stan' 
 it dyah by myself. I leetle mo' went 'stracted 
 last night. Y' all kia have 'em, 'cuz y' all ken 
 teck keer on 'em, an' I kyan't. I would jes 
 like you to let her go home for a leetle while 
 'fo' yo' sen' her up, I jes would like dat. She 
 got a right new baby dyah squealin' for her 
 dis minute, an' I mighty feared hit gwine to 
 die widout her' an' dat '11 be right hard 'pon 
 Jinny. She 'ain' never los' but byah one, an' 
 I had right smart trouble wid her 'bout dat. 
 She sort o ' out her head arter dat some sevrul 
 months, till she got straight agin. I git 'long 
 toler'ble well wid de urr chillerns, but I ain' able 
 to nuss dat new one, an' she squeal all night. 
 I got a ooman to come dyah an' look arter it, 
 but she say she want Jinny, an' I think Jinny 
 want her— I think she do. Jes let her go dyah 
 a leetle while. Dat 's all I want to ax you," 
 
 13 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 He sat down, 
 
 A glance at Jinny proved his assertion. Her 
 eyes were shut fast, and with her arms tightly 
 folded across her ample bosom, she was rock- 
 ing gently from side to side. Two tears had 
 pushed out from under her eyes, and stood 
 gleaming on her black cheeks. 
 
 The counsel glanced up at the judge, whose 
 face wore a look of deep perplexity, and then 
 at the jury. "I would like to poll the jury," 
 he said. 
 
 The clerk read the verdict over, and called 
 the first name. "Is that your verdict?" 
 
 The juror arose. "Well, judge, I thought 
 it was; but" (he looked down at his fellows) 
 "I think if I could I would like to talk to one 
 or two of the other jurors a minute, if it is not 
 too late. My wife's got a right new baby at 
 home herself that squealed a little last night, 
 and I 'd like to go back to the room and think 
 about it." 
 
 "Sheriff, take the jury back to their room," 
 said the judge, firmly. 
 
 In a few minutes they returned, and the 
 verdict was reiad : 
 
 "We, the jury, all married men, find the 
 prisoner guilty of only easing her mind." 
 
 14 
 
BILLINGTOFS VALENTINE 
 
 IT was St. Valentine's day, and, owing to an 
 engagement to go duck-shooting, Billington 
 had taken a holiday. The storm had, however, 
 broken up the shooting, and Billington was now 
 seated in the sitting-room of his apartments, 
 alone except for his own thoughts. The rain 
 outside spattering in fitful showers against the 
 windows, and the fact that all his bets had gone 
 wrong for several days past, had inclined him 
 to be serious, and two valentines he had just 
 received completed the work. 
 
 For an hour he had been engaged in that 
 dismal occupation of looking himself squarely 
 in the face. 
 
 Both presents were cigar-cases, and the mes- 
 sages on the two cards were identical— simply 
 these words: "From St. Valentine." One of 
 the cases was solid silver, exquisitely chased, 
 and engraved with Billington 's crest and coat 
 of arms ; the other was simply two bits of flexible 
 
 15 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 card-board covered and bound together with 
 a piece of old brocade, on which was embroidered 
 a sprig of apple blossoms, 
 
 "I wish I had the courage," said Billiugton, 
 for the twentieth time. He half turned and 
 looked at the two cases, and presently stretched 
 out his arm lazily to take up one of them. At 
 first, his hand hovered over the embroidered 
 one, but the beautiful chasing on the other 
 struck him, and he leaned over and took up 
 that. "Very handsome," he said to himself, 
 inspecting it. "That girl has a great deal of 
 taste. So that was the reason she wanted to 
 see my coat of arms." He reached over and 
 put the case down carefully, and after a sec- 
 ond's reflection picked up the other. "That 's 
 a really lovely thing," he said; "those apple 
 blossoms are perfect. She made that herself, 
 and— by Jove, that 's a piece of the old dress 
 she wore that night at the Valentiae ball ten 
 years ago !" He leaned his head back and shut 
 his eyes. "Lord! Lord! How sweet she was 
 that night!" he said, with his eyes still shut. 
 "She seventeen, and I twenty-five. I remem- 
 ber I told her she had the spirit of her great- 
 grandmother in her, and she said. No, she had 
 only her dress on her. I remember I did not 
 
 16 
 
BILLINaTON'S VALENTINE 
 
 have the money to buy her flowers, and I went 
 and found her a bunch of apple blossoms that 
 had come out in the warm spell. I told her it 
 was a miracle performed for her; and they 
 were the only flowers she wore. I did not ask 
 her to marry me, because I did not feel that I 
 had a right to do it till I could support her; 
 and then I came off to New York to — ^get able." 
 Here he stopped, and his countenance changed. 
 "Well, I got her the place at the Institute," 
 he said, in a defensive tone. Once more he 
 leaned his head back. "Let me see; what was 
 the old rhyme I repeated to her that night? 
 
 'Roses are red, violets are blue, 
 Pinks are sweet, and so are you.* 
 
 And that other? 
 
 'Tumdy, tumdy, tumdy tine.' 
 
 Ahl this is it: 
 
 'As sure as the bloom grows on the vine, 
 I '11 choose you for my Valentine.' " 
 
 He lapsed into silence, and after a second 
 got up slowly, and walked about the room with 
 17 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 his hands deep in his pockets. CatchiBg sight 
 of himself in a mirror, he stopped and gazed 
 at himself earnestly. "What a cursed ugly 
 thing a man is!" he said, turning away. He 
 flung himself into his chair again, and retired 
 within himself once more. Suddenly he sat up. 
 "By Jove, I '11 do it!" he said. "In five years 
 I won't be fit for any woman to have." 
 
 He reached over and took a sheet of paper 
 and a pen; dipped his pen in his silver ink- 
 stand, and with a look of determination on his 
 face squared himself to write. ' ' St. Valentine 's 
 day, ' ' he began, and paused. A look of perplex- 
 ity came on his face, which deepened into one 
 of worry. He laid the pen down. "Which 
 one?" he said to himself, half audibly. He 
 looked into the fire. "Oh, hang it! I '11 write 
 a valentine," he said; and dipping the pen into 
 the ink again, he began to write briskly: 
 
 "My patron saint, St. Valentine, 
 Why dost thou leave me to repine. 
 Still supplicating at her shrine? 
 
 "But bid her eyes to me incline, 
 I '11 ask no other sun to shine, 
 More rich than is Golconda's mine. 
 18 
 
BILLINGTON'S VALENTINE 
 
 "Eange all that woman, song, or wine 
 Can give ; wealth, power, and fame combine ; 
 For her I 'd gladly all resign. 
 
 "Take aU the pearls are in the brine, 
 Sift heaven for stars, earth's flowers entwine, 
 But be her heart my Valentine." 
 
 Here he stopped and read it over. "That 's 
 pretty good for an off-hand effort," he said to 
 himself. He read it over again. " 'More rich 
 than is Golconda's mine,' " he repeated. "I 
 wonder if that could be considered personal? 
 ' For her I 'd gladly all resign, ' " he read. ' ' By 
 Jove, this would do for either." He leaned 
 back, and the same expression his face had worn 
 a little while before came back on it. Sudden- 
 ly, with a growl, he sat up and began again; 
 but his pen would no longer go. Only the old 
 rhyme rang in his head : 
 
 "Roses are red, violets are blue, 
 Pinks are sweet, and so are you." 
 
 He picked up the embroidered case and 
 looked at it. As he did so he seemed to catch 
 a faint odor of apple blossoms, and he actually 
 lifted the case to his face to see if it were only 
 
 19 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 fancy. Ah, if lie had only had then a fourth 
 of what he had now, how different it might 
 have been ! Now he made ten thousand a year, 
 but wanted fifty thousand. He put the case 
 down and picked up the silver one. Fifty 
 thousand! Horses, equipages, books, paint- 
 ings, travel, honors — everything almost — ex- 
 cept the perfume of those apple blossoms. He 
 laid the case down and took up his pen. He 
 had in mind such rhymes as "line," "thine;" 
 "resign," "entwine;" but the old verse, 
 
 "As sure as the bloom grows on the vine 
 I '11 choose you for my Valentine," 
 
 drove out all others. Once more there came 
 that subtile perfume of the apple blossoms. 
 There seemed to be a sudden lighting up. He 
 gazed out of the window, and became aware 
 that the rain had stopped and the sun was 
 shining. 
 
 "Oh, hang it!" he naid, "I '11 go to walk." 
 He folded up his valentine, and, putting it 
 into an envelope, he placed it in his pocket un- 
 addressed. He went out, and strolled up the 
 Avenue, looking at the pretty girls whom the 
 sunshine had brought out like so many flowers. 
 
 20 
 
BILLINGTON'S VALENTINE 
 
 Presently, he stepped into a florist's and bought 
 a large bunch of glorious roses, great rich, 
 crimson buds with long stems, each fit for a 
 princess to wear. He paid for them, and gave 
 the address to which he wished them sent. The 
 price, he thought, half grimly, was more than 
 his month's board used to cost. This almost 
 interfered with the other thought that twenty- 
 five dollars was a small matter with him now. 
 He took out the valentine, and picked up a pen 
 to address it; but put it back into his pocket 
 again unaddressed, and continued his stroll, 
 bowing to men, and bowing and smiling to girls 
 he met. He went on into the Park. There was 
 a faint hint of green in some favored spots, and, 
 to his surprise, as he passed on, he came on a 
 little bush in blossom— an apple bush. It grew 
 in a sunny nook sheltered from the north, and 
 by one of those freaks of nature, in the warm 
 humid days that had come it had been dream- 
 ing of the spring, and one bough had blown 
 into full bloom. Billington stopped with a sud- 
 den thrill of pleased surprise, and, climbing 
 down the bank, he broke off the apple bough 
 — ^his pleasure rather heightened by the reflec- 
 tion that a policeman might arrest him: it re- 
 minded him of his boyhood. 
 
 21 
 
PASTIME STOEIBS 
 
 As he strolled back down the Avenue the 
 sidewalks were gay with walkers, and showy 
 equipages with fine horses and pompous coach- 
 men rolled by with all the livery of wealth, 
 Billington was just admiring a handsome pair 
 of strange sorrels to a new brougham, when 
 he became aware that the coachman was draw- 
 ing up to him. He looked at the carriage, and 
 in it sat one of the subjects of his thoughts 
 that morning. She had never looked hand- 
 somer, and when she gave him her daintily 
 gloved hand with a cordial pressure, Billington 
 had never liked her better. 
 
 "I never saw such an abstracted air," she 
 laughed. "I really thought you were not go- 
 ing to speak to me." 
 
 "I was thinking of you at the time — ^I be- 
 lieve," said Billington, wondering if only a part 
 of the truth were not a lie. He condoned with 
 his conscience by adding a whole truth. "I 
 was just wondering whose turnout this was, 
 and thinking it the handsomest on the Avenue." 
 
 "Is n't it lovely!" she said. "Papa gave it 
 to me as a valentine. Are n't those sorrels 
 darliags?" Billington could truthfully say 
 that they were. He was reminded of the card- 
 case, and he thanked her very warmly, and 
 
 22 
 
BILLINGTON'S VALENTINE 
 
 was pleased to see tlie color deepen in her face. 
 She did not often color. 
 
 "You will find a valentine for you at home 
 when you get back, I suspect," he said. 
 
 "What is it?" she asked, eagerly. 
 
 "The only thing in town worthy of your ac- 
 ceptance after those horses," said Billington. 
 
 "I don't know about that," she said, with 
 more coyness in her manner than she often 
 showed. Billington wished he had sent the 
 verses along with the roses. 
 
 "Don't you want to take a little drive in the 
 Park?" she asked, moving her seal-skin robe 
 a little. Billington was just going to say that 
 nothing would give him more pleasure, when, 
 glancing up, he saw one whom he had not seen 
 for quite a little while, but who had been in his 
 thoughts oftener than once that morning. She 
 was not strolling at the holiday pace of the 
 richly dressed throng of pleasure-seekers, but 
 was tripping along at a most business-like gait, 
 threading her way in and out among the saunt- 
 erers. As she passed Billington she glanced up 
 and saw him, and a smile of recognition lit up 
 her face. 
 
 "Good-morning," she smiled, and tripped on. 
 
 "What a very pretty woman!" said the girl 
 23 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 in the carriage. "And such a pretty frock and 
 tattoo! Who is she?" 
 
 "She is a young artist," said Billington, still 
 following with his eye the neat, trim figure 
 working its way along through the throng on 
 the sidewalk. ' ' I have known her a long time. ' ' 
 "For her I 'd gladly all resign," sprang a verse 
 into his mind. 
 
 "Can she paint?" asked the girl. 
 
 "Ah— really, I don't believe I know," said 
 Billington. "I know she has ability." 
 
 "Well, come on, get in," she said, moving, 
 and making room for him beside her. 
 
 "Ah— no, I believe I can't go," said Billing- 
 ton. "I 'd like to do so some other time, but 
 I have been to the Park, and I have to go down 
 and attend to a matter. Good-bye." 
 
 "Good-bye; I hope to see you soon. What 
 are you going to do this evening? Why not 
 come home to dinner with us?" 
 
 The impatient horses started off too quickly 
 for Billington to speak his reply, so he simply 
 smiled and bowed it after her. 
 
 He looked down the Avenue, but could not 
 see the person he was looking for; when the 
 carriage drew off his attention, he had lost her. 
 He was just about to curse his luck, when he 
 
 24 
 
BILLINGTON'S VALENTINE 
 
 caught sight of her again crossing the street. 
 The next minute Billington was spinning down 
 the street. The light that came into her face 
 and the pleased tone in her voice when he over- 
 took her made a warm glow come ahout his 
 heart. 
 
 "I thought I had lost you," he said, almost 
 out of breath. 
 
 "I did not think you wished not to," she 
 answered, with a look half mischief, half in- 
 quiry. " Was n 't that Miss Van Sheckeldt ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes;" and to prevent further investigation 
 he said, "Won't you let me give you these?" 
 He handed her the apple blossoms. 
 
 "Oh, how lovely!" she exclaimed as she took 
 them. "Apple blossoms, upon my word! 
 Where on earth did you get them?" She was 
 holding them off and turning them around at 
 arm's-length to admire them. "I wanted just 
 these very things to finish a painting I am on 
 of 'Spring Captive.' Do you know, I believe 
 you can perform miracles?" 
 
 "I don't see that you needed them," said 
 Billington. "You can create them. Do you 
 know that your needle has the soul of an art- 
 ist in it?" 
 
 "I don't know; I am glad you think so, 
 25 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 though. I was afraid I had not got them ex- 
 actly right, and I wanted them to be just right. 
 I wanted to show my appreciation of aU your 
 kindness to me since we have known each other, 
 
 Billington felt a good deal more than he said, 
 and more than he hoped he showed. 
 
 She broke off a twig of the blossoms and 
 placed it in her bosom. The act and the im- 
 conscious grace with which she did it carried 
 him back ten years. The perfume of the blos- 
 soms stole in upon his senses. 
 
 "Won't you go to walk with me?" he asked 
 her, earnestly. 
 
 'Oh, I 'd like to do it, but I cannot. I have 
 my class. You know I am a teacher now," 
 she said, proudly. ' ' The place you got me has 
 done everything for me, and the prize I got 
 enabled me to get the place I have. "WeU, 
 here 's my place. By-the-way, Miss Van Sheck- 
 eldt's father is the new trustee. Grood-bye." 
 
 She had shaken hands with him and was gone 
 up the steps before Billington was aware that 
 it was beginning to shower. Billington strolled 
 across the flower-shop to get out of the rain, 
 but just as he reached the door some one called 
 him. He turned as Miss Van Sheckeldt's car- 
 riage rolled up. 
 
 26 
 
BILLINGTON'S VALENTINE 
 
 "Let me take you home," she said. "I 
 caught you! "Whom were you going to order 
 flowers for?" she asked, laughing. 
 
 "For no one; they are ordered," he said; 
 ' ' and remember, they were ordered before I saw 
 you this morning." 
 
 ' ' Come and confide in me, and save the gloss 
 on that immaculate hat, ' ' she said ; and Billing- 
 ton sprang in, pulled up the seal-skin robe, and 
 drove off by her side as the rain began to pour. 
 
 That afternoon he addressed his valentine. 
 
 His friends all declare it was a true love 
 match. 
 
 27 
 
OLD SUE 
 
 JUST on the other side of Ninth Street, out- 
 side of my office window, was the stand of 
 Old Sue, the "tug-mule" that pulled the green 
 car around the curve from Main Street to Ninth 
 and up the hill to Broad. Between her and the 
 young bow-legged negro that hitched her on, 
 drove her up, and brought her back down the 
 hill for the next car, there always existed a pe- 
 culiar friendship. He used to hold long con- 
 versations with her, generally upbraiding her 
 ia that complaining tone with opprobrious 
 terms which the negroes employ, which she used 
 to take meekly. At times he petted her with 
 his arm around her neck, or teased her, punch- 
 ing her in the ribs, and walking about around 
 her quarters, ostentatiously disregardful of her 
 switching stump of a tail, backed ears, and up- 
 lifted foot, and threatening her with all sorts 
 of direful punishment if she "jis dyarred to 
 tetch" him. "Kick me— heah, kick me; I jis 
 
 28 
 
OLD SUE 
 
 dyah you to lay you' foot 'g'inst me," he would 
 say, standing defiantly against her as she ap- 
 peared about to let fly at him. Then he would 
 seize her with a guffaw. Or at times, coming 
 down the hill, he would "haul off" and hit her, 
 and "take out" with her at his heels, her long 
 furry ears backed, and her mouth wide open as 
 if she would tear him to pieces ; and just as she 
 nearly caught him he would come to a stand 
 and wheel around, and she would stop dead, 
 and then walk on by him as sedately as if she 
 were in a harrow. In all the years of their 
 association she never failed him; and she never 
 failed to fling herself on the collar, rounding the 
 sharp curve at Ninth, and to get the car up the 
 difficult turn. 
 
 Last fall, however, the road passed into new 
 hands, and the management changed the old 
 mules on the line, and put on a lot of new and 
 green horses. It happened to be a dreary, rainy 
 day in November when the first new team was 
 put in. They came along about three o'clock. 
 Old Sue had been standing out in the pouring 
 rain all day with her head bowed, and her 
 stubby tail tucked in, and her black back drip- 
 ping. She had never failed nor faltered. The 
 tag-boy, . in an old rubber suit and battered 
 
 29 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 tarpauling hat, had been out also, Ms coat shin- 
 ing with the wet. He and Old Sue appeared to 
 mind it astonishingly little. The gutters were 
 running brimming full, and the cobble-stones 
 were wet and slippery. The street cars were 
 crowded inside and out, the wretched people 
 on the platforms vainly trying to shield them- 
 selves with umbrellas held sideways. It was 
 late in the afternon when I first observed that 
 there was trouble at the corner. I thought at 
 first that there was an accident, but soon found 
 that it was due to a pair of new, balking horses 
 in a car. Old Sue was hitched to the tug, and 
 was doing her part faithfully ; finally she threw 
 her weight on the collar, and by sheer strength 
 bodily dragged the car, horses and all, around 
 the curve and on up the straight track, until 
 the horses, finding themselves moving, went off 
 with a rush. I saw the tug-boy shake his head 
 with pride, and heard him give a whoop of 
 triumph. The next car went up all right; but 
 the next had a new team, and the same thiag 
 occurred. The streets were like glass ; the new 
 horses got to slipping and balking, and Old Sue 
 had to drag them up as she did before. From 
 this time it went from bad to worse: the rain 
 changed to sleet, and the curve at Ninth became 
 a stalling-place for every car. Finally, just at 
 
 30 
 
OLD SUE 
 
 dark, there was a block there, and the cars piled 
 up. I intended to have taken a car on my way 
 home, but finding it stalled, I stepped into my 
 friend Polk Miller's drug-store, just on the cor- 
 ner, to get a cigar and to keep warm. I could see 
 through the blurred glass of the door the com- 
 motion going on just outside, and could hear 
 the shouts of the driver and of the tug-boy 
 mingled with the clatter of horses' feet as they 
 reared and jumped, and the cracks of the tug- 
 boy's whip as he called to Sue, "Grit up. Sue; 
 git up. Sue." Presently, I heard a shout, and 
 then the tones changed, and things got quiet. 
 
 A minute afterwards the door slowly opened, 
 and the tug-boy came in limping, his old hat 
 pushed back on his head, and one leg of his wet 
 trousers rolled up to his knee, showing about 
 four inches of black, ashy shin, which he leaned 
 over and rubbed as he walked. His wet face 
 wore a scowl, half pain, half anger. "Mist' 
 Miller, kin I use yo' telephone?" he asked, 
 surlily. (The company had the privilege of 
 using it by courtesy.) 
 
 "Yes; there 'tis." 
 
 He limped up, and still rubbing his leg with 
 one hand, took the 'phone off the hook with the 
 other and put it to his ear. 
 
 "Hello, central— hello ! Please gimme fo' 
 31 
 
PASTIME STOEIES 
 
 liund' an' sebenty-three on three sixt'-fo'— 
 fo' hund' an' sebent '-three on three sixt'-fo'. 
 Hello !— Suh ? Yas, suh ; f o ' hund ' an ' sebent '- 
 three on three sixt'-fo'. Street-car stables on 
 three sixt'-fo'. Hello! hello! Hello! Dat yon, 
 street-car stables™ Hello! Yas. Who dat? 
 Oh! Dat you, Mis' Mellerdin? Yas, suh; yas 
 suh; Jim; Jim; dis Jim. G-i-m, Jim. Yas, suh: 
 Jim, whar drive Ole Sue, in Mis' Polk Miller' 
 drug-sto'. Yas, suh ; yas, suh. Suh? Yas, suh. 
 Oh! Mis' Mellerdin, kin I git ofe to-night? 
 Suh? Yas, suh. 'Matter?' — Ole Sue— she done 
 tu'n fool; done gone 'stracted. I can't do nut- 
 tin 't all wid her. She ain' got no sense. She 
 oon pull a poun'. Suh? Yas, suh. Nor, suh. 
 Yas, suh. Nor, suh; I done try ev'ytlung. I 
 done beg her, done cuss her, done whup her 
 mos' to death. She ain' got no reasonment. 
 She oon do nuttin. She done haul off, an' leetle 
 mo' knock my brains out; she done kick me 
 right 'pon meh laig— 'pon my right laig. " (He 
 stooped over and rubbed it again at the reflec- 
 tion.) "Done bark it all up. Suh? Yas, suh. 
 Tell nine o'clock? Yas, suh; reckon so; '11 try 
 it leetle longer. Yas, suh; yas, suh. Good- 
 night—good-bye !" 
 He hung the 'phone back on the hook, stooped 
 32 
 
OLD SUE 
 
 and rolled down the leg of his breeches. 
 ' ' Thankee, Mist ' Miller I Good-night. ' ' 
 
 He walked to the door, and opened it. As he 
 passed slowly out, without turning his head, he 
 said, as if to himself, but to be heard by us, "I 
 wish I had a hundred an' twenty-five dollars. 
 I boun' I 'd buy dat durned ole mule, an' cut 
 her doggoned th'oat." 
 
 33 
 
THE PROSECUTION OF 
 MRS. DULLET 
 
 I WAS on a visit to my friend Dave at his 
 mountain home, and was standing one day 
 in the court-yard at Lexby, the county-town, 
 discussing the possibilities of his re-election to 
 the position of commonwealth's attorney, when 
 down the street came, at a long gallop, an old 
 fellow mounted on a thin, ewe-necked, sorrel colt, 
 whose long rusty tail whipped between his legs 
 at every jump. Up to the court-yard gate he 
 clattered, and, dismounting, flung the rein over 
 the post, in utter disregard of the large printed 
 notice posted on it that no horses were to be 
 hitched there. Through the turnstile and up the 
 walk he came swinging. 
 
 ' ' I believe that 's old DuUet, from Jacksbor- 
 ough," said Dave. "He 's a man of influence 
 up there, and dead against me,— always is. I 
 wonder what he wants?" 
 
 34 
 
THE PEOSECUTION OF MRS. DULLET 
 
 He had not long to wait; for tlie old fellow 
 strode up to a group and said, ""WTiar 's the 
 commonwealth's attorney?" 
 
 "I am the man," said Dave. "What can I 
 do for you, Mr. DuUet?" 
 
 "I wants you to put my wife in the pen'- 
 tentiary," he said. 
 
 "What!" exclaimed Dave; then recovered 
 himself. "What do you want that for?" 
 
 "She's forged my name, and she's got to go 
 to the pen'tentiary," said he. 
 
 "Well, tell me about it," said Dave, seeing 
 the gravity of the situation; and, turning, he 
 led the way into his office, and offered chairs. 
 
 "Well, it 's this way: My oldest gal, Sairy, 
 is been a-wantin' to marry a feller named Torm 
 Hackle for gwine on two years, and I would n't 
 let her." 
 
 "Why?" said Dave, in a professional tone, 
 drawing a pen and paper towards him. 
 
 " 'Cause Torm 's on t' other side," said Dul- 
 let. 
 
 "Oh!" said Dave, writing down something. 
 "Go on." 
 
 "Well, I would n't let Torm come over on 
 our side. I sont him word ef he did to look out. 
 And Sairy she got kind o' sick and peaked, and 
 
 35 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 my old woman she wanted me to do it then, and 
 I would n't, 'cause I had to sign the dockiment. 
 Then she got kinder worser, and my wife she 
 wanted me to go for the doctor. So day hefore 
 yistiddy I went down for the doctor, and he 
 said he 'd come to-day, and I stayed at Jim Mig- 
 gins's store all night an' yistiddy a-waitin' for 
 him; an' when I got home las night, my wife 
 she said, 'Whar 's the doctor?' And I said, 
 'He 's a-comin'. How 's Sairy?' And she said: 
 ' She 's done got well. She 's got aU the doctor 
 she wanted. She 's done married Torm Hackle. ' 
 'How did she done it,' says I, 'and I 'ain't 
 signed the license ? ' says I. ' I signed your name 
 for it,' says she. And I said, 'You has done 
 commit a pen'tentiary offense, and I Idn put 
 you in the pen'tentiary for it,' says I. And 
 she bet me a dollar she had n't and I could n't; 
 and I says, 'I bet you two dollars I kin and I 
 will,' says I. And now I are gwine to do it. 
 I kin do it, can't I?" 
 
 Dave reflected, while the old mountaineer sat 
 still, perfectly passive. 
 
 "Well," he said, slowly, "there are not a 
 great many precedents." (The old fellow's 
 face hardened.) "But of course," he added, 
 "forgery is a very serious thing, and, ah—'-'" 
 
 36 
 
THE PEOSECUTION OF MES. DULLET 
 
 (The old fellow's eye was upon him.) "How 
 long you been married?" he asked. 
 
 "Twenty year come next month." 
 
 Dave wrote it down. 
 
 "Wife always been good wife to you?" 
 
 " 'Ain' got no fault to find wid her tUl now, 
 when she forged my name an' — " 
 
 "Ever have any trouble with her?" 
 
 "Never at all, 'cept, of course, fights like all 
 married folks has." 
 
 Dave wrote it down. 
 
 "Industrious?" 
 
 "Got no fault to find wid her about dat." 
 
 "Help you save what you got?" 
 
 "Ain't a hard- wor kin 'er, savin 'er 'ooman on 
 the mountain." 
 
 "How many children she got?" 
 
 * ' Nine — eight livin '. I don 't count that one. ' ' 
 
 "How many dead?" 
 
 "Four." 
 
 Dave wrote laboriously. 
 
 "Wife good to 'em?" 
 
 " Jes as good as could be. Nursed 'em faith- 
 ful." 
 
 "Sit up with 'em when they were sick?" 
 
 "Never went to bed at all; never took her 
 clothes off." 
 
 37 
 
PASTIME STOEIES 
 
 "Oo hard with her?" 
 
 "Went mighty hard, specially when Johnny 
 died. He was named after me. ' ' 
 
 Dave wrote silently. 
 
 ' ' Go hard with you ? ' ' 
 
 "Eight sort o' hard." 
 
 "Sort o' lonesome after that?" 
 
 "Mighty lonesome." 
 
 "How old your youngest one now?" 
 
 "Gwiae on three; that 's Billy." 
 
 ' ' Fond of his mother ? ' ' 
 
 "Can't bear her out of his sight." 
 
 "Fond of you?" 
 
 "Sort of — right smart." 
 
 "Say Sairy was your oldest?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Thought right smart of her when you 
 did n't have any others, just at first, I reckon?" 
 
 "Urah. Might 'a' done; don't remember." 
 
 "Wife did, anyhow?" 
 
 "Yes; always fool 'bout her. Oldest— see?" 
 
 "She was young and fresh then?" 
 
 "Yes; likeliest woman on the mountain." 
 
 "Bet she was! Used to have good time sit- 
 ting up to her, going to see her summer even- 
 ings, walking through the woods?" 
 
 "Yes, sir; did that." 
 38 
 
THE PEOSECUTION OF MRS. DULLET 
 
 "She thought more of first baby than you. 
 She had more trouble with her than you — when 
 she was a baby, I mean?" 
 
 "Oh yes! guess she did," 
 
 "Carried her round in her arms, nursed her 
 when she was sick, made her little frocks for 
 her?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "As she did Johnny's?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And does little Billy's?" 
 
 "Yes. She 's made Billy a little pair of 
 breeches." 
 
 "With pockets in them?" 
 
 "Yes; two." 
 
 Dave laid down his pen, opened the code, and 
 read a little to himself. * ' Well, I can put her in 
 the penitentiary for you," he said. " 'Not less 
 than one nor more than ten years,' " he read. 
 
 DuUet sat forward a little. 
 
 "How old is your wife?" 
 
 " 'Bout fifty year." 
 
 "I '11 draw the indictment. Let me see, the 
 grand jury will meet when? Then the jury?" 
 He was talking to himself, with his eyes turned 
 up to the ceiling. "There might be some of 
 those Hackles on the jury. Umh ! that would be 
 
 39 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 bad." (DuUet twisted around in his cliair.) 
 "They 'd send her on for the full time, though 
 —ten years. That would be good." 
 
 DuUet leaned forward. "Are them Hackles 
 obleeged to be on that jury?" he asked. 
 
 " No j " said Dave ; " not at all. Only they may 
 be on there, that 's all. ' ' He lifted his eyes again 
 to the ceiling. "That might be all the better. 
 They 'd of course be pretty rough on her. Ten 
 years. She 'd be about sixty when she came 
 out. Umh! They 'd have worked her pretty 
 hard— let me see ; I suppose they 'd put her with 
 the thieves, dress her in stripes, maybe whip 
 her." (DuUet started to give an exclamation, 
 but stopped to listen.) "I suppose little BUly 
 would be sorry at night at first, but he 'd get 
 used to it; or he might go down to see her 
 once a year or so, for a few minutes, in his 
 breeches— if she lived; he 'd miss her some. 
 If she died, she 'd go to Johnny. Well, the 
 Hackles would n't be sorry. Yes, I can do it, 
 I think," he said, bringing his eyes down on 
 DuUet 's face, and speaking positively. 
 
 DuUet rose with a jump. "Look a-here, Mr. 
 -Mr. — ^What 's-your-name?" he said. "I'll 
 just be darned ef any of them damned Hackles 
 can put my wife in the pen'tentiary; and ef 
 anybody thinks they kin, let 'em try it!" 
 
 40 
 
THE PEOSECUTION OF MRS. DULLET 
 
 Dave looked at him calmly. "I agree with 
 you, " he said, * ' and I '11 help you. ' ' 
 
 There was a pause, in which DuUet was re- 
 flecting. Then he asked, "What would you ad- 
 vise me to do?" 
 
 "I don't advise you to do anything," said 
 Dave; "but I know what I 'd do if I was in 
 your place." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " I 'd go home and send for Sairy to come 
 over to dinner next Sunday, and tell her to 
 bring that fellow with her— he 's more DuUet 
 now than he is Hackle ; and every time my wife 
 got uppish I 'd tell her I could have put her in 
 the penitentiary for ten years, but I was too 
 good to her to do it. ' ' 
 
 DuUet reflected, and then said, "I '11 do it. 
 What does I owe you?" 
 
 "A good deal," said Dave; "but I want you 
 to present it to Mrs. DuUet for me." 
 
 "Well—" He walked to the door, paused, 
 and then said, slowly, "Th' nex' time you runs 
 for anything, Jacksborough is a-gwine to vote 
 for you." He went out. 
 
 Dave was re-elected. 
 
 41 
 
ISRUL'S BARGAIN 
 
 WHEN I was at college after tlie war, cloth- 
 ing was very scarce ; there was not a dress 
 suit in college, and very few new suits of any 
 kind. I remember my best coat was made out 
 of an old cloth skirt of my mother's, Billy 
 Logan, however, tall and blond, was a swell, and 
 in his third year he turned up with a brand- 
 new suit: long frock-coat, lavender trousers, 
 and a beaver hat that was dazzling. He was 
 simply "a howler," and caught Miss Mabel, the 
 Doctor's pretty daughter, "out of hand." 
 
 "Isrul" was the fiddler of the town (as black 
 as your boot), and though he could not make 
 a small city a great one, he could play the fiddle. 
 He was also a drunkard and a thief. He and 
 Billy Logan were great friends. He considered 
 himself a swell also. But the night before the 
 1st of April, 1869 (on which night we always 
 had a calathump, followed the next night by 
 "a ball"), Isrul was sulky, owing partly to a 
 
 42 
 
ISEUL'S BAEGAIN 
 
 recent and powerful sermon against fiddling, 
 by the Eev. Amos Brown, and partly to a dif- 
 ference they had had about a dusky "sister" 
 in the Rev. Amos's congregation, in which the 
 Eev. Amos had come off victor. When we, as 
 usual, approached him about the music for "the 
 ball," he announced that he had "done gin up 
 fiddlin' and gone to seekin'." It took several 
 stiff drinks from a large bottle, obtained for the 
 festivities by Billy Logan, and a sight of BiUy's 
 new suit to soften him. Billy, a little mellow, 
 even put the suit on to show him how he would 
 look when he should lead his partner up the 
 floor to his music. Up to the top of the room 
 he swaggered, turned with a swing, shouted, 
 in Isrul's tone, "S'lute your pardners," and 
 gave a long, low bow as he lifted the bottle to 
 his lips. 
 
 Isrul 's countenance relaxed. ' ' Umh ! " he de- 
 clared. "Whar meh fiddle? Ef I jest had a 
 coat and pyah o' breeches like dem, I could out- 
 play Gabrul." 
 
 A few hours later we swept the sleeping 
 town like a cyclone — Billy Logan, in character, 
 as the devil with a pitchfork, leading. 
 
 We reached our rooms about three o'clock 
 A. M., pretty well tired. As Billy flung open his 
 
 43 
 
PASTIME STOEIES 
 door, there sat Isrul fast asleep in his arm- 
 chair, with, the empty bottle beside him, and 
 his old basket between his feet well filled with 
 Billy's effects. He had been overtaken in the 
 very act. ' ' Get up here ! I 'm going to kill you 
 and bury you," Billy shouted. He seized him 
 by the collar and pulled him out of the chair. 
 As he let him go, Isrul fell in a drunken heap 
 on the floor. Billy disappeared, with two or 
 three fellows, and in a little while came back 
 with a bucket of paint and the finest coffin from 
 Little Dole's, the undertaker's, shop. The old 
 Doctor and Little Dole both declared next 
 day that it was burglary; but I think they took 
 an extreme view of it. Little Dole had lost his 
 front door and his best coffin, and "the old 
 Doctress," as we profanely called the Doctor's 
 wife, was exciting him about the rape of her 
 greenhouse. Anyhow, Billy got the coffin, and 
 old Isrul, his face painted a livid blue, and his 
 chin tied up like a corpse's with one of Billy's 
 handkerchiefs, and every flower from the old 
 Doctress 's greenhouse on his breast, was borne 
 out. The hall used as a chapel was forcibly 
 entered, and "the corpse" was borne in. Billy 
 officiated, his devil's head poking up over the 
 Doctor 's gown. He had the Doctor 's very voice. 
 
 44 
 
ISEUL'S BAEGAIN 
 
 Perhaps it was the Doctor's voice which 
 startled "the corpse," but anyhow he opened 
 his eyes. He got ashier under his coat of paint 
 as he fixed his gaze on Billy's horns. The devil 
 raised his fork. 
 
 "Now at last we have him in torment. What 
 shall we do with him?" he asked, in a terrific 
 voice. 
 
 "Damn him!" came from two hundred 
 throats. 
 
 ' ' Light the fire, ' ' he said. He turned towards 
 the victim and brandished his pitchfork. ' ' How 
 many hen-roosts have you robbed?" he asked. 
 
 Isrul's jaw worked. His eyes were popping 
 out of his head. "M-m-marse Satan, y-y-you 
 ain' gwine back befo' de war, is you?" he asked. 
 
 "Since." 
 
 "I-I don' know, m-master; not but three, I 
 b'lieve." 
 
 He was evidently in doubt. 
 
 "He has lied; record it. Add three hundred 
 years for each one he left out. ' ' 
 
 There was an awful addition with sticks on 
 the floor at the head of the cofifin. A hundred 
 throats responded, "It is recorded." Isrul 
 groaned. 
 
 "How often have you been drunk?" 
 45 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 "I-I-I don' know, master; I don forgit," he 
 said, seeking safety in oblivion. 
 
 "Add two hundred years." 
 
 It was added on the floor. 
 
 "How often have you stolen from the col- 
 lege students, particularly from that pious, vir- 
 tuous, upright, and righteous gentleman, BiUy 
 Logan?" 
 
 "I-I — 'bout a million times," faltered Isrul. 
 
 There was a groan on all sides. 
 
 "He has told one truth; take off two minutes. 
 Heat the fire, and set the big middle kettle to 
 boiling." 
 
 A red calcium-Hght suddenly lit up the scene, 
 turning the devil's head and flowing robe a fiery 
 red. He brandished his pitchfork and ad- 
 vanced. With a yeU, Isrul sprang from the 
 coffin. The devil caught him, and they clinched ; 
 and the two rolled around together in a medley 
 of coffin, legs, chairs, pitchforks, and devil's 
 horns, Isrul yelling and fighting for salvation, 
 the devil tangled up in the Doctor's gown, which 
 was being torn to shreds, shouting to us to help 
 him. Suddenly Isrul dealt him a tremendous 
 blow, broke loose, and with one bound sprang 
 crashing through the nearest window, taking 
 the sash with him, and Billy, with his gown in 
 tatters and his mask torn off, scrambled breath- 
 
 46 
 
ISEUL'S BAEGAIN 
 
 less to his feet. We saw him start to speak, 
 then look towards the door. A change came 
 over his face, and with a shout of "The Doc- 
 tor!" he swept the lamp from the table and fol- 
 lowed Isrul through the shattered window — 
 followed by the rest of us, pell-mell. 
 
 The attendance at chapel next morning was 
 better than it had been before in years. Every 
 student showed up. Billy was the demurest of 
 the congregation, sat well forward, but kept 
 in the shadow of a pillar to hide an ugly bruise 
 over the eye, and sang devoutly. The coffin 
 had been removed, but there was no need of a 
 coffin to make the occasion solemn. Little 
 Dole sat on the front bench, and the Doctor's 
 face wore a look of doom. I believe every man 
 of the three hundred stopped breathing. I 
 know I did. He said a great outrage had been 
 committed (Little Dole groaned), and that the 
 faculty had met and determined to inflict the 
 severest punishment in their power— expulsion. 
 "We shall expel every one concerned in its 
 perpetration. The town authorities will prob- 
 ably follow it up with a prosecution." (Little 
 Dole grunted.) The doctor paused. You could 
 put your hand out and feel the silence. "—As 
 soon as the perpetrators are discovered," he 
 added, A hundred men drew long breaths. 
 
 47 
 
PASTIME STOEIES 
 
 It was late in the afternoon when we saw an 
 old lame darky hobbling across the lawn with 
 a stick. His mother would hardly have recog- 
 nized him. His eye was apparently bunged up, 
 his head was plastered over with court-plaster 
 like a map, his arm was iu a shng, and he was so 
 lame he could scarcely hobble; but he was evi- 
 dently not entirely blind, for he was making 
 straight for the Doctor's office. He Was nearly 
 there. Billy gazed at him intently, and sud- 
 denly cut out of the door, we after him. It was 
 Isrul. He had actually reached the door and 
 raised his hand to knock when Billy got to him. 
 
 ' ' Wait. Come here ; I want to speak to you, ' ' 
 he said to him, in a breathless undertone, 
 beckoning him away from the door. 
 
 "Who dat?" asked Isrul, lifting his head and 
 peering at him out of his bunged-up eye, as if 
 he could not see him. "Who dat? I cyarn see 
 you. Dat Billy Logan done put my eye out." 
 
 "No, he has n't. How do you know he did 
 it?" said Billy, persuasively. "Come this way 
 a minute ; I want to talk to you about it. ' ' 
 
 "Yes, he did. I got he hankcher wid he name 
 on it. I know he do it. I cyarn heah what you 
 say. Talk louder; he done stop up my ear." 
 He put his hand up to his ear as if to try and 
 hear him. 
 
 48 
 
ISRUL'S BARGAIN 
 
 The Doctor was moving within. Billy, with 
 a look of desperation at the door, caught hold 
 of him. "Come here, Uncle Isrul," he said, 
 seductively. 
 
 ' ' Ough ! ' ' cried Isrul. ' ' TJmh ! Dat boy done 
 breck my arm. He done ruin me for life. " He 
 raised his voice. 
 
 "No, he did n't. Don't talk so loud, please, 
 sir," expostulated Billy, with a glance at the 
 door. "If you come this way I '11 talk to you 
 about it." 
 
 "I don' want to talk to you. I want to talk 
 to de Doctor, Who is you? You ain' de Doc- 
 tor, is you? I cyarn see you." He raised his 
 head again as if to try and see his interlocutor, 
 groaned with pain, and then turned to the door 
 and caught the knocker. • 
 
 "Come here. I '11 pay you, Uncle Isrul," 
 
 Isrul paused, "How much you gwine pay 
 me?" 
 
 "I '11 pay you well. Come here; come on." 
 Billy's voice was never so enticing. 
 
 ' ' I cyarn walk. Dat boy done breck my leg. ' ' 
 
 " I '11 help you; I '11 carry you. Come on," 
 and he took the old fellow and helped him hobble 
 along, almost carrying him to his room. ' * Come 
 in." He flung the door open. But Isrul sank 
 down at the step with a groan, exhausted. BUly 
 
 49 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 offered him five dollars not to tell. He was 
 obdurate. At last Billy in despair asked Mm 
 what he would hold his tongue for. He re- 
 flected, then turned and glanced around inside 
 the room through his almost closed eyes. ' ' Grim 
 me dat new suit o' clo'es." Billy called him by 
 a bad name. 
 
 Isrul pulled himself up with a groan, and 
 started for the Doctor's. Just as he reached 
 the door, Billy rushed after him. His education, 
 his future, his sweetheart, hung on the issue. 
 Breathing threatenings and slaughter, he went 
 to get the clothes. Isrul examined them criti- 
 cally, and poked them into his basket. 
 
 "Whar de beaver?" he asked in surprise, 
 looking around as if he expected to see that 
 article lying beside the basket. 
 
 It was not in the contract, explained Billy; 
 but to no purpose. 
 
 ' ' Oh yes, it was, " said Isrul. ' ' Suit o ' clo 'es 
 ain' nuttin' 'dout de beaver. You kin teck 'em 
 back. I want to see de Doctor anyways." 
 
 He took the clothes out, and rose painfully. 
 
 The beaver was brought, and having put it 
 carefully into his basket on top of the clothes, 
 and surrendered the handkerchief, Isrul rose. 
 
 "Good-evenin', Marse Satan," he said. "I '11 
 50 
 
ISEUL'S BAEGAIN 
 
 have de music dyah in time to-night"; and he 
 hobbled off. 
 
 Billy spent the afternoon having the rents 
 made the night before in his old black coat 
 sewed up, so that he could wear it to the ball. 
 He was a little late in arriving. 
 
 As he led Miss Mabel up the floor to the head 
 of the room, his eyes fell on the players. Well 
 out in front of them sat Isrul, as well as he ever 
 was in his life, without a scratch on him, and 
 decked out in Billy's new suit, and with his 
 beaver cocked on his woolly head. He waited 
 till Billy reached his place, then threw his head 
 back, and took a long look at him, with his eyes 
 nearly closed, as if trying to see him, caught his 
 eye, and bowed low to him. "Good-evenin', 
 Marse Satan," he said, lifted his elbow, and, 
 with a triumphant wag of his head, shouted, 
 "S'lute your pardners," and began to "out- 
 play Gabrul." 
 
 51 
 
THE TRUE STORY OF 
 
 THE SURRENDER OF THE 
 
 MARQUIS CORNWALLIS 
 
 I HAD the honor done me once to be appointed 
 Provisional Secretary and Treasurer of the 
 State Chapter of the Society of the Sons of 
 the Eevolution, or of the American Eevolution; 
 I never could remember which. (To this un- 
 happy fault of memory I owed my early re- 
 moval from the responsible and remunerative 
 office ; for the offspring of the two Eevolutions 
 were like the first pair of brothers, not wholly 
 in unity.) In the discharge of this office I be- 
 came acquainted with a good deal of history 
 which has satisfied me that the commonly re- 
 ceived versions are far from accurate. Among 
 the true accounts which I thus received is the 
 following story of the surrender of the Mar- 
 
 52 
 
THE MAEQUIS CORNWALLIS 
 
 quis Cornwallis, wMch was related to me by 
 an eye-witness, and is, therefore, of course, true. 
 
 I was seated one day in my office, when there 
 came a tap at my door. It differed essentially 
 from either the deferential tap of a client, or 
 the more imperious rap of the creature who 
 carries around a packet of long, narrow invita- 
 tions to settle, the acceptance of which keeps a 
 man poor. This knock was light andi tentative, 
 and yet had in it a certain assertion. 
 
 "Come in," I called. 
 
 It was repeated. I knew then that it was not 
 the gentleman of the narrow and inconvenient 
 invitations. He never waits to be invited twice. 
 Sometimes he comes even when a response is 
 withheld. I called more boldly, "Come in." 
 
 The door opened slowly, and a person en- 
 tered—a little, old, dried-up-looking individual 
 with a little, old, dried-up black face, sur- 
 mounted by a little, old, dried-up black beaver. 
 The white corners of two little eyes, or of what 
 from their geographical position I supposed 
 were eyes, were visible. The visitor, with his 
 back to me, closed the door without the slightest 
 sound, as carefully as if a creak would have 
 blown the house down. Then he turned and 
 faced me. 
 
 53 
 
PASTIME STOEIES 
 
 "Well?" I said. "What is it?" 
 
 "Sarvent, snh. Is dis de place whar you 
 gits you' money?" 
 
 "No, it is not," I said, feeling that I was 
 safe within the bounds of truth this far. 
 
 " 'T ain 't ? " He reflected a little while. ' ' Dis 
 de place dee tole me was de place." He gazed 
 all around curiously. 
 
 "Who told you?" I asked. 
 
 "Dee. Who is you? Is you de American 
 Eebelution?" His little eyes were on me 
 scrutinizingly. 
 
 "Well, I believe I am; but I am not sure," 
 I said. 
 
 "WeU, you's de one." He looked relieved. 
 "I is de son of de Eebelution." 
 
 This cast some doubt on my identity. 
 
 "You are the son of which one?" I asked, 
 having learned to be discreet. 
 
 "Of bofe," he said. "I wuz right dyah at 
 de time— in little York. I seed it all." 
 
 "You saw it? What?" 
 
 "General Wash'n't'n's surrender. I seed it. 
 I seed it when he come a-gallinupin' up on he 
 big iron-gray haws, an' I see de Markiss Com- 
 wallis, too. I see 'em bofe." 
 
 I began to be interested. 
 54 
 
THE MAEQUIS CORNWALLIS 
 
 "You saw it all?" I asked. "Well, tell me 
 about it." 
 
 "Den you gwine gi' me my money?" 
 
 "Yes, if it is not too much." 
 
 "Well, I '11 tell you," he said. "You see 
 't wuz dis a-way. I wuz bom right dyah in 
 little York. My mammy she wuz de nuss for 
 ole missis chillern, an' I wuz—" 
 
 "Wait; how old are you?" I asked. 
 
 "I don' know how ole I is. I so ole I done 
 f orgit. I know I is over a hunderd. I know 
 I is, 'cuz I wuz twelve year ole when my mam- 
 my die, an' she die when she had nuss ole missis 
 lars gal, jes after de holidays, de littles' one 
 o' all, an' I know she wuz ol'er 'n ole missis. I 
 know I is over a hundred. I reckon maybe I is 
 two hundred— maybe I is." 
 
 This was convincing, so I said, ' ' Go on. You 
 know all about it." 
 
 "Oh, yes, suh, I knows all about it. Hi! how 
 I gwine help it? Warn't I right dyah! seein' 
 of it fum de top of de ole Father Aberham 
 apple-tree in ole marster gyardin? Markiss 
 Cornwallis he had done been dyah for I don' 
 know how long, jes a-bossin' it 'roun', eatin' 
 off o' ole marster bes' chany an' silver whar 
 Nat rub up, an' chawin' tobacker, an' orderia' 
 
 55 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 roun' jes big as ole marster. An' lie use' to 
 strut roun' dyah, an' war lie beaver hat an' 
 he swo'd, an' set on de front poach, an' drink 
 he julep jes like he own all de niggers fum 
 Pigeon Quarter spang to Williamsbu'g. An' 
 he say ef Gren'l Wash'n'n jes dyah to set he foot 
 dyah he 'd teck he hide off him, he say. An' 
 one day, jes after dinner, he wuz settin' on de 
 poach a-smokin' he cigar, an' come a nigger on 
 a mule wid a note, an' he look at it, an' squint 
 he eye up dis a-way, an' say, 'Heah he now.' 
 An' de urrs say, 'Who?' An' he say, 'Dat fel- 
 ler, Gen'l "Wash'n'n.' An' de say, 'He want 
 me to s 'render.' An' dee all laugh. An' he 
 say, 'You go back, an' tell him I say to come on, 
 an' ef he come I '11 teck de hide off 'n him,' he 
 say, 'an' I '11 whup him wid one han' 'hine my 
 back,' he say. 'Talk 'bout s 'render!' he say. 
 An' he sont de nigger back, an' holler for he 
 haws an' he swo'd. An' fus' thing you know, 
 heah come Gen'l Wash'n'n a-ridin' on a big 
 iron-gray, a goP pum'l to he saddle, an' a silver 
 bit to he bridle long as you' arm, an' a goP 
 cyurb to it big as log-chain, an' a swo'd by he 
 side long as a fence-rail. An' as he come ridin' 
 up he say, 'Did'n' I tole you to s 'render!' he 
 say. 'You don' s 'render, don' you?' he say. 
 
 56 
 
THE MAEQUIS COENWALLIS 
 
 An' Markiss Cornwallis soon as lie see him 
 he wuz so skeert he ain' know what to do. He 
 jes turn white as you' shut, an' he ain' wait ner 
 nuttin'; he jes took out hard as he could stave 
 it. An' Gen'l Wash'n'n he teck out after him, 
 an' he hollers, 'Stop! s 'render!' says he. An' 
 he say, 'I ain' gwine s 'render,' says he. An' 
 he wuz a-ketchin' up wid him ; an' Markiss Corn- 
 wallis he teck out roun' a apple-tree— a gre't 
 big apple-tree— a Father Aberham apple-tree. 
 An' Gen'l Wash'n'n he teck out right after 
 him, an' dyah dee hed it ! Well, suh, you nuver 
 see san' fly so in you' life. Fus' Markiss Corn- 
 wallis, an' den Gen'l Wash'n'n. Markiss Corn- 
 wallis he wuz ridin' of a little sorrel pacin' 
 myah, an' she wuz jes a-movin'; her legs look 
 like guinea-hen's. Gen'l Wash'n'n he wuz 
 ridin' of a big iron-gray haws, an' he wuz gwine 
 like elephant. De myah war'n nowhar. An' 
 ev'y now an' den Gen'l Wash'n'n he hollers 
 out an' say, 'S 'render!' an' Markiss Cornwallis 
 he say, 'I ain' gwine s 'render,' says he, an' he 
 wuz jes a-flyin'. An' pres'n'y Gen'l Wash'n'n 
 he come up wid him— even— so, an' he draws 
 he swo'd, an' Markiss Cornwallis he holler out 
 an' say, 'I s 'renders,' says he. But 't ain' no 
 use to say 's 'render' den. Gen'l Wash'n'n he 
 
 57 
 
PASTIME STOEIES 
 
 done bit he blood up, an' be say, 'Ob yes,' be 
 say. 'Who daf you gwine teck de bide off'n 
 him?' be say, an' he jes drawed be weepin', an' 
 he giv' a swipe, an' he cut be head right clean 
 off, he did. Yes, sub; be done dat thing, 'cuz 
 I seed him. — ^Whar wuz I? I wuz right up ia 
 de apple-tree. — ^What did I do ? I jes sbp ' down 
 out'n de tree an' hoi' Gren'l Wasb'n'n haws for 
 him while he wuz cuttin' he bead off; an' when 
 he git thoo, he say, 'Felix, how 's de Cun'l an' 
 de ladies an' de fambly?' an' he wipes he swo'd, 
 an' put 't back in de scabbard, an' when he git 
 ready to mount, be gi' me two an' threepence, 
 an' says he, 'Felix, a gent 'man nuver gies 
 less 'n dat to a servant,' says be. — Sub? 
 
 "Well, sub, anything you choose. You is a 
 gent 'man, I see; an' Gren'l Wasb'n'n be say a 
 gent 'man nuver gies a servant less 'n— Thankee, 
 sub; I knowed you wuz a gent 'man." 
 
 58 
 
WHEN LITTLE MORDICAT 
 WAS AT THE BAR 
 
 ALL lawyers have a sufficiently good opinioa 
 jl\- of their profession, but the proudest 
 member of the bar that ever was was Peter 
 Hankins, ' ' Jedge Peter, " as he was called. The 
 "jedge" had a prescriptive right to his title. 
 He had filled the position of office-boy, boot- 
 black, book-carrier, body-servant, and toddy- 
 mixer for every lawyer in the circuit for two 
 generations, besides sweeping up the Court- 
 house, filling the inkstands, and beting general 
 factotum for the clerk, the sheriff, and the jailer. 
 He had eventually retired, owing to a change 
 of administration in the Court-house, coupled, 
 on his part, with habitual drunkenness and con- 
 temptuous reference to the new regime, and 
 was thereafter compelled to dig potatoes and do 
 odd jobs like any other common hand; but he 
 never regarded his subsequent occupation as 
 
 59 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 any thing at all, and held everything modern in 
 sovereign contempt. He was too prond gen- 
 erally to enter in a private capacity the court- 
 room in which he had once presided officially. 
 It was only on extraordinary occasions, such as 
 murder trials, that he ever relaxed his dignity 
 so far as to enter the precincts once so familiar 
 to him, and he atoned for it when there by carry- 
 ing his head with an air, and wearing on his face 
 a look, of disdain which would have warranted 
 the judge in sending him to jail for contempt of 
 court. Whatever happened, he was ready with 
 "When me an' Little Mordicai was at de bar, 
 suh." 
 
 It was thus that he happened to be present 
 at the trial of the murderer who killed a woman 
 in the lower end of the county, and who, after 
 coming near being hanged by the mob, was 
 saved by Judge Gaston through one of the 
 ablest defences ever known in the State. The 
 jury at first hung for a short time, but the 
 crowd was completely carried away by the 
 judge's masterly speech, and it was at this crisis 
 that Jedge Peter was found busily engaged out- 
 side of the court-green, with ostentatious indif- 
 ference, making a wedge for his hoe-handle. 
 McPheeters went up to him. 
 
 60 
 
LITTLE MORDICAI AT THE BAE 
 
 "Jedge, fine speech Judge Gaston made, 
 was n 't it ? " he asked him. 
 
 Jedge Peter turned his hoe around slowly 
 and measured the eye, stuck the wedge a little 
 way in it, and straightened up. "Gashcum! 
 Gashcum!" he said, disdainfully. "What does 
 I know about yo' Jedge Gashcum? I 's heered 
 Little Mordieai when I was at de bar." 
 
 This was what McPheeters wanted, and he 
 told him of the jury being hung. 
 
 "Yes, an' he hung de jury too," declared the 
 jedge, his chin high in the air, and his whole 
 figure expressing his disdain. "Hung de jury, 
 an' hung de cote, an' ev'ybody else, an' hung 
 th'ee good plantations an' two hundred niggers 
 in his deed of intrust, too, in he breeches-pocket, 
 he did." 
 
 McPheeters looked incredulous, and tolled 
 him on. "Who was his client, and what had he 
 done?" 
 
 "He client? He had so many clients I cyarn 
 'member de one he had dat time, but he had 
 done do some'n sho 'nough! He had n' MUed 
 no little po' one white ooman; he had done kilt 
 th'ee wojuens— th'ee womens! Jes so, 'dout 
 no consideratin' hat aU; had jes chop dee haids 
 wide open, an' cut 'em up like you cut up hawgs. 
 
 61 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 Dee foteh Mm up laeah, an' lodge Mm in jail, 
 and tell me to keep Mm, an' dat I did! I lock 
 Mm up dyah in de cell wid log-chain roun' Mm 
 like a bull; an' de folks wuz so raMd 'bout Mm 
 I tell de Gov'ner to stan' by me (dee war n' like 
 dem few mens turr nigM, hoUerin' an' drinMn' 
 whiskey aroun'; de whole county wuz out, an' 
 he sont me a comp'ny o' millingtary, an' 't wuz 
 all me an' dee could do together to keep 'em fum 
 Mm. But we did, an' we hilt him good tiU de 
 trial come on. Dat wuz a trial as wuz a trial! 
 De whole State wuz dyah. An' de th'ee womens 
 dee went an' hired th'ee la'yers apiece to pusse- 
 cute Mm, dat made ten, 'euz you know dee 's 
 al'ays a pussecutin' la'yer fur de State to etern- 
 ally pussecute, an' dee come heah in dee gigs 
 wid de books an' papers, an' lock de do', an' 
 would n' le' nobody come in but me; 'cuz dee 
 hed to insult me, an' I wuz 'bleeged to be dyah, 
 'cuz I hed done put de log-chain on him. Dem 
 ten wuz 'bleeged to be dyah, 'euz de prisoner 
 he wuz a pleader; he would n' hev no la'yer 
 roun' heah for him ; he hed done sont all de way 
 down fur Little Mordicai." 
 
 "Little Mordicai?" said McPheeters, inquir- 
 ingly. 
 
 ' ' Yes, Little Mordicai ! Little Mordicai war n ' 
 62 
 
LITTLE MORDICAI AT THE BAE 
 
 no Gashcum; lie wuz a la'jer. Dee wuz giants 
 in dem days. He come in a gig wid Ms port- 
 mantia behin' him, an' lie tell me to teck it off 
 an' cyah 't to lie room, an' bresh he boots, an' 
 he wash, an' put on he ruffled shut, an' teck he 
 snuff-box, an' tell me to come on— an' he went 
 to de jail, an' I open de do', an' he teck out he 
 snuff-box, an' he ax me whar 'dat dam scoun- 
 drel' wuz, an' I le' him in, an' he tole me to 
 hoi' de do', an' he walk in an' look at him settin' 
 dyah on he bed with my log-chain on him — ^he 
 look at him tell he look like he dwindlin' up. 
 An' he say presney, 'Is you Little Mordicai?' 
 An' he say, 'Yes; an' I big Mordicai too,' he 
 say. An' he say, 'I warn' you to defen' me,' 
 he say. An' Little Mordicai he say, 'How much 
 does you think your dam neck is wuth ? ' he say. 
 An' he say, 'I will give you a thousan' dollars; 
 I is a po' man,' he say. An' Little Mordicai he 
 teck a pinch o' snuff, dis away, an' he say, 'Dem 
 wuz po' womens too,' he say; 'an' you is got 
 th'ee plantations on de Eoanoke an' two hun- 
 derd niggers,' he say. An' he say, 'I wiU give 
 you two thousan' dollars,' he say. An' Little 
 Mordicai he teck up a pinch o ' snuff, dis away, 
 an' he pitch it away dat away, an' he say, 'Two 
 thousan' dollars ain' wuff dat,' he say. 'I '11 
 
 63 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 see you' dam neck breck befo' I will open my 
 mouf for less 'n ten thousand dollars,' lie say, 
 'on a deed o' instrust,' lie say; 'an' you will 
 fry in hell too, a thousan' years,' he say. An' 
 he shiver like a p 'inter-dog, jes so, an' he say, 
 ' I will do it. ' An ' Little Mordicai retch he han ' 
 in he pocket, an' pull de deed o' intrust out he 
 pocket wid de whereas an' de hereditaments 
 aforesaid, an' teck a pen an' ink out he weskit 
 pocket, whar he cyard 'em reg'lar an' meek him 
 sign it right dyah, an' swar to it wid de heredi- 
 taments aforesaid, 'cuz he know he wuz 'bleeged 
 to had him, settin' dyah wid de chain roun' 
 him, an ' he hed done f otch de deed o ' intrust wid 
 him, wid all de whereas an' de plantations an' 
 niggers an' de hereditaments aforesaid, an' he 
 put he name to it, an' kiss de book right dyah 
 befo' him, whar he cyared aroun' fur dem pup- 
 poses as aforesaid. An' Little Mordicai put 
 de deed o' intrust in he pocket an' button it up, 
 an' nuver say anurr word to him, jes tu'n an' 
 went back to supper, an' set down wid de jedge 
 an' all, an' tole 'em to lef ' de man in jail. An' 
 dat night he ain' sleep none, he bu'n seben 
 candles readin' o' he deed o' intrust wid de 
 whereas an' de hereditaments aforesaid. An' 
 de nex' day he went 'way; an' de cote meet, an' 
 
 64 
 
LITTLE MOEDICAI AT THE BAE 
 
 dee lef ' de man in jail wid de log-chain on Mm, 
 an' meet agin an' lef him dyah, an* meet agin, 
 an' den de Gran' Jury redite him. An' when 
 Little Mordicai come dat time, he wuz a-ridin' 
 of a fine black thery-bred myah wid two white 
 foots, an' laigs jes keen as blaeksnakes, an' he 
 had injy-rubber shoes on her; an' when de cote 
 meet dat mornin' he tole me to tie her dyah at 
 de fence jes outside de cote-yard gate. An' 
 when de trial camed on de millingtary wuz 
 dyah: dee hed de man dyah in de Cote-house; 
 an' de ten la'yers whar de th'ee womens he kilt 
 done hire to wrassle wid Little Mordicai an' to 
 pussecute him, an' de commonwealth's attorney 
 whar eternally pussecutes ; dee hed a steer-cart 
 load o' books dyah dee meek me spread out on 
 de bar befo' 'em; I strain my back dee wuz so 
 many; I ain' git over it yit (dat 's de way I 
 happen to be in de Cote-house to-day; hit hut 
 me so, I wuz tryin' to res' it; I ain' keerin' 
 nuttin' 'bout dis heah litte Gashcum jestice 
 trials); dee hed a whole fo'-hoss waggin-load 
 o' books spread out on de bar, an' dee riz an' 
 made dee speeches, an' tell de jedge 'bout de 
 womens de murderer had done kill, an' ax Little 
 Mordicai is he ready, an' sot down, an' Little 
 Mordicai riz. He did n' had but one book, jes 
 
 65 
 
PASTIME STOEIES 
 
 byah one book, de eurisomes'-lookin' book you 
 ever see ; 't warn' boun' like turr books ; de back 
 wnz sort o' cornicle like it bed been buried; an' 
 he open it slow, sort o' so, an' be face wuz sort 
 o' curisome-lookin', an' be tell 'em to teck de 
 cbains off'n de prisoner, dat de internal con- 
 sicution did n' 'low no prisoner to wyar cbains 
 in cote; an' dat dee done; an' de crowd wuz so 
 thick roun' you could n' breathe ; an' de milling- 
 tary dee wuz dyah to stan' by me; an' Little 
 Mordicai he teck pinch o' snuff, sort o' so, an' 
 look roun' an' bresh he shut ruffle, sort o' so, 
 an' bow to ev'ybody. Den he begin. 
 
 "He pay de bespects to all de pussecutin' 
 gent 'mens, an' to de cote, an' to all on us gent'- 
 mens on de bar, an' to de crowd an' de milling- 
 tary, an' den he riz a pint, jes a pint; he bed 
 a barrel he could 'a' riz, but a pint wuz 'nough 
 fur him; an' he tuck up de book, de curisome- 
 lookin' book, an' riz a pint, an' he read, an' 
 't wuz so larned dee could n' nobody onderstan' 
 him; dee say 't wuz dead languidge, an' de book 
 bed been buried a hundred thousan' year, an' 
 he riz de pint, jes one pint, like I say, an' dat 
 wuz— dat wuz dat dee could n' hang de man, 
 an' de could n' even try him; dat wuz he pint. 
 An' talk about hung jury! He hang de jury, 
 
 66 
 
LITTLE MORDICAI AT THE BAR 
 
 an' lie hang de jedge, an' he hang de folks all 
 roun' him, dee could n' budge ; dee jest set dyah 
 right still, jes like nail druv in plank, like dee 
 wuz tricked. An' de jedge say, 'Las' cote, an' 
 de cote 'fo' dat, an' de cote 'fo' dat. "Well, dam 
 me ef 't ain' so !' An' dee all set right still an' 
 speechless, an' jes Little Mordicai stan'in' up, 
 smilin' an' curisome-lookin', an' de murderer 
 settin' by him, white an' trimblin'; an' Little 
 Mordicai he turned an' whisper a word, jes a 
 word to de man, an' he riz an' walk out o' 
 de Cote-house, right easy, like he wuz tip- 
 toein' not to wake 'em up, an' made a dart for 
 de cote-green gate, an' flung heself on de back 
 o' de black myah, an' headed her down de road 
 jes as de crowd in de Cote-house break fum 
 onder de spell o' Little Mordicai 's pint, an' 
 po'ed roarin' out o' de Cote-house arter him. 
 Dee 'd 'a ' limbered him ef dee could 'a ' got him ; 
 but shuh! dat wuz Little Mordicai 's myah wid 
 de blacksnake laigs. De devil hed done brecked 
 her; she riz up off de groun' an' flew jes like 
 a bud. She did n' meek a piece o' track, did n' 
 lef ' nuttin' but a cloud o' dust, an' nurr she nor 
 dat man ever been seed sence. 
 
 "An' Little Mordicai he come out de Cote- 
 house smilin', teckin' snuff, wid he arm roun' de 
 
 67 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 pussecutin' 'torney's neck, an' he went an' live' 
 on he th'ee plantations wid de deed o' intrust 
 an' de whereas an' de two hundred niggers an' 
 de hereditaments aforesaid. Dat 's what he 
 done! 
 
 "Grashcum! Don' talk to me 'bout your 
 Gashcum! He could n' 'a' open he mouf in de 
 Cote-house when me an' Little Mordicai wuz 
 at de bar!" 
 
 68 
 
CHARLIE WHITTLER'S 
 CHRISTMAS PARTY 
 
 I MET them just after I came to town to 
 practise law. They were engaged in what 
 they termed "journalism." Philologically the 
 term was appropriate, for they lived literally 
 from day to day. They could have secured posi- 
 tions which would have maintained them— at 
 least, Henry could, for he was a man of parts, 
 and has made his mark since in another pro- 
 fession — ^but what did they want with positions? 
 They were "journalists," and were bound to 
 be famous or die. I suppose that together they 
 made sixty dollars a month— some months— 
 and spent a hundred, or as much more as they 
 could. 
 
 "When we make ten dollars we live on it," 
 said Henry. 
 
 "When we make fifty dollars we give a ball," 
 said Charlie. 
 
 69 
 
PASTIME STOEIES 
 
 But they were rich— two of the richest men 
 I ever knew. Certainly Charlie was. He al- 
 ready owned one of the great newspapers, which 
 he was going to make eclipse the Thunderer. 
 He only had not got possession of it yet. They 
 lived in a brownstone palace; the little back 
 third-story room at Mrs. McDuffy's was only 
 temporary quarters which they occupied for 
 convenience. It was there that they invited me 
 the day before Christmas, "to open the festiv- 
 ities with eggnog and a little supper. ' ' 
 
 "Don't ring or Imock; just walk right up to 
 the third floor," said Charlie. "We have our 
 apartments in the third story for the light and 
 air. Nothing like pure air for pure reasoning, 
 and clear light for clearness of expression." 
 
 He went off talking about "the beauties of 
 nature" to be studied from his windows, by 
 which he must have meant the sky, and the 
 English sparrows which built in the eaves. He 
 may have detected me looking at his old patent- 
 leather pumps, once the pride of his coUege 
 days, now worn into holes ; his threadbare coat, 
 and his faded hat ; for he said suddenly, 
 
 "My dear boy, I will give you a hint in do- 
 mestic economy: always wear your shabbiest 
 clothes the day before a ball; they will make 
 your others look new next day." 
 
 70 
 
CHARLIE WHITTLER'S CHRISTMAS 
 
 Wlien I arrived, the following evening, I dis- 
 obeyed Charlie's injunction. I did not ring, for 
 a good reason. The bell had long since dis- 
 appeared: carried off, Charlie declared later, 
 by Henry in a wild attempt to rival Samson 
 one Saturday night when Mrs. McDuffy had 
 locked the door on him. 
 
 "I was trying to arouse Mrs. McDuffy," said 
 Henry. 
 
 ' ' You aroused her, ' ' said Charlie. " If it had 
 not been for my presence of mind, she would 
 have turned us out into the street." 
 
 "If it had not been for your presence of 
 body, I would have turned her out," said Henry. 
 
 Charlie shook his head mournfully. 
 
 "You have no idea what a time I have keep- 
 ing the peace," he said. "I have told Mrs. 
 McDuffy lies enough on his account to take a 
 thousand years of purgatory." 
 
 "And enough on your own account to take 
 two thousand," said Henry. 
 
 But I am anticipating. This was told me 
 after I got up to the apartments. When I ar- 
 rived at the house, not liking the look of the 
 dark passage and narrow stairs shown by the 
 little smoky lamp in the window, I knocked— 
 knocked not or.ce, but twenty times, without the 
 slightest result. The twenty-first time, how- 
 
 71 
 
PASTIME STOBIES 
 
 ever, was a thunderer. It created a stir some- 
 wliere below; for from the basement I beard 
 a voice which told that Mrs. McDuffy was 
 "aroused." 
 
 "An' who is that thryin' to break the door 
 down now?" she shouted as she climbed the 
 stairs. I prepared for the worst; but it was 
 worse even than I had expected. She was a 
 stout and grizzled Irishwoman, whose absent 
 eye was said by Charlie to have been lost in a 
 conflict with the lamented McDuffy, who had, 
 however, come off from the melee worse than 
 his spouse, as he had disappeared and had never 
 been heard from again, a fact which gave 
 Henry's designation of him as "the departed" 
 a peculiarly appropriate significance. 
 
 "An' is it breakin' the door down intoirly 
 ye 're af ther ? ' ' she asked as she advanced, war 
 in her voice and in her garments. She was evi- 
 dently just out of the kitchen, as I discovered 
 with more senses than that which noted the yel- 
 low cake-dough on her brawny arms. My civil 
 answer mollified her somewhat ; but on my ask- 
 ing if my friends lived there, she burst out 
 again: "Live here, is it? Yis, an' that they do, 
 an' Bridget McDuffy is the wan as knas it, too. 
 An' lives on the fat of the Ian', they do; an' 
 
 72 
 
CHARLIE WHITTLEE'S CHRISTMAS 
 
 gits it out of may, they do, too ; may a poor wid- 
 der, or as good as wan, an' not a tia-cint pace 
 o' their money has I sane for three months; 
 an' they pramisin' to pay me every wake, an' 
 a-drinkin' an' a-guzzlin' themselves up-stairs 
 as full as St. Patrick's well, an' borryin' all o' 
 me best glasses an' sphoons, an' niver the man- 
 ners to say wanst to may, 'Mrs. McDuffy, will 
 ye walk in an' wet ye' whistle?' " 
 
 This and much more, till I reached the third 
 floor, where I announced myself by falling up 
 three steps. I found Charlie in his shirt-sleeves, 
 and with the seat of his breeches rather out, 
 but with a shiny new beaver on the back of his 
 head, presiding over a large bowl of eggnog 
 made in the wash-basin, while Henry was pre- 
 paring something over a not very large fire. 
 One or two other fellows were already as- 
 sembled, and, in default of chairs, were lying 
 on the bed, and were being entertained by 
 reminiscences of Mrs. McDuffy, evidently called 
 forth by the sound of her voice below. 
 
 "So Cerberus caught you?" said Henry as I 
 entered. "By Jove! when I heard you tumble, 
 I thought she was flinging you down the steps. '^ 
 
 "Why, Henry!" said Charlie, reproachfully. 
 Then to us: "She really has a beautiful tem- 
 
 73 
 
PASTIME STOEIES 
 
 per. She is a little raffled this evening, o-wing 
 to the way Henry approached her on a small 
 domestic matter." He stirred in the whiskey. 
 
 "Approached her!" said Henry. "If you 
 had bought the things instead of buying that 
 beaver to put on your empty head, I should 
 not have had to go to her. What do you fel- 
 lows think of my giving him the money to get 
 up the ball, and his spending it all in a beaver 
 hat and silk handkerchiefs!" 
 
 Charlie protested that a beaver hat and silk 
 handkerchiefs were the first necessity for a 
 gentleman who was going to give a supper to 
 an Irish lord on Christmas Eve. "Besides, 
 did n't I get the eggs and whiskey?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes; but where 's the supper?" asked 
 Henry. 
 
 "I bet you this hat* against your best pair 
 of breeches I get it yet," said Charlie. 
 
 "Done," said Henry. "I wiU wear that hat 
 to church to-morrow." 
 
 "I told her we were going to have an Irish 
 lord to sup with us," said Charlie, "and I would 
 have got everything all right if Henry had not 
 spoilt it. Lord McCarthy, of Castle McCarthy, 
 County Kerry, Ireland— was n't that the name I 
 gave?" He addressed Henry. "Mrs. McDuffy 
 
 74 
 
CHAELIE WHITTLER'S CHEISTMAS 
 
 came from Couiity Kerry; but rather young. 
 Some years ago, I may observe." 
 
 "Well, you had better go and get some coal 
 from her; for this fire is going out, I may ob- 
 serve," said Henry, straightening up. 
 
 "Where are the slats'?" asked Charlie. 
 "Are n't there still four left?" 
 
 "Yes; but there are no more slats to spare. 
 The bed feels like a gridiron now." 
 
 "Better men than you have lain on a grid- 
 iron," said Charlie. "What a sybarite you 
 are ! ' ' He stirred in more whiskey. ' ' Why not 
 sleep on the floor? That is the natural place 
 to sleep, anyhow." 
 
 "No, I '11 be hanged if I do," said Henry. 
 
 "And I suppose we could not spare another 
 chair?" He gazed over at Henry doubtfully; 
 but Henry shook his head positively. 
 
 "Why, then you must go down-stairs and 
 get it," he said, cheerfully. 
 
 "Down-stairs! Where? We have n't any 
 coal down-stairs." 
 
 "We have not! Why, of course we have! 
 Do you suppose we are going to let an old Irish- 
 woman sleep with her coal-cellar literally bulg- 
 ing with coal whilst we have no fire?— enter- 
 taining a real live Irish lord too 1" 
 
 75 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 "Suppose we borrow some from Pestler," 
 suggested Henry. Pestler was the little apoth- 
 ecary next door. 
 
 But Charlie was shocked. "Borrow of a 
 demned petty tradesman, and the night before 
 Christmas, too!" he exclaimed. "Where is 
 your pride? Besides, I borrowed some from 
 him last week. Gro down and get some coal. ' ' 
 
 But Henry was obdurate. He told him to 
 go and get it himself ; which Charlie finally pro- 
 ceeded to do. 
 
 "What are you going to bring it up in?" 
 asked Henry. 
 
 "Why, this," said Charlie, stripping the pil- 
 low-case from the only pillow left with that 
 article on it. He disappeared down the stairs, 
 and a little later we heard a smash as of a door 
 breaking, and a minute afterwards we heard 
 him coming hastily back up the steps, evidently 
 with a burden on his back. Suddenly, there 
 was another sound: the voice of Mrs. McDuffy 
 broke on the air. 
 
 "An' where is he? the thievin', burglin' vil- 
 lain ! Let me get at him. I '11 fix him. Break- 
 in' down me house an' robbin' me under me 
 very eyes!" She came stamping up the stairs. 
 Charlie quickened his steps, but she was evi- 
 
 76 
 
CHARLIE WHITTLEE'S CHRISTMAS 
 
 dently gaining on him. Suddenly, there was the 
 most tremendous crash. The pillow-case had 
 parted in the middle, and the whole load rolled 
 down the steps, nearly carrying Mrs. McDuffy 
 with it. Charlie bounded into the room with 
 a single large lump in his hand, and with the 
 upper half of the slip, which he had saved. 
 
 "Don't lock the door, Henry; Mrs. McDuffy 
 will be up directly to call on us," he said, his 
 face glowing with excitement, as Henry sprang 
 to the door. Mrs. McDuffy was, indeed, already 
 there. The next instant she nearly knocked the 
 door from its hinges. She evidently believed it 
 locked. Charlie flung it wide open, and stood 
 full in it. 
 
 "Why, is that you, Mrs, McDuffy?" he asked, 
 in a tone of pleased surprise, holding out his 
 yet grimy hand. 
 
 "Yis, an' yis, an' yis, it is Mrs. McDuffy, an' 
 if ye don't kna' her, I mane to make ye kna' 
 her," panted the enraged landlady, her fists 
 clenched and her arms akimbo. She paused for 
 breath. It was Charlie's opportunity. 
 
 "Know you! Why, of course, I know you, 
 Mrs. McDuffy," said he, in the blandest of 
 tones. "I have got a drop of the Irish in me 
 meself " (which was true if he was talMng about 
 
 77 
 
PASTIME STOEIES 
 
 whiskey). "Me mitlier was Irish, ye kna' '* 
 (dropping into the brogue) . ' * Her father was a 
 Doherty, from County Kerry, an' I never for- 
 gets the pretty Irish face wanst I says it. I 
 was thinkin' of coomin' down to ask ye if ye 
 would not faiver us by coomin' up an' joinin' 
 us. Sure I was just sayin' to me friend here, 
 if ye want to say the prettiest Irishwoman this 
 side of the say, it 's down-stairs she is, says I, 
 an' maybe we kin git her to come up, says L 
 An' I '11 joust stale down, says I, an' break 
 into her coal-box, says I, an' fling a pace or two 
 down the steps, says I, an' that will fetch her 
 up, says I, to say what the divU is the mather 
 av it, says I, an' ye kin say how pretty she is 
 yourself, says I." 
 
 Mrs, McDuffy took down her arms, and told 
 him to "git away wid his Irish blarney— not 
 that wanst she had not had her looks as well 
 as the best of them before so much throuble 
 came upon her. " 
 
 "Throuble, is it? An' throuble indade you 
 have had, Mrs. McDuffy," said Charlie; "but 
 it has n't touched yer looks. Sure it 's yer own 
 darther folks takes you for any time. "Why, 
 me friend here was just sayin' to me: 'Who is 
 that likely Irish leddy that let me in the door 
 
 78 
 
CHABLIE WHITTLEE'S CHRISTMAS 
 
 down-stairs? An' is she a girl or is she mar- 
 ried?' says he. 'An' if she 's married, is she a 
 widow?' says he. An' I says to him: 'If she 
 was a widow, do ye thii\k she 'd be so long,' 
 says I, 'an' me in the house too?' says I. But 
 coom in. I 'd like to inthroduce ye to me friend 
 Lord McCarthy, av Castle McCarthy, Coimty 
 Kerry, Ireland. Ye knows all about the Mc- 
 Carthys, I knows, Mrs. McDuffy. You was a 
 Doherty; an' 'Toim was,' says my mither to 
 me wanst— 'toim was, Charlie, me boy, when 
 the Dohertys could muster five hundred shilla- 
 lahs in Kerry. ' ' ' 
 
 This was too much for Mrs. McDuffy. She 
 came in smiling and blushing; and an hour 
 later, at a table which she had spread with 
 her own hands, and loaded from her own 
 kitchen, her health was proposed by Henry, and 
 was drunk vociferously by all; and Charlie, 
 dressed in Henry's best breeches, responded in 
 the best Irish speech I ever heard. 
 
 79 
 
HOW RELIUS 
 BOSSED THE RANCH" 
 
 RELIUS and I -were friends in our bachelor 
 ' days. He had been in the army, and I 
 naturally looked up to him. He had an idea that 
 he was an austere man, and was fond of refer- 
 ring to his severity. He used to say, "I always 
 boss the ranch." He had been a brave soldier, 
 and I had no reason to doubt his courage on any 
 point. His was one of those natures whose 
 freshness is preserved by its own quality, and 
 though past middle life, he was a man about 
 town, a toast with every one, and had a reputa- 
 tion for coolness if not for anything more. He 
 used to foster the idea with me that he was 
 impudent to women. I never knew that it ren- 
 dered him unpopular with them. "They like it, 
 sir," he used to say. "All women are slaves, 
 and need a master." 
 This was his condition when we went to live 
 80 
 
HOW RELIUS "BOSSED THE EANCH" 
 
 in the second floor of Mrs, Tronville's little 
 house. Mrs. Trouville had been a friend of 
 his in Ms youth, when she was in good circum- 
 stances, before the war. She was now a sorrow- 
 ful little widow, slim, refined, and delicate, with 
 the remains of her beauty not yet faded, and 
 with a look in her face and a tone in her voice 
 which were pathetic. I know now that Eelius 
 went to live there because she was so poor, 
 though the reason he assigned to me for our 
 move was that Patsy, with whom he made the 
 arrangement, satisfied him that the rooms were 
 the best in town, and that we could not do so 
 well anywhere else. Patsy was Mrs. Trouville 's 
 maid, and, I believe, her cook also, though of 
 this I was never sure. She was small, thin, 
 elderly, ladylike, of a dark, walnut brown, and 
 as near a copy of Mrs. Trouville as she could 
 make herself. She moved with a tread as soft 
 as a black cat's, spoke in a tone as low as a 
 whisper, and wore an old black silk dress of 
 Mrs. Trouville 's that had been turned more 
 than once. In fact, she copied Mrs. Trouville 
 as faithfully as she served her. 
 
 I observed shortly after we moved in that 
 Patsy treated Eelius and me differently. Mrs. 
 Trouville treated us with entire impartiality, 
 
 81 
 
PASTIME STOEIES 
 
 being equally kind to both of us, and watchful 
 for our comfort; but Patsy's manner was not 
 the same to us. She brought Eelius hot water 
 in the morning, looked after his linen, put his 
 shirt-buttons into his dress-shirts, and placed 
 pillow-shams on his pillows; whilst I shaved 
 cold when I could not wait for Eelius 's can; 
 looked after my own shirts, and did without 
 piUow-shams. At table she would say to Ee- 
 lius, "More waffles, Mr. Eelius?" or, "Another 
 cup of coffee, Mr. Eelius?" in a tone hardly 
 above a whisper, but full of quiet interest. I 
 mentioned this to Eelius, but he scouted the 
 idea, and declared that I was of an envious 
 nature. If there was a difference, he said, it 
 was because he treated Patsy with more se- 
 verity than I did. "You must hold a woman 
 up to her duty, sir," he said. "You must boss 
 the ranch." 
 
 This sedulous care extended. Patsy came 
 to exercise a certain supervision over Eelius. 
 She saw that he had on his overshoes in snowy 
 weather, or she, at least, placed them out for 
 him with a constancy which could not be un- 
 noticed. She never said anything: she only 
 looked. Eelius gradually became careful how 
 he omitted acting on these unmistakable sug- 
 
 82 
 
HOW EELIUS "BOSSED THE EANCH" 
 
 gestions. She took to sitting up for him if she 
 knew he was out, just as she did for Mrs. Trou- 
 ville. Once or twice, on very inclement even- 
 ings, he actually, in view of Patsy's silent 
 presence, gave up the idea of going out. He 
 gradually took to dressing very quickly, and 
 slipping out very quietly, in a way that I could 
 not understand, till once I thought I heard him, 
 in answer to a question from Patsy in the hall, 
 tell her that he was not going out, and after- 
 wards found him dressing. I taxed him with it, 
 but he assured me that I was mistaken, which 
 I was willing to admit. At any rate, he slipped 
 out of the house hurriedly, whilst I went out at 
 my leisure ; indeed, more slowly than I wished, 
 because I could not find my pet shirt-studs, and 
 had to put up with a broken set. As I passed 
 Patsy on the steps, I told her I wanted her to 
 hunt for the buttons. She made no reply, as 
 usual. We came home together, Eelius and I, 
 after a very jolly evening, where Eelius had 
 been the life of the party ; and he, with his usual 
 considerateness, cautioned me against making 
 any noise, and tripped hastily up the stairs, giv- 
 ing a single glance down over the banisters into 
 the darkness below. 
 A day or two afterwards he asked me with 
 83 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 much concern what in the world I had said to 
 Patsy. I could remember nothing. He said 
 Mrs. Trouville had told him that I had said 
 something to Patsy which had deeply offended 
 her ; that Patsy had never before been so spoken 
 to, and that her honesty was above question. 
 I recalled the matter of the shirt-studs, and 
 said I never dreamed of accusing her of steal- 
 ing them, and that I would teU her so. He said 
 no ; that he thought he had better settle it, which 
 he would do with Mrs. Trouville, and that any- 
 how it was just as well to keep her up to her 
 duty. I let him do as he pleased. 
 
 A short time after this I came home one night 
 and found Eelius dressing for a ball. He was 
 nearly dressed, and was rummaging in a draw- 
 er, raking the things angrily backwards and 
 forwards, and using very strong language about 
 "that little fool nigger" who would not let 
 things stay where he put them. Finally he 
 asked me to lend him my stud-buttons. I com- 
 plied, and my generosity moved him to ask me 
 to tell "that fool nigger" after he was gone 
 that he wanted her to find his buttons, and to 
 "let them alone" thereafter. I promptly re- 
 fused, and asked him if he was afraid to teU 
 her himself. 
 
 84 
 
HOW EELIUS ''BOSSED THE EANCH" 
 
 "Afraid!" he said, witli contempt; he only- 
 thought that as Patsy was already down on me, 
 it might be better, if we were going to continue 
 to live there, that she should be kept in a good- 
 humor with at least one of us ; but as to being 
 "afraid," he would show me that he always 
 bossed his ranch. I heard Patsy let him out, 
 but he said nothing about the buttons. 
 
 The next morning I was dressing in my room 
 when I heard Relius talking. I looked in at 
 his door. He was curled up under the cover, 
 and his eyes were fast shut. He was talking, 
 I supposed, in his sleep. I listened. He was 
 saying: "Patsy, I have unfortunately mislaid 
 my stud-buttons. I wish you would hunt for 
 them." The tone was too placid to please him; 
 he began again, on a higher key; "Patsy, my 
 shirt-studs have got mislaid; I want you to 
 hunt for them. ' ' This did not satisfy him either, 
 and he began again, quite sternly: "Patsy, 
 what in the devil have you done with my shirt- 
 studs ? Get them for me, and hereafter let them 
 alo-" 
 
 Just then the door opened, and Patsy entered, 
 silent as a shadow. Eelius shut up like a clam. 
 Patsy moved about, opened the windows, lit the 
 fire, and fixed his water- I watched through the 
 
 85 
 
PASTIME STOEIES 
 
 crack of the door. Just as she was going out, 
 Eelius yawned, stretched, and opened his eyes 
 as if just waking up. 
 
 "Oh, Patsy," he said, in his softest ,and most 
 insinuating of tones, "if you should happen to 
 come across any shirt-buttons on the floor to- 
 day when you are sweeping, will you please put 
 them up on my bureau for me?" 
 
 "Yes sir," said Patsy, as she passed silently 
 out. 
 
 Waiting breathless, until she must be down 
 the stairs, Eelius shouted: "Aha! did you hear 
 that? Who says I am afraid of Patsy? Do 
 you see how I boss the ranch?" 
 
 When he learned that I had seen, he bought 
 two sets of buttons, and gave me one. 
 
 86 
 
ONE FROM FOUR 
 
 ONCE upon a time there was a lady who was 
 young, beautiful, accomplished, and very 
 rich. She was also very clever. But her most 
 striking characteristic was that she was every 
 atom a woman. She had three lovers, who had 
 been college cronies. She always spoke of them 
 as her "friends." There was a fourth gentle- 
 man whom she knew, but by no means so inti- 
 mately, who was a friend of the other three. 
 
 One of the three "friends" was tall, hand- 
 some, athletic; had languishing eyes, a long 
 mustache, and a fine figure; one was clever, 
 almost brilliant, and what some women call "in- 
 tellectual"; the third was rich, good-looking, 
 and "successful." 
 
 None of them had any drawback; the first 
 was clever enough; the second was very good- 
 looking, and, like the first, was comfortably 
 off; and the third was neither a fool nor un- 
 read. All three were considered good catches 
 
 87 
 
PASTIME STOEIES 
 
 by mammas who had marriageable daughters, 
 and were popular. 
 
 The fourth gentleman was a silent man, who 
 kept his own counsel, went his own gait, and 
 was thought to be independent in his fortune 
 as he was known to be in his views. 
 
 After a season in which the young lady had 
 been greatly and generally admired, each of 
 the three friends, having observed the growing 
 attachment of the other two, discovered that 
 he was in love with her ; each teased the others 
 about her to sound them; each denied the 
 charge, hated the others warmly for the time, 
 and each decided to get ahead of his friends. 
 All three made the fourth gentleman their con- 
 fidant. 
 
 The society beau was the first to declare him- 
 selJP. He had had the best opportunities; had 
 danced with the lady all winter ; had the finest 
 figure; had been the best-dressed man in the 
 set; had driven a good team; and had talked 
 easily of Browning's poems and of Kipling's 
 stories. The occasion which presented itself 
 to him was auspicious. It was a spring after- 
 noon in the grounds of a beautiful country 
 place, where an entertainment was being given 
 by a mutual friend. The spot was secluded; 
 the air was balmy; the flowers were dazzling; 
 ■88 
 
ONE FEOM FOUR 
 
 the birds sang. He was arrayed faultlessly, 
 and he and the lady were alone. He naturally 
 began to talk love to her, and was about to 
 reach the point where his voice should grow 
 deep and his look intense. He had told her of 
 her beauty; she had listened with a pleased 
 smile and a changing color. He felt that he al- 
 most had her. They were at the end of a long 
 flower-bed blue with pansies, which just matched 
 her eyes. He stooped and picked one. As he 
 rose she said, "A race to the other end— you 
 that side, I this, ' ' and dashed off. She ran like a 
 doe. He had a record, and could easily have 
 beaten her, but as they approached the other 
 end, he saw that her path divided there. One 
 fork ran off from him, the other turned into his. 
 It flashed on him in a second : he would let her 
 choose and she would run into his arms. She 
 chose ; and when they returned to the house he 
 had her answer. He resolved to say nothing 
 of it. 
 
 Just afterwards the second gentleman found 
 his opportunity. It was after the intellectual 
 entertainment. He had easily outshone all 
 others. She had applauded him warmly, and 
 had afterwards congratulated him. He took 
 her into the library. Old books were about 
 them ; beautiful pictures were on the walls ; the 
 
 89 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 light fell tempered to the softest glow. He 
 recognized his opportunity. He felt his intel- 
 lect strong within him. He approached her 
 skilfully : he hinted at the delights of the union 
 of two minds perfectly attuned; he illustrated 
 aptly by a reference to the harmony just heard 
 and to numerous instances in literature. He 
 talked of the charm of culture; spoke confi- 
 dently of his preferment; suggested, without 
 appearing to do so, his fortunate advantages 
 over others, and referred, with some contempt, 
 to commonplace men like the fourth gentleman. 
 He praised her intellect. Her eye kindled ; her 
 form trembled; he felt his influence over her. 
 He repeated a poem he had written her. It was 
 good enough to have been published in a maga- 
 zine. Her face glowed. He glanced up, caught 
 her eye, and held his hand ready to receive hers. 
 She lifted her hand, looked into his eyes, and he 
 had his answer. They strolled back, and he 
 determined to keep it all a secret. Passing, 
 they happened upon the third gentleman, who 
 spoke to her • and No. 2 a moment later left her 
 with him. 
 
 He led the way into a little apartment just 
 by. It seemed to have escaped the notice of 
 the guests. It was sumptuously fitted up for 
 a tete-a-tete. Wealth and taste had combined 
 
 90 
 
ONE FROM FOUR 
 
 to inake it perfect. She exclaimed with pleas- 
 ure at its beauty. After handing her a chair 
 as luxurious as art could make it, the gentle- 
 man began. He told of his home ; of his enter- 
 prise; of his success; of his wealth. It had 
 doubled year after year. It was hers. He laid 
 before her his plans. They were large enough 
 to be bewildering. She would be the richest 
 woman in her acquaintance. She could be an 
 angel with it. With mantling cheek and glow- 
 ing face she bent towards him. "It is yours," 
 he said; "all yours. You will be worth—" 
 He paused, then stated the sum. She leaned 
 towards him with an earnest gesture, her voice 
 trembling as she spoke. He had his answer. 
 
 As they passed out through the corridor 
 they met the fourth gentleman. He did not 
 speak. He stood aside to let them pass. He 
 glanced at her lover, but if he looked at her, 
 she did not see it. He was evidently leaving. 
 
 "Are you going?" she said, casually, as she 
 passed. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Is it late?" 
 
 "I do not know." 
 
 She paused, and her lover politely passed on. 
 
 "Why are you going, then?" 
 
 "Because I wish to go." 
 91 
 
PASTIME STOEIES 
 
 "Will you take me to my chaperon?" 
 
 "With pleasure." 
 
 "With pleasure?" 
 
 "With great pleasure." 
 
 "You are not very civil." 
 
 "I had not intended to be." 
 
 "Do you think—" 
 
 "Sometimes. This evening, for instance. 
 There is your chaperon." 
 
 "I did not think you—" 
 
 "So I supposed. You made a mistake. 
 Grood-bye." 
 
 "Good-bye?" 
 
 "Yes. Good-bye." 
 
 The wedding-cards of the young lady were 
 issued within a few weeks, and ten days later 
 she was married. In the press accounts of the 
 wedding the bride was spoken of as "beauti- 
 ful, accomplished, clever, good, and wise." And 
 the groom was described as "handsome, stylish, 
 intellectual, and wealthy." 
 
 Some people said they always thought she 
 would have married differently ; some said they 
 always knew she would marry just as she did. 
 (These were mostly women.) She herself said 
 that she made up her mind suddenly. 
 
 92 
 
THE da:nger of being 
 
 TOO THOROUGH 
 
 WE had been discussing thoroughness. 
 ' ' Now I tell you there 's such a thing as 
 being too thorough," said the Judge. "AVhen 
 I first went on the bench, I determined to plumb 
 the law every time. One of the first cases that 
 came up before me was a suit, in one of my 
 upper counties, for divorce, brought by a wife 
 against her husband. The pleadings were all 
 right, and the proof was clear— so clear, in- 
 deed, that although the defendant contested 
 strongly, I became satisfied that there was col- 
 lusion, and dismissed the suit. It created a 
 sensation. I reached home feeling very virtu- 
 ous. I was sitting on the veranda next day 
 reading, when a man, evidently a countryman, 
 rode up on a thin mule, and, hitching it to the 
 fence, came in at the gate. I recognized the 
 defendant in the divorce suit. He was dressed 
 
 93 
 
PASTIME STOEIES 
 
 in his 'Sunday best,' capped by an old beaver, 
 and was carrying a pair of saddle-bags over Ms 
 arm. I invited him to take a seat, and he at 
 once began, calling me 'your Honor.' 
 
 " 'Your Honor,' he said, 'I came to see you 
 about that divorce suit.' 
 
 " 'Well, what about it?' I asked, sharply, 
 getting ready to pitch into him; but he was so 
 meek I held up. He just shook his head. 
 
 " 'Your Honor, that was the cruelest decree 
 your Honor ever made. You did n't know 
 about it, or your Honor would n't 'a' done it. 
 Why, your Honor, all that fuss I made was 
 jist put on. I wanted it jist as bad as my wife. 
 Why, we had arranged everything, and we was 
 both ready to git married ag'in directly. We 
 was agoin* to have a double wedding. She was 
 agoin' to marry a sto 'keeper what makes three 
 hundred dollars a year, and I was agoin' to 
 marry a lady as has considerable propity. She 
 is got a hundred and twenty-three acres o' Ian', 
 and two cows, and a hoss. She broke off one 
 engagement to marry me, and the man is a-suin' 
 her for breach, and now she is agoin' to sue me 
 for breach too, and I don't know what to do.' 
 And neither did I," said the Judge: "I could 
 hear my wife giggling inside." 
 
 94 
 
DANGER OF BEING TOO THOEOUGH 
 
 "I once made a mistake myself by trying to 
 be very thorougli," said tbe Governor, shutting 
 his teeth down on his Habana, and closing his 
 eyes retrospectively. 
 
 ' ' When was it ? " we asked. 
 
 "Not so long ago," said the Governor. 
 "Does any of you think I look like a felon?" 
 he asked. The replies were not unanimous. 
 "Well, I was arrested as one within the last 
 two years," he said. "When I came into the 
 governorship I thought I would be very thor- 
 ough and one of the first things I investigated 
 was the convict-system. The newspapers said 
 I had made promises that I would give honest 
 labor a show. Perhaps I had. So one day I 
 slipped off by myself and went up to the mines 
 to see how the thing was being worked when no 
 one was expected. The charge had been made 
 that the lessees ran things very differently when 
 an investigating committee was expected from 
 the way they usually ran them, and that ordi- 
 narily the treatment was very harsh. I in- 
 tended to go down into the mines, and I put on 
 an old suit of clothes in which I used to hunt oc- 
 casionally. They were torn and muddy, and I 
 congratulated myself that no one would know 
 me. 
 
 95 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 "In the pockets were all sorts of odds and 
 ends, such as string, wire, a knife, nippers, etc. 
 I got the conductor to let me off the train at 
 a crossing, and walked a mile or two up to the 
 mines. As I got near them, thinking I would 
 look over the ground before going out into the 
 cleared space, I turned out of the path and 
 struck up the hill through the brush. I took 
 a survey, and saw a small group of men around 
 a fire, one or two of them convicts, one or two, 
 perhaps, visitors, and one a guard with a double- 
 barrelled shot-gun across his arm. I was think- 
 ing of going down, and took a step or two, 
 when some one behind me said, 'Hold on; come 
 back here.' I turned, and there, thirty steps 
 from me was a guard, an ugly old fellow, long 
 and bony, standing with his shot-gun across his 
 arm. ' "What do you want ? ' I asked. 
 
 " 'I wants you,' he said, 'and I wants you 
 quick. Come here. ' 
 
 "I went over, moved rather by curiosity. 
 'Well, what do you want with me?' 
 
 " 'I 'm goin' to take you to the warden,' he 
 said. 
 
 " 'But I won't go,' I said. 'I don't want to 
 go to the warden, and I won't go.' 
 
 " 'You won't? "Well, we '11 see if you won't. 
 96 
 
DANGEE OF BEING TOO THOEOUGH 
 
 If you don't, you 'U git a load o' buckshot in 
 you,' he said, dropping his gun, and pulling 
 back the hammer slowly. 
 
 "1 saw that he had me, and I determined to 
 explain. 'I am a visitor up here,' I said. 
 
 " 'Yes, no doubt; that 's why I wants you. 
 I wants you to finish out your visit. We can't 
 bar to part with you. Walk along thar.' 
 
 " 'But- 'I began. 
 
 " 'But nothing,' said he; 'you don't want no 
 "but" but this,' and he gave me a crack with 
 the butt of his gun which nearly knocked me 
 over. 'March on.' 
 
 " 'Look here; I 'm the Governor of the 
 State,' said I, trying to look imposing. 
 
 "He looked at me quizzically. 'You 're a 
 pretty-looking Gov 'nor, ain't you?' said he. 
 'Well, Gov 'nor, I 'm glad to see you; I 'm 
 gwine to help you finish out yo' term.' Walk 
 along thar and shet up yer jaw. I 'm gittin' 
 kinder tired on it, and I 've a good mind to let 
 you have a load of buckshot anyways, jest to 
 teach you manners. ' 
 
 "Well, that old fellow marched me down, 
 and made a convict go through my clothes. 
 The things in my pockets were proof positive 
 of my guilt, of course, and you never heard 
 
 97 
 
PASTIME STOEIES 
 
 such a lambasting as he gave me in your life, 
 all the time keeping a running fire at me, ask- 
 ing what I was 'in for,' etc. The circumstan- 
 tial evidence was that I was a burglar, but 
 they all agreed I looked like a pickpocket, and 
 one man even suggested that I had picked a 
 burglar's pocket. That was the worst of all. 
 Then he marched me off to the warden." 
 
 "What became of the guard?" asked one. 
 
 "He 's my manager on my farm," said the 
 Grovernor, "and he still makes me march 
 straight." 
 
 98 
 
UNCLE JACK'S VIEWS 01^ 
 GEOGRAPHY 
 
 WHEN the war ended and the negroes were 
 free there was a great enthusiasm for 
 educating them. One of the first schools started 
 was built on the edge of his place by Colonel 
 Trigg, who got a little "school-marm," as they 
 were termed, to come down and teach it. It was 
 soon filled by the colored population, the pupils 
 ranging from five to seventy-five years, all 
 studying "a-b ab, e-b eb." Even "Uncle Jack 
 Scott," the colonel's head man, one of the "old- 
 timers," went in, and was transferred from the 
 stable to the school-room. The colonel fumed 
 about it; but it was laid to the door of Uncle 
 Jack's new wife, ' ' Mrs. Scott, ' ' who was a ' ' citi- 
 fied" lady, and had many airs. Uncle Jack was 
 an acquisition to the school, and was given a 
 prominent position by the stove, the little 
 
 99 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 school-mistress paying him especial attention, 
 putting him through his "a-b ab's and e-b eb's" 
 with much pride, and holding him up to her 
 yoimger scholars as a shining example. A few 
 days later Uncle Jack appeared, armed with a 
 long hickory switch, which he presented to the 
 teacher with a remark about "lazy niggers 
 needin' hick'ry 's much 's bread," and loud 
 enough to be heard by the whole school. Miss 
 Barr (called "Bear" by Mrs. Scott) took the 
 hickory with visible emotion, made a speech to 
 the school upon Uncle Jack's wisdom and ap- 
 preciation of educational advantages, and Uncle 
 Jack, with much grandeur, went to his task. 
 The lesson that day was "b-a ba, b-e be." Un- 
 happily Uncle Jack had learned ' ' a-b ab, e-b eb ' ' 
 too well, and b and a were never anything but 
 ab, and b and e never anything but eb, no mat- 
 ter in what order they came. Miss Barr was at 
 her wits ' ends. She had established her rules, 
 and she stood by them. Had she believed it her 
 duty, she would have gone to perdition without 
 a tremor. One of her most invariable rules was 
 to thrash for missing lessons. "When Uncle Jack 
 missed his lesson two days hand-running, she 
 was in despair; but discipline was to be pre- 
 served, and after hours of painful suspense 
 
 100 
 
UNCLE JACK»S VIEWS ON GEOaRAPHY 
 
 when he still failed, she ordered him to stand up. 
 He obeyed. She glanced around, seeking some 
 alternative; fifty pairs of eyes were fastened 
 upon her. She reached under her desk, and 
 slowly drew out a hickory, the very one Unde 
 Jack had brought her. Fifty pairs of eyes 
 showed their whites. 
 
 "Take off your coat." 
 
 There was a gasp throughout the room. 
 
 Uncle Jack paused a moment as if stupefied, 
 then laid down his book and took off his coat. 
 
 "Take off your waistcoat." 
 
 He obeyed. 
 
 "Ton ain't g^wine meek me teck off my shirt, 
 is you?" he asked, tremulously. 
 
 ' ' No. Clasp your hands. ' ' 
 
 He did so, and she raised the hickory and 
 brought it down "swauo" across his back. 
 Again there was a gasp throughout the room, 
 which came every time a lick was given. Un- 
 cle Jack was the only one who uttered no sound. 
 He stood like a statue. When she finished, he 
 put on his coat and sat down. School was dis- 
 missed. 
 
 Next day Uncle Jack was at his old place at 
 the stable. 
 
 "Why, I thought you were at school?" said 
 101 
 
PASTIME STOEIES 
 
 Ms master, who had heard something of the 
 trouble. 
 
 "Nor, suh; I got 'nough edication," he said. 
 He stuck his curry-comb into his brush. There 
 was a pause; then: "I tell you de fac', Marse 
 Conn. I is too ole to be whupt by a ooman, 
 an' a po' white ooman at dat." 
 
 It was several years after this that Uncle 
 Jack was working one day at a water-gate in 
 a field, when the children came down the road 
 from school. They stopped and peeped stolidly 
 through the fence. Among them was ' ' Jawnie, ' ' 
 Mrs. Scott's hopeful, who had proved an apter 
 scholar than his father. His bag was on his 
 arm. He climbed over the fence, and from the 
 bank gazed down apathetically at his father in 
 the water below. Presently he said : 
 
 "Or, poppa, de teacher say you mus' git me 
 a geography." 
 
 Uncle Jack's jaw set. He dug on as if he 
 had not heard. Then he repeated to himself: 
 "Geog'aphy — geog'aphy. Marse Conn, whut 
 is dat? "Whut is a geog'aphy?" he asked, look- 
 ing up at his employer, who happened to be by. 
 
 "A geography?" said the Colonel. "Why, a 
 geography is a — ^is a book — a book that tells 
 about places, and where they are, and so on."' 
 
 102 
 
UNCLE JACK'S VIEWS ON GEOGRAPHY 
 
 He gave a comprehensive sweep with his arm 
 around the horizon. 
 
 "Yas, suh; now I onderstands," said Jack, 
 going back to digging. 
 
 Presently he stopped, and looked up at " Jaw- 
 nie." "I say, boy, you tell de teacher I say 
 you better stick to you' a-b ab's an' you' e-b 
 eb's, an' let geog'aphy alone. You knows de 
 way now to de spring an' de wood-pile an' de 
 mill, an' when you gits a little bigger I 's gwine 
 to show you de way to de hoe-handle an' de 
 cawn-furrer, an' dat 's all de geog'aphy a nig- 
 ger 's got to know." 
 
 He dug on. 
 
 103 
 
SHE HAD ON 
 HER GERANIUM LEAVES 
 
 WHEN Buck left college it was with the 
 reputation of being the wildest, cleverest, 
 and most worthless man ia our class, that is, 
 reckless. 
 
 "There is no security in the world like the 
 reputation of being worthless," he used to say. 
 "With it a man can talk love to any girl he 
 pleases, and the girl likes him, too." 
 
 The next thing I heard of him he was prac- 
 tising law at the county-seat of his native 
 county, and it was said that he had one side or 
 the other of every case, and was madly in love 
 with the pretty daughter of the rector of the 
 parish. The next thing I heard was a rumor 
 that he had "held up some man" on the street 
 one night and had been forced to run away from 
 the State. I did not believe the robbery story; 
 but there was a mystery about it. 
 
 104 
 
SHE HAD ON HEE GERANIUM LEAVES 
 
 It was several years after this that I hap- 
 pened to be in a new town in the Southwest. 
 I registered at the Plaza, the new plank hotel, 
 and had eaten my supper and was about to 
 retire, when there was a heavy tread outside 
 of my room. The door opened without the cere- 
 mony of a knock, and a tall, fine-looking man, 
 with a black slouched hat, full camp rig, and a 
 cigar in his mouth, walked in. It was Buck. 
 I knew him in a second by his smile. He had 
 not changed a whit. He was the chief engineer 
 of the new railroad. I asked him how he came 
 to leave his old home. 
 
 His eyes twinkled. "Got religion, and could 
 not stand the law. ' ' 
 
 "I heard you could not stand the law," I 
 said; "but I did not hear it was religion. I 
 heard it was holding a man up— robbery." 
 
 "It was," he said— "of his girl. You know 
 I used to be a deuce of a fool about women; 
 am one now, for that matter, about one, at least ; 
 would not give a cent for a man who was not. 
 Well, I used to be awfully in love with a little 
 girl— the preacher's daughter. Pretty as a 
 puppy! She liked me, too; but I used to kind 
 of knock liquor those days, and her old folks 
 were down on me. That was all right; and at 
 
 105 
 
PASTIME STOEIES 
 
 last she began to try to save me. I had her 
 then. Nothing to help a man with a woman like 
 having her try to save him. "Well, I was get- 
 ting along all right ; but she had a fellow coming 
 to see her, an old fellow from town with a big 
 pile. I had seen him once or twice before, and 
 I took it into my head that she was liking him. 
 I got to cutting up about it, and the first thing 
 I knew she had sent me fljdng. I got on a spree, 
 and stayed there till I heard one evening that 
 he had come to see her. I sobered up, and went 
 around to the hotel to find out about him. I 
 found that he had taken the private parlor, and 
 had sent a note around by Link to my girl. Link 
 was my nigger. I owned him body and soul; 
 he would have committed murder for me. So 
 I got hold of him and cross-questioned him. 
 The snow was on the ground, and I found 
 Frasher had written to ask Miss Lizzie to go 
 sleigh-riding with him. 
 
 " 'Did she look pleased?' I asked Link. 
 
 " 'Yas, suh, dat she did; an' I hear' her call- 
 ing Mincie to meek up good fire in de parlor 
 toreckly. ' 
 
 "I swore. I think I did. I believe I used to 
 swear in those days." 
 
 "I believe you did. Go on," I said. 
 106 
 
SHE HAD ON HER GERANIUM LEAVES 
 
 "Well, Link noticed it and consoled me. 
 
 " 'He gwine teck her sleigh-ridin' by moon- 
 light. He up-stairs gitting ready now.' 
 
 "I gave Link a quarter and went to supper. 
 Link went up to answer the old fellow's call, 
 and to tell him a lot of lies about me. When 
 he came down to supper Ben Brice told him a 
 lot more. For one thing, he told him that I 
 had gone crazy from love of Miss Lizzie, and 
 had tried to commit two wanton murders out 
 of pure jealousy, and had been acquitted on 
 the ground of insanity. I went to the doctor's 
 whilst he was at supper and asked for Miss 
 Lizzie. She sent down word that she had a 
 headache and requested to be excused. I sent 
 her word back that I wanted to take her sleigh- 
 riding. She replied that she could not go. Both 
 lamps were lighted in the parlor, and the fire 
 was blazing. I went back up to the hotel and 
 borrowed Ben Brice 's old horse-pistol, got a 
 bottle of whiskey, and went down to the doctor's 
 again to mount guard at the gate. I had just 
 reached the gate when the sleigh drove up with 
 the old fellow in it under a big buffalo robe, 
 and Link by his side to hold the horses. He 
 stepped out and started to go into the gate. 
 
 "'Halt!' says L 
 
 107 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 "He did so, and asked what I wanted. I told 
 him that he could not go in there, that Miss 
 Lizzie was sick. 
 
 " 'Why, I have an engagement to go sleigh- 
 riding with her, ' he said. 
 
 "I told him that I knew that; but I had later 
 intelligence, and she was too unwell to go out 
 that evening. I had it from her own lips, and as 
 her friend I could not allow her to be disturbed. 
 This set him back a good deal ; but he began to 
 bluster. He 'would go in there,' and he 'wished 
 to know who I was,' etc. I just pulled out my 
 old pistol and shoved it under his nose. You 
 ought to have seen him ! A keg of powder could 
 not have set it off, but it looked like a cannon. 
 Then I began to lecture him on the sin of perse- 
 cuting a poor girl like he was doing— an old 
 thing with a dyed mustache like him. You never 
 heard such a lecture in your life. I preached 
 like the doctor. Presently he said he would go 
 back to the hotel, he was catching cold. I told 
 him no, I could not let him go back just yet, 
 but that I had some whiskey. He said he never 
 touched whiskey. I told him that neither did I, 
 but I had brought this along to keep him from 
 catching cold, and he must drink it. He turned 
 to Link and asked him in an undertone if he 
 thought I really would shoot him. 
 
 108 
 
SHE HAD ON HER GERANIUM LEAVES 
 
 " 'Yas, suh,' said Link. 'Marse Buck 'ain't 
 got a bit better sense 'n to sboot you. He 'ain't 
 got no sense about shooting folks, noway.' 
 
 "Well, sir, you never saw sucb a drink as 
 he took. I don't believe lie bad had a drop in 
 a year. I thought he was going to the bot- 
 tom of the bottle. The next thing I did, I 
 chucked him into the sleigh, and jumped in after 
 him. Link jumped out as I grabbed the reins, 
 and the horses went off with a bolt. They were 
 the finest sleigh. team you ever saw, and I let 
 'm go. You never heard a man pray so in all 
 your life. When we got back it was about half- 
 past eleven, and he was as mellow as an apple. 
 I put him to bed, and went down to the doctor's. 
 The lights were still burning in the parlor, and 
 I walked in. Miss Lizzie was sitting before the 
 fire with her little red shoes on the fender and 
 her furs on a chair, pretending to read. I told 
 her she had just as well take off those geranium 
 leaves and put out those lights; that her old 
 beau with his dyed mustache was in bed drunk, 
 and his team had had all the moonlight driving 
 they could stand that night. Whoop! but she 
 was mad. She never spoke to me till I went 
 back there; but she never spoke to him again 
 at all. He went home next day, and died soon 
 afterwards. Ben Brice said it was pneumonia ; 
 
 109 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 but I don't think it was. Lizzie and I both 
 agree it was old age." 
 
 Just then the door opened, and a black negro 
 with a jolly face poked his head in, and said, 
 with his teeth shining, "Marse Buck, Miss Liz- 
 zie say you can bring de gent 'man up now; she 
 done put on her geramium leabes." 
 
 UO 
 
A STORY OF CHARLES 
 HARRIS 
 
 THEEE are few of us who ever knew Charlie 
 Harris who will not remember him best 
 as "Chad," the faithful, fat, and delightful 
 body-servant, friend, and guardian of Colonel 
 Carter of Cartersville. His soft dialect, his 
 mushy accent, his natural gestures, his limp, 
 long since forgotten, but put on again when his 
 master recalled the heroic incident in which 
 he received the buUet in his leg, all combined 
 to make him the only real "nigger" on the 
 stage. But to know Charlie Harris truly one 
 had to know him off the stage. 
 
 One night at the rooms of some friends high 
 up on Fifth Avenue we got him to talking about 
 old times and his life in Louisiana. "Boys, if 
 you think I am a good 'nigger,' you ought to 
 see me as a villain. You do not know what a vil- 
 lanous villain I am. It was the first character 
 
 111 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 I ever played," he said. Then he told us. He 
 had not been playing long when his company 
 went to New Orleans. His old home was near 
 there, and one day his old mammy and her hus- 
 band, "Uncle Tony," called on him. They 
 had come down from the country to see him. 
 He invited them to come and see him play that 
 night, and sent them front seats in the colored 
 people's gallery. "They thought I owned the 
 theatre," he said, "and expected to see me look- 
 ing like a king at the Mardi gras. Well, in the 
 piece that night I was the villain. I was not 
 made up much, and consequently I could be 
 easily recognized. I cut my eye up towards the 
 gallery as I entered, and saw the old folks in 
 their places. Uncle Tony knew me at once, for 
 he undertook to point me out to mammy. I 
 could hear him describing me. 'Dat 's him. 
 Nor, not dat one; dat one— dat fat one over 
 dyah.' Presently mammy saw me and made a 
 gesture to me. Well, I was the meanest rascal 
 in that play you ever saw— as cold as a lizard 
 and as calculating as a rat. I cheated every 
 one, and everybody hated me. For a time I 
 succeeded, but after a period of prosperity I 
 was at last found out, and everybody jumped 
 on me. I was caught stealing, and was abused 
 
 112 
 
A STOEY OF CHAELES HAEEIS 
 
 like a pickpocket without a word to say for my- 
 self. In the middle of it I heard an exclamation 
 from the gallery, and caught a glimpse of Uncle 
 Tony and mammy. They were both leaning far 
 over the rail in great excitement. Just then I 
 was seized and banged around the room by the 
 hero. I was too busy to notice more than that 
 both mammy and Uncle Tony were on their feet 
 gesticulating; but just as I was being hustled 
 to the door to be kicked out, I heard a scream, 
 'Yo'-all let my chile alone!' and a deeper voice 
 shouting, 'Knock him down, Marse Charlie, 
 knock him down! Wait; I 'm comin'.' Then 
 the door closed on me, and a storm of applause 
 went through the house. 
 
 ""When the play was over, some one told me 
 that two old negroes were waiting outside to 
 see me. I had them shown in. I saw that some- 
 thing was the matter, and tried to be jocular, 
 but it was too serious with them. Mammy was 
 whimpering and, with arms folded tightly, was 
 rocking from side to side, and Uncle Tony was 
 as solemn as a tombstone. 'Marse Charlie, you 
 did n't steal dem things sho 'nough, did youl* 
 asked Uncle Tony, whilst mammy rocked and 
 moaned. 'No,' I exclaimed, 'of course not.' 'I 
 tole you so ; I tole you so, ' said mammy. 'I tole 
 
 113 
 
PASTIME STOEIES 
 
 dem other niggers so up dem stairs dyah. 
 'T was dat other man heself— I tole 'em so.' I 
 tried to explain, for I saw my danger. I had 
 played too naturally. It never had occurred 
 to me that they would think me a thief. I 
 was not entirely successful, however. 'Marse 
 Charlie, your pa never would 'a' stood no sich 
 thing as dat,' said Uncle Tony. 'He never 'd 
 'a' let no man lay a han' 'pon him in dis wull!' 
 ' Why, that was in the play, ' I explained. * Don 't 
 you see?' 'Mighty curiousome sort of play,' 
 said Uncle Tony, solemnly. 'Have a man knock 
 you down and stomp all over you like dat, and 
 then dar's n' even raise your han' 'bout it. I 
 bound your pa would 'a ' knocked his head offn 
 any man that laid his han' 'pon him.' 'Well, 
 he 'bleeged to git a livin',' said mammy, apolo- 
 getically. 'Mighty hard way to git a livin',' 
 said Uncle Tony, suspiciously. 'I glad old 
 marster ain' know nuttin' 'bout it, dat 's all.' 
 They went out. They are both dead now," 
 said Charlie, softly. 
 And now Charlie is dead, too. 
 
 114 
 
HE WOULD HAVE GOTTEN 
 A LAWYER 
 
 I WAS attending the term of Henrico court 
 one spring when I had been at the bar only 
 a year or two, and was in the court-room when 
 the criminal docket was called. The clerk read 
 out the case of ' ' The Commonwealth vs. Mannie 
 Johnson: an indictment for a felony," and my 
 attention was arrested by hearing the sheriff 
 say the prisoner had no counsel. If there is one 
 thing which excites the sympathy of a young 
 lawyer, it is a prisoner who has no counsel. 
 There was a little colloquy between the judge, 
 the commonwealth's attorney, and the sheriff, 
 and the judge finally said, "Well, bring him in, 
 anyhow; I will see about it." 
 
 The long-legged, gangling sheriff retired, 
 and in a little while re-entered with his most 
 professional solemnity about him, preceded by 
 a stumpy, little, rusty, bow-legged negro, about 
 
 115 
 
PASTIME STOEIES 
 
 thirty-five years of age and about five feet in 
 height, who looked, perhaps, as unlikely to be 
 able to steal a steer as anybody in the world. 
 
 The sheriff roughly pointed out a chair to 
 him, and he sat down in it without even taking 
 a look at the jury lounging in their box. 
 
 "Is that the man?" asked the judge. "Did 
 that man steal a steer?" 
 
 The sheriff smiled the smile of one familiar 
 with the classes who steal steers ; the common- 
 wealth's attorney smiled with the smile of one 
 who makes ten dollars out of each indictment 
 for a felony which he is able to draw and get 
 a grand jury to find; even the jury smiled; I 
 know I smiled. The prisoner, with his old 
 ragged hat in his hand, was the only one who 
 did not smile. He glanced up for a second at 
 the judge on the bench, then dropped his eyes 
 to a level, and sat as motionless as before. 
 
 "Have you any counsel?" asked the judge. 
 The prisoner looked at him, but said nothing; 
 and the judge, appreciating the fact that he 
 perhaps did not understand the question, asked 
 him, "Have you any lawyer?" 
 
 "Nor, suh," he said, twisting a little in his 
 seat, and settling down as before. 
 
 The judge turned to me and asked me to de- 
 116 
 
HE WOULD HAVE GOTTEN A LAWYER 
 
 fend him, adding, civilly, "if my other clients 
 could wait a little while." I informed him that 
 I thought my other clients could wait; that I 
 always made my clients wait my own pleasure 
 (they had then been waiting some months) ; and 
 going around, took a seat approximately near 
 to my new client's side. 
 
 "Have you any witnesses?" I asked. 
 
 He did not look at me, or, if he did, it was 
 only a glance; he simply said, "Nor, suh." 
 
 "Can you get any if I get a continuance — 
 if I get the case put off till next month?" 
 
 "I don' know; — nor, suh," he said, scarcely 
 taking the trouble to speak. 
 
 ' ' Well, ' ' I said, rising, ' ' I think we are ready ; 
 we might as well go into trial." 
 
 The jury was waked up and sworn. The clerk 
 made the prisoner stand up, and read an in- 
 dictment as long as himself, and the common- 
 wealth's attorney called his witnesses. There 
 were five of them. 
 
 The first was a farmer, who testified that he 
 owned the steer in question, and that one eve- 
 ning he saw him in his pasture when he at- 
 tended to his stock, and the following morning 
 when he went out he missed him. He thought 
 at first that he might have fallen into a ditch, 
 
 117 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 but not finding him, lie went around the fence, 
 and finally found his tracks going out of the 
 gate and down the road towards Eichmond, fol- 
 lowed by the tracks of a man who was evidently 
 driving him. He got his horse and followed iu 
 hot haste, but the steer had evidently been 
 stolen early in the night, and he did not overtake 
 him until he got to town; there, after some 
 hunting, he found him in the possession of a 
 butcher, who claimed to have bought him from 
 the negro now at the bar. 
 
 The butcher himself was sworn, and testified 
 that early one morning the prisoner drove the 
 steer up to his gate, claiming it to be his, and 
 stating that he wanted some money very badly, 
 in consideration of which he, the butcher, gave 
 him fifteen dollars for the steer. 
 
 The other witnesses were two men who hap- 
 pened to be present, and who identified the 
 prisoner as the person who sold the butcher the 
 steer, and the policeman who made the arrest, 
 and who testified to something which the com- 
 monwealth's attorney called "a confession." 
 
 I asked for several instructions, which the 
 judge, very unjustly, as I thought at that time, 
 refused positively to give. I am bound to say 
 now that my views upon this matter have be- 
 
 118 
 
HE WOULD HAVE GOTTEN A LAWYER 
 
 come modified by time. I cross-examined the 
 witnesses with much severity. Then the com- 
 monwealth's attorney made a few remarks, 
 stating that it was not necessary to make a 
 speech, as the evidence was all one way. And 
 then I entered upon my argument. 
 
 I made what I deemed a very able and elo- 
 quent defence. I charged all five witnesses 
 with perjury, and proved it to my complete 
 satisfaction. The jury, I am bound to say, were 
 flattering in their attention. Only a few of them 
 dozed. When I closed, the commonwealth's at- 
 torney rose, and commented upon my argument 
 in a way which came very near bringing on a 
 personal collision in court between him and my- 
 self. 
 
 Then the jury retired, and returned so 
 promptly that I felt a glow of enthusiasm that 
 they should have hesitated so short a time, even 
 after my able defence. The clerk took the in- 
 dictment and read the verdict : 
 
 "We, the jury, find the prisoner guilty, and 
 sentence him to the penitentiary for ten years." 
 
 I was scarcely able to believe my own senses. 
 I arose immediately, and, with some heat, moved 
 to set the verdict aside on the ground that it 
 was contrary to the evidence. This the judge 
 
 119 
 
PASTIME STOEIES 
 
 refused to do, and I excepted. My client never 
 blinked; lie simply sat immobile as ever; but I 
 was outraged. I turned to him and said, 
 
 "Well, I did the best I could for you." 
 
 He grunted, but did not look at me, and I felt 
 that he was overcome with emotion at what I 
 had done for him, and said : 
 
 ' ' The only thing for us to do now is to get an 
 appeal. I will take it up to the higher court, 
 and fight it through for you. But it will take 
 some money, because there are costs, and of 
 course you ought to pay me a fee if you can. 
 Have you got any money at all?" 
 
 Without looking at me, he said, "Nor, sur; 
 ef I had, I 'd 'a' got me a lawyer!" 
 
 I have become satisfied that he ought to have 
 gone to the penitentiary, but the sheriff in- 
 formed me afterwards that he got out of jail 
 that night. 
 
 120 
 
HOW ANDREW CARRIED 
 THE PRECINCT 
 
 A POLITICAL STOEY "WITHOUT POLITICS 
 
 A NDEEW and Pettigrew were about equally 
 JTjl well known in the county. They had 
 both belonged to the same estate as boys, 
 but their lives had been as different as their 
 persons. Pettigrew was a slender, small, 
 keen-looking, bright mulatto, who had been 
 house-servant and had picked up a good deal 
 of information, including both reading and 
 writing, of which he was as vain as he was 
 of his slim figure and bushy hair. Andrew 
 was a big, black, raw-boned creature, as dull 
 as he was ugly, and as ungainly as he was taU. 
 He had been cow-boy till he grew too big, 
 and then he became a steer-driver. It was to 
 this position, coupled with his easy good-na- 
 ture, that was due the intimacy between him 
 and his young master, out of which possibly 
 grew the following incident. 
 
 121 
 
PASTIME 'STOEIES 
 
 His "Marse Johnnie" had always declared 
 that Andrew had "more sense than people 
 gave him credit for," which did not neces- 
 sarily imply great wisdom. Between Andrew 
 and Pettigrew there had always existed a 
 strong enmity, and the small mulatto fre- 
 quently exercised his ingenuity to tease and 
 worry "that ugly, black, big-moufed nigger." 
 Only once did he carry it too far. Andrew got 
 him to write a valentine for him to his sweet- 
 heart, a young house-girl in the family, and 
 when Andrew delivered it, it turned out to be a 
 ridiculous piece of nonsense, which brought 
 down upon her black lover her lasting anger. 
 Pettigrew thought it a good joke, and boasted 
 of it, but Andrew suddenly struck out. He 
 would perhaps in his fury have broken Petti- 
 grew 's neck, had not his young master come up 
 at the moment and saved him. Pettigrew 
 never forgot it. 
 
 After the war Pettigrew turned out to be a 
 great politician, and, with his accomplishments, 
 became quite a leader in his county. Andrew 
 was one of the very few negroes who stood by 
 their masters. He declared that he was "a 
 gent 'man," and was going "to vote wid de 
 gent 'mens," and he did. It subjected him to 
 
 122 
 
ANDEEW CAEEIED THE PEECINCT 
 
 no little obloquy and trouble, and Ms temper 
 and health, both suffered. 
 
 The county was a very close one, and for 
 several reasons was an important one in the 
 district, and Pettigrew, as "boss" in it, be- 
 came a man of prominence. His precinct was 
 talked of even in other counties. Only Andrew, 
 of all his color who voted there, withstood him. 
 The latter possessed a certain influence due to 
 a singular circumstance. He claimed to see 
 spirits, and to have the gift of prophecy. His 
 habit of roaming about at night, his fearless- 
 ness of graveyards, and a certain unusual 
 knowledge of the weather, coupled with his 
 singular appearance and his moody look, gave 
 him credence, and he was not a little feared 
 in the county. This saved him from trouble 
 which he would otherwise have had, and he 
 remained only ostracized by those who, had 
 they not been afraid of him, would have taken 
 more active steps. 
 
 Finally Pettigrew, as a reward for his ser- 
 vices, was given a position as warden in a ne- 
 gro insane asylum. He had not been there 
 long when it began to be rumored in the old 
 county that Andrew was going crazy. Petti- 
 grew himself, who happened to be at home, 
 
 123 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 was present at the examination, and testified to 
 a number of facts which went far to establish 
 the charge of insanity. Wandering about at 
 night, familiarity with spirits, a claim to the 
 gift of prophecy, all were proved. Andrew, 
 when asked if he wished to say anything, said 
 he was a trapper— that a graveyard was a good 
 place for 'possums and old hares; that he 
 sometimes saw spirits, it was true, but he never 
 troubled them and they never bothered him; 
 and that Pettigrew was a liar. The negro 
 magistrates, with "Brother Johnson" at their 
 head, decided that Andrew was crazy, and sent 
 him on. 
 
 There was an election coming on, and Petti- 
 grew himself could not take Andrew to the 
 asylum; but he told him he would be there 
 soon, and he would attend to him; and he kept 
 his word. Andrew was reported so often for 
 refractoriness under Pettigrew 's wardenship, 
 and appeared to be getting constantly so much 
 worse, that finally he was removed to another 
 ward, and, to the surprise of every one, was 
 soon pronounced convalescent. In due time, 
 indeed, he was declared well enough to go home 
 for a while, and was released on trial. The re- 
 port soon came back that he was entirely well. 
 
 124 
 
ANDREW CARRIED THE PRECINCT 
 
 Some months after tMs, however, the next 
 election came on. It was deemed very close, 
 and every precinct in the State counted. An- 
 drew's "young Marse Johnnie" was a candi- 
 date in his county, and it was known that An- 
 drew was working for him and was having 
 much effect, notwithstanding the threats 
 against him. Pettigrew was put up to run 
 against him. 
 
 Pettigrew, some little time before the elec- 
 tion, went home. In a little while came the 
 announcement that it might be better to send 
 and bring Andrew back to the asylum. Petti- 
 grew said he would take him. Two night before 
 the election a large meeting was held in a col- 
 ored church not far from the voting-place, and 
 it was rumored that Andrew was not crazy at 
 all, and that Pettigrew had persuaded him "to 
 vote right." Pettigrew appeared, and made a 
 telling speech, announcing Andrew's conver- 
 sion, and that he would appear the following 
 evening and make a full recantation of his er- 
 rors "befo' de meetin'." 
 
 The following evening, just at dusk, the hour 
 appointed, Pettigrew repaired to the rendez- 
 vous, at the junction of two paths, and awaited 
 his convert. He had in his hands a book and 
 
 125 
 
PASTIME STOEIES 
 
 writing materials to make out a list of the 
 voters. He was just becoming impatient when 
 he heard his man coming down the path through 
 the pines. "I jest gwine to give you up," he 
 said, threateningly. 
 
 "Well, heah me," said Andrew. 
 
 "Yaas, heah you!" said Pettigrew, severely. 
 *'Ef you had n't been heah, you know what I 'd 
 done wid you?" 
 
 "Yaas, I know," said Andrew. 
 
 "You done 'member the times I done laid 
 hick'ry upon yo' back, down yonder, ain't 
 you?" 
 
 "Yaas, I 'member," said Andrew, meekly. 
 
 "Well, now, come 'long, an' don' you open 
 yo' mouf 'cep' as I tells you; if you does, 
 I '11—" He made an expressive gesture, as if 
 he held a whip in his hand, and turned down 
 the path through the pines, Andrew walking 
 meekly behind him. They were in a little bot- 
 tom, Pettigrew still walking before, when a 
 noosed rope was suddenly thrown over his head 
 from behind and jerked tight, and he was slung 
 down on his back, with Andrew's little black 
 eyes close to his face. 
 
 ' ' Ef you say a word, I '11 kill you right heah, ' ' 
 he said, and his big hands on Pettigrew 's throat 
 
 126 
 
ANDEEW CARRIED THE PRECINCT 
 
 proved his intention. In a minute more the 
 mulatto's arms were tightly pinioned, and then 
 the lunatic lifted him to his feet and said, 
 "Walk!" 
 
 The mulatto came near fainting with fear, 
 but he walked till he got to a small stream, his 
 first fright somewhat relieved, as they were 
 going out towards the road. 
 
 "Wade!" said Andrew; and he waded in. 
 Half-way across, Andrew turned him at right 
 angles and made him wade down-stream, bow- 
 ing low under the bushes which lined its banks. 
 Deeper and deeper into the pines they pene- 
 trated, Pettigrew growing more and more 
 alarmed ; but the faintest hesitation to obey his 
 captor 's command brought the big hands to his 
 throat with a dangerous clutch. Half a mile 
 down the stream Andrew ordered him to turn 
 up a smaller branch, and a hundred or two 
 yards up he lifted him to his shoulder as easily 
 as he would have done a child, and walking out, 
 pushed upward into the pines. Presently they 
 came to a heavier thicket, and stooping low 
 and making his way through the thorn bushes, 
 Andrew set him down in a little cleared spot. 
 Pettigrew 's eyes nearly popped from their 
 sockets; for by the dim light of the stars he 
 
 127 
 
PASTIME STOEIES 
 
 saw the dull white of a number of old tomb- 
 stones and recognized the fact that he was in 
 an old graveyard which was known through- 
 out the country as being the worst spot for 
 "harnts" in that section. 
 
 Andrew set him against a small tree, around 
 which he wrapped the end of the rope that 
 bound him, and then took his seat on a fallen 
 log just before Pettigrew, and looked at him 
 silently. Presently he said, quietly, "You kin 
 talk now." But he was mistaken; the mulat- 
 to's mouth was dry and his tongue parched. 
 
 "Why 'n't you talk?" asked Andrew, calmly. 
 
 Pettigrew 's teeth chattered. 
 
 "You cold?" said Andrew. "I '11 warm 
 you." He arose and began to gather sticks. 
 Pettigrew thought he might slip away, and 
 glanced around. His captor appeared to di- 
 vine his intention, for he suddenly came back 
 to him, and, rearranging the rope differently, 
 made fast the end of it to the tree behind him. 
 
 "Don't you try it," he said, threateningly. 
 
 The divination of his thought struck the 
 mulatto with more terror than all that had gone 
 before. When the fire was kindled Andrew 
 drew up his log and sat down again opposite 
 his captive. Presently he said : 
 
 128 
 
ANDEEW CAEEIED THE PEECINCT 
 
 "Le' me heah what you warn me to tell de 
 meetin'." 
 
 "I don' warn you to tell *em nuttin','' said 
 Pettigrew. 
 
 "Yaas, you does," said Andrew; " 'cause 
 you said so. Did n't you say so?" 
 
 "Yaas, but I don' warn it now." A gleam 
 struck him. "Andrew," lie said, "ef you '11 
 le' me off I won't trouble you no more ; I won't 
 take you back to the 'sylum. I '11 let you 'lone ; 
 I swah I will." 
 
 Andrew looked at him in contempt. 
 "Humph!" he grunted. "Le' me heah you 
 speak." 
 
 Pettigrew remained sUent. 
 
 "Say yo' pra'rs, den," muttered Andrew. 
 He leaned over, picked up a burning chunk 
 from the fire, and walked around towards his 
 prisoner. 
 
 Pettigrew 's eyes popped. "I '11 speak," he 
 said. 
 
 "All right; begin." Andrew sat down again 
 and stuck the chunk back into the embers. 
 
 Pettigrew began, stammering enough, and 
 said his prepared speech, "Muh fellow-citi- 
 zens," and all. He made no mention of Andrew. 
 
 "Tell 'em 'bout me," said Andrew. 
 129 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 "What mus' I tell 'em?" 
 
 "Tell 'em what a nice, fine gent 'man I is." 
 
 His captive uttered a few sentences suffi- 
 ciently laudatory. 
 
 "Dat 's enuff," said Andrew, presently. 
 "Now tell 'em how you gwine treat me down 
 yonder at de 'sylum." 
 
 Pettigrew protested, but the chunk of fire 
 came out again. 
 
 "How many licks you hit me down dar?" 
 asked Andrew. 
 
 "I— I— I don' know; I mighty sorry I hit 
 you any." 
 
 "I is too," said Andrew. "I don' know how 
 many dey wuz, but I know 't wuz mo 'n a hun- 
 derd; I know dat; an' I gwine hit you a clean 
 hunderd to even 'em up." 
 
 He arose, and turning, cut a bunch of stout 
 switches. Suddenly a thought seemed to strike 
 him. "You see dem switches?" he said, point- 
 ing at them where they lay on the ground. 
 "Well, I warn you to write me a letter, an' ef 
 you '11 write it right, mebby I '11 let you off; 
 mehhy I will. You know you writes mighty 
 good, 'cause you 's got a heap o' eddication. 
 You wuz brought up in de house, an' I war n't 
 nuttin' but a steer-driver. You 's a yaUer man, 
 
 130 
 
ANDEEW CAEEIED THE PEECINCT 
 
 an' I ain't nuttin' but a ugly, big-mouf, black, 
 nigger. I done see you write, you know, 'cause 
 you writ me a valentine once, you 'member. 
 You eyabs pen an' ink 'roun' wid you, jes like 
 mub ole marster used to do wben be went to 
 court. You got 'em in yo' pocket now, an' now 
 I warn you to write." 
 
 Pettigrew by tbis time was ready to promise 
 anything. ' ' I will, ' ' be said. ' ' Wbat you warn 
 me to write? Wbo mus' I write to?" 
 
 "Well," said Andrew, pensively, "I warn 
 you to write to de meetin'." 
 
 Pettigrew 's eyes brigbtened; be saw escape 
 in it. 
 
 Andrew saw it too. "I warn you to write it 
 migbty good," be said. "Ef you don't, I 's 
 gwine to kill you rigbt beab." 
 
 A little of Pettigrew 's courage came back in 
 tbe presence of Andrew's mUdness, and be said, 
 "Ef you wuz to kill me dey 'd bang you.'' 
 
 "Dey don't bang 'stracted folks," said An- 
 drew. "I done larnt dat at de 'sylum, an' you 
 know you 's de one dat toP 'em I wuz 
 'stracted." He leaned down over bim and 
 peered into bis face. 
 
 "I '11 write," said Pettigrew, brokenly. 
 
 Andrew got out tbe ink, pen, and paper, and 
 131 
 
PASTIME STOEIES 
 
 placed the book on Pettigrew's knee. "I 's 
 gwine cyah it to muli little Johnnie fust. He 
 kin read writin' mighty good; jes' ez good ez 
 you kin," he added. "An ef dey 's anything 
 wrong, er ef he cyar n't read it, I 's gwine to 
 let you starve to death right heah." 
 
 Pettigrew protested. "What you warn me 
 to write?" he asked, feebly. 
 
 "Well," said Andrew, meditatively, "I warn 
 you to write 'em what a nice, white, colored 
 gent 'man I is, jes' like you done said to me 
 heah, an' dat I ain't no mo' 'stracted den you 
 is ; an' I warn you to tell 'em dat you done had 
 to go right back to de 'sylum, an' dat you done 
 git de word fum Wash 'n 'ton dat dey 's all to 
 vote to-morrow fer muh young marse John- 
 nie, an' dat ef dey don't de word 'U come fum 
 Wash 'n 'ton 'bout it. Kin you 'member dat?" 
 
 Pettigrew remained so long immersed in 
 thought that Andrew said, suddenly rising: 
 
 "Nem mine; I don' b'lieve I warn dat any- 
 ways ; I is a 'stracted nigger, an' I ruther burn 
 you a little anyways." And he turned to the 
 fire and pulled out a chunk again. 
 
 Pettigrew protested that he would write, and 
 after a little his keeper replaced the chunk, and 
 loosening his right arm, gave him his pen and 
 
 132 
 
ANDREW CARRIED THE PRECINCT 
 
 book. He squatted by him, and held the ink- 
 stand in one hand and the blazing knot in the 
 other as a torch. 
 
 "Begin by tellin' 'em what a nice gent 'man 
 I is," he said, following with his eye the slow 
 tracing of the pen on the paper. Pettigrew 
 wrote carefully, 
 
 "Now read it," said Andrew. 
 
 He read it, and it appeared to satisfy him. 
 
 "Dat 's it," he said, approvingly. "Now tell 
 'em how you 've got to go right back to de 'sy- 
 lum. Now read it. Am harh!" he said, nod- 
 ding with satisfaction as it was read. "Now 
 tell 'em how de word done come fum Wash'n'- 
 ton, an' dey mus' vote fer muh young marster, 
 an' do ev'ything jes' like I say." It was 
 written. 
 
 "Now sign yo' name to it," he said, "an* 
 'dress it to de meetin', to Brer Johnson; 
 'cause I ain't no great han' at foldin'," he 
 apologized. "But don' seal it," he said, with a 
 sudden change of manner. "I gwine git muh 
 little Johnnie to read it; he can seal it; an' ef 
 dee 's a word wrong in it," he said, leaning 
 down and looking at it keenly, "I gwine to lef ' 
 you heah to starve to death. You 'member 
 'bout dat valentine?" 
 
 133 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 The explanation of his prisoner appeared to 
 satisfy him, and he took the letter and started 
 away. 
 
 "You ain' gwine to lef ' me heah in dis place 
 by myself, is you?" asked the captive, glancing 
 around fearfully. 
 
 "Yaas; you '11 have plenty of company," 
 said Andrew, grimly. "Evil sperrits all aroun' 
 heah, thick as dem bushy hyahs on yo' head; 
 I sees 'em heah any time; two on 'em over 
 yonder now, a-settin' upon dat tombstone griri- 
 nin' at you." He half turned, faced the tomb- 
 stone, and taking off his hat, bowed politely. 
 "Grood-evenin', marster," he said. "Hope 
 you 's well dis evenin'. Dey aia' gwine hu't 
 you till I come back," he added, reassuringly, 
 to Pettigrew, "ef you keep right quiet; ef you 
 don', dey '11 roas' you right whar you settin'. 
 I gwine to leab de fire heah fer 'em. Jes 
 keep yo' eye on him good, marster, tell I come 
 back," he said, with another bow to the tomb- 
 stone. He examined the rope carefully, and 
 turning, disappeared with his letter ia his hat. 
 
 It was ten o'clock when he walked into the 
 meeting at the church. At first, there was 
 much excitement with some threats against 
 him, but his coolness held them at bay. He 
 
 134 
 
ANDEEW CAREIED THE PEECINCT 
 
 walked up to the desk of the clerk, and with a 
 sudden instinctive power of command, ordered 
 him to call the meeting to order. It was done, 
 and he produced his letter. It created con- 
 sternation ; but the writing was undoubted, and 
 Andrew's story was too straightforward and 
 earnest to be questioned. His sudden power 
 of command, or something, placed the meeting 
 under his control, and the leaders became his 
 lieutenants. 
 
 The next day the precinct, under the lead of 
 "Brer Johnson," to the astonishment of every 
 one, and of no one more than himself, went 
 solidly for Andrew's "Marse Johnnie," and he 
 was elected. 
 
 It was claimed afterwards that this was a 
 trick of certain politicians ; but it is due to Pet- 
 tigrew to say that he never united in the 
 charge. He moved away from the county 
 shortly afterwards, and he always declared 
 that, whatever others might say, he knew that 
 Andrew was "a 'stracted nigger." 
 
 135 
 
"RASMUS" 
 
 UNCLE PETEE knew "Easmus" as well 
 as Easmus knew him. That is saying a 
 good deal, for Peter had worn out more whip- 
 staffs over Easmus 's head than he could count. 
 Indeed, this gives a very inadequate idea of 
 the number of whipstaffs he had so broken, be- 
 cause, as he himself said, he "wa' n't no gre't 
 hand at countiu','' and when he was intrusted 
 with money for the firm, which not infrequently 
 happened, he used to say, on his return, as he 
 spread it out on the table: "I reckon, Marse 
 Henry, you had better count dat over. I 'spec' 
 it is all dyah, 'cause I hold my hand out to him 
 right study after he done count once, and looked 
 mighty wise until he counted it over agin and 
 said, 'Dat 's right,' and den I come 'long; but I 
 reckon you better count it over." The fact 
 was that Uncle Peter had been "trying" Eas- 
 mus, and Easmus had been trying Uncle Peter, 
 ever since the day when "the old mule" (the 
 
 inn 
 
"EASMUS" 
 
 mule that the firm had when Uncle Peter first 
 came down from the coimtry and demanded 
 work of his "young master," his Marse 
 Henry,) dropped dead in the shafts trying to 
 back the dray up to the sidewalk. Uncle Peter 
 had truly mourned for his mule. He allowed 
 no one else to bury him, and he always talked 
 of him with reminiscent affection, as if he had 
 been a beloved member of his family ; and when 
 the firm took him down next day to look at a 
 young mule in the pens near the stock-yards, 
 he would not consent to the purchase of one 
 until he had "tried" it. This was at least six 
 years before the time herein referred to; but 
 though the mule had been paid for within forty- 
 eight hours, Uncle Peter never would admit 
 that he was doing anything but "tryin' " her. 
 This he told Easmus herself at least a dozen 
 times a day, in every conceivable tone between 
 that of the most inviolable confidence and that 
 of the direst menace. Occasionally he even 
 told the firm so when his threats and blows 
 floated in at the door of the warehouse and 
 brought some one out to see what the trouble 
 was, and to expostulate with him on his treat- 
 ment of Easmus. One day he actually marched 
 solemnly into the office, and, hat in his hand, 
 
 137 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 lodged a formal complaint against Easmus, de- 
 claring that he had "done try her," and found 
 she would not do. 
 
 "Why, what 's the matter, Uncle Peter?" 
 asked his employer and former master. "Does 
 n't she pull well?" 
 
 ' ' Oh yes, suh, she pull enough. I 'ain't got no 
 quoil wid Easmus 'bout dat. She pull well as 
 any mule I ever see, 'cep' de ole mule— I never 
 see a mule pull like him — ^but she is de meanes' 
 mule in de wuU. She always pull de wrong 
 way, and she won't back a step to save yo' life: 
 she jes like a 'ooman. Ef you want her to go 
 one way, she want to go turr torectly. Ef you 
 want her to back, she want to go forrard; ef 
 you want her to go forrard, she won't move till 
 she done back over de house. I 's done broke 
 more whipstaffs over her head den I could cut 
 on de ole place." 
 
 The old man was mollified Tvith the statement 
 that he had better go back and "try her a little 
 longer;" and he went, muttering that he would 
 "try her jest a little longer," and then if she 
 did n't suit he would send her back "whar she 
 come from." 
 
 "Uncle Peter," called his employer as he 
 went out, "why do you call her Easmus?" 
 
 138 
 
"RASMUS" 
 
 He turned back. ' ' I calls her Easmus, Ma;rse 
 Henry, 'cause Easmus is a mule-name, and I 
 gwine knock her head off too ef she don't 
 mind." He went out. 
 
 Nothing more was heard of the matter be- 
 yond Uncle Peter's customary threats coming 
 in from the street. He and Easmus got along 
 in the same old friendly way, he ruining whip- 
 staffs over Easmus 's head, and Easmus ruining 
 his temper, until one day a new member of the 
 Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Ani- 
 mals happened to come along just as Uncle Pe- 
 ter banged his whipstaff over Easmus in the 
 same old affectionate way. The next morning 
 the old man was fined ten dollars in the police 
 court, which his employers paid and deducted 
 from his wages. A short time after that his 
 employer, coming down the street, observed the 
 dray standing at right angles to the sidewalk at 
 some little distance from the curbstone, and 
 Uncle Peter standing with his skid in his hand 
 immediately in front of Easmus, making violent 
 feints of beating her over the head, but never 
 really touching her. He thought his failure to 
 strike her was due to Easmus 's dodging. As 
 he drew near, however, he heard Uncle Peter 
 talking. With the skid uplifted in both hands 
 
 139 
 
PASTIME STOEIES 
 
 as if ready to strike, he was saying: "Oli yes, 
 you black Sattan, you ! I know you ! You done 
 cost me ten dollars once, and you jest tryin' to 
 git me agin. I knows you. You done had me 
 down dere in de police cote 'bout hittin' you 
 over your black bead, and git ten dollars right 
 out of my pocket, and you jest tryin' to make 
 me hit you agin. But you ain't gwine do it, I 
 tell you. You knows dem Cruel S'ciety Ani- 
 mals is lookin' 'round here, and you jest want 
 me to pay you anurr ten dollars agin. I 'd like 
 to bust your black brains out, but I would n't 
 tetch you to save your life. Back, fool! Don't 
 you hear me?" He brought the skid down 
 terrifically, as if he would smash the mule's 
 head in, but stopped just short of touching her. 
 
 His employer, amused at his ire, said, "Un- 
 cle Peter, I reckon we had better sell that mule 
 and get another one that will back." 
 
 The old fellow 's countenance fell. * ' Sell her ? 
 Sell Rasmus? Nor, suh. Marse Henry, dat 's 
 de best mule in dis town. She got de debbel in 
 her, dat 's all. You lef her to me. I '11 make 
 her back. I '11 breck her." 
 
 Just then Rasmus, as if she understood the 
 whole situation, quietly backed up against the 
 curbing, and calmly drooping her head, let her 
 
 140 
 
tf 
 
"EASMUS" 
 
 ears fall forward, and peacefully shut lier 
 eyes. 
 
 Peter went around and replaced the skid, 
 and as his master went into the door he heard 
 him saying to Rasmus : "Yes, you black Sattan, 
 you better had back. You heah what he says 1 
 I 's de only one done save you. Nem mind; 
 next time he want to sell you I 'm gwine to let 
 you go. He 'd sell you long ago ef I 'd let him. 
 I jest gwine to try you a little longer. I boun' 
 den you will find somebody dat '11 make you 
 back, and den you '11 know how good I wuz to 
 you." 
 
 141 
 
HER SYMPATHETIC 
 EDITOR 
 
 THE editor sat in his sanctum (the name 
 for all places where that particular species 
 of animal sits, and which is so called because it is 
 sacred to every soul who can scribble a line ex- 
 cept the editor himself). The implements of his 
 craft lay all about him — scissors, paste-pot, 
 litter, waste-basket, and all. A pile of letters 
 was before him, interspersed with MSS. in that 
 intricacy of arrangement which only editors un- 
 derstand, and which to the ordinary mortal 
 would be the superlative of disorder. 
 
 His associate sat at a side desk glancing over 
 MSS., and placing them in piles for future 
 examination, further consideration, or return, 
 the second pile being the smallest, and the last 
 much the largest. Odes to Spring, Summer, 
 Autumn, and Winter, to the Snow, the Frost, 
 to Eain, Hail, and Sunshine, had been tossed on 
 
 142 
 
HEE SYMPATHETIC EDITOR 
 
 the return pile with perfect impartiality ; papers 
 on George Washington, on the Tree-frog, on 
 the Punic Wars, the Tariff, Napoleon Bona- 
 parte, and Noah's Ark, had experienced the 
 same commendable exemption from prejudice. 
 
 Finally the associate editor said, "Well, here 
 is a letter." He read a few sentences, and 
 passed the letter across to his chief. "Did you 
 read it?" 
 
 "No. It 's ten pages, and I have only one 
 lifetime—" exclaimed the other. 
 
 "I knew it," said the associate, with a vir- 
 tuous air, interrupting the further protest. "But 
 it 's a woman, and she says that she is pining 
 for intellectual companionship. ' ' 
 
 "For the intellectual companionship of a 
 young magazine editor," cut in the editor, in his 
 turn, casting his eyes down the closely written 
 and crossed pages to find the name. "Where 
 the mischief is it? Here, find it if you can." 
 He tossed the letter back to his associate. "I '11 
 wager that she is a tall and vinegary dame who 
 lets her husband eat sour bread and her children 
 wear undarned stockings, while she writes 
 poems on 'The Eternal Adolescence of the In- 
 finite.' By-the-way, where is the poem?" 
 
 "I bet she is not; she is a young, fresh, enthu- 
 143 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 siastic girl with large blue eyes and a rose-leaf 
 skin, and she teaches school and supports a 
 widowed mother and two little sisters, and sends 
 her young brother to college, and he bullies her, 
 and she writes poems of Lilacs and the Sunset," 
 said her champion, rakiug over the pile of 
 "Further consideration" papers. "What 's 
 the name?" he asked, 
 
 " 'J. L, Speritt,' as weU as I can make it 
 out," said the senior. 
 
 "But where is the poem?" said his associate. 
 
 "Is n't this it?" asked the editor, looking into 
 the waste-basket and picking up a good-sized 
 MS. rolled together as tightly as paper can be 
 rolled. The younger man took it. 
 
 "Yes, this does look like the same hand. It 
 must have fallen into the basket." 
 
 "It is written on both sides, and does not ap- 
 pear to have any postage enclosed for its return. 
 Perhaps that was the reason it was thrown 
 there." 
 
 "Perhaps," said the associate. "You might 
 at least have taken the trouble to read it, for 
 the poor young thing will expect an answer any- 
 how. I would n't be as hard-hearted and un- 
 sympathetic as you for anything; and besides, 
 I have no doubt the poem is at least up to the 
 average." 
 
 144 
 
HEE SYMPATHETIC EDITOR 
 
 "I do not deny that. Let 's see. Eead a little 
 of it if you can. What is it called ? ' ' 
 
 The champion began: " 'Ode to—' What is 
 this?" 
 
 "Sour Bread?" suggested his friend. 
 
 "Not at all. 'To— to'— " 
 
 "The Lilac at Sunset?" 
 
 "No. 'To-My Affinity.'" 
 
 "Infinity— the Adolescence of Infinity. I 
 told you that was it. " 
 
 "No; it 's 'Affinity.' " 
 
 "Well, that supports the sour-bread theory, 
 anyhow. GrO ahead." 
 
 The associate persevered : 
 
 " ' Oh, thou who dwellest from me far, 
 
 Through all the lonely, languorous hours 
 Thou art to me a shining star 
 'Mid amaranthine bowers. ' ' ' 
 
 A shade passed over the reader's face as his 
 senior cut his eye around at him, and he fur- 
 tively felt to see how many stanzas there were. 
 
 "How many pages are there? What do you 
 think we ought to pay for that?" 
 
 "Well, it is not very— But she 's young," 
 said the associate. He let the paper go, and it 
 sprang together like a coiled wire. 
 
 145 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 "It strikes me as quite 'very,' " said tlie 
 editor; "but you are the poet's friend, and you 
 can do as you like." 
 
 "Well," said the younger, after a pause, "I 
 am sincerely sorry for the poor soul, and I '11 
 take it. We need not publish it. ' ' 
 
 "All right," said the editor; "but it would 
 be a great deal better to write frankly and teU 
 her the thing 's rot, and that she 'd better dam 
 her children's stockings and see that the bread 
 is sweet." 
 
 He went back to his work, and the associate 
 editor returned to his, writing among his first 
 letters one to the authoress of the "Ode to My 
 Affinity. " In it he enclosed a check— not a very 
 large one— and said as little as he could about 
 the poem, which he pitched into a drawer. 
 
 The incident was forgotten until the next 
 month, when, a few days after the appearance 
 of the magazine, the mail brought a letter of 
 nineteen pages from the authoress, expressing 
 her disappointment that her Ode had not ap- 
 peared, and asserting in vigorous language her 
 opinion of its superiority to several poems 
 which had been published. The associate editor 
 read this letter first, and slipped it covertly out 
 of the way, with a side look at his senior. He 
 
 146 
 
HER SYMPATHETIC EDITOR 
 
 started to write a reply, stating that magazines 
 "were made up several months before their 
 issue; but he thought better of it, and took no 
 notice of the letter. During the next month and 
 the next came other letters, each longer and 
 more upbraiding than its predecessor, the last 
 openly declaring the writer's opinion that only 
 malicious jealousy or a more dishonest motive 
 could instigate such treatment, which she char- 
 acterized as "outrageous" and "ungentle- 
 manly." 
 
 The associate had just read this letter, and 
 was scratching his head over it, when the editor, 
 looking up, caught his woe-begone expression. 
 
 "What is it— a raking from the poetess?" he 
 asked, maliciously. 
 
 "WeU, yes, that 's just what it is," said the 
 associate. 
 
 Just at that moment voices were heard in the 
 outer office— the voice of the young lady clerk 
 who had a desk there, and a strange and higher 
 voice, which was doing most of the speaking. 
 
 "Well, I don't want to talk to any young 
 woman. I did not come here for that. I 've got 
 five children older than you. I want to see the 
 editor, and I am going to." The next instant 
 she bounced into the door, a sharp little arrow- 
 
 147 
 
PASTIME STOEIES 
 
 faced woman, with a keen, thin nose, thin lips, 
 and small, black, beady eyes, above which was 
 a fringe of dark hair plastered down as stiff as 
 lacquered tin. She carried a black bag in one 
 hand and a red fan in the other, which she 
 brandished as if it were a weapon. 
 
 "Which is the poetry-editor? Or maybe you 
 are both the ^rewtlemen!" (with a strong sar- 
 castic emphasis on the first syllable). "Well, I 
 have come to know what you have done with 
 that poem I sent you months ago, and which you 
 accepted, and have suppressed," She seated 
 herself sharply, and threw out her fan with a 
 whir like a lasso. 
 
 The associate editor, seeing her intention to 
 take possession without an invitation, said, 
 ' ' Madam, will you take a seat ? ' ' She glared at 
 him witheringly, conveying plainly her declara- 
 tion that she did not need his permission to 
 do so. 
 
 "Well, what have you done with my poem!" 
 she asked, with cold severity, as Draco might 
 have asked of some luckless victim who stood a 
 self-confessed thief. 
 
 "Madam, that is the poetry editor," said the 
 chief, with a twinkle in his eye. 
 
 ' Ah I ' ' She gave a sharp half -wheel towards 
 148 
 
 a 
 
HER SYMPATHETIC EDITOR 
 
 the associate. ' ' Well, I 'm glad to find the right 
 person. And my name is not Speritt, nor 
 Spirit, nor Brandy, nor anything like it, though 
 I have no doubt you are quite familiar with all 
 those names. My name is Spinks, Mrs. Spinks, 
 and a very good respectable name it is, too, even 
 if it is not as aristocratic as the one I gave up 
 to take it, which was Rowlings— though, no 
 doubt, you never heard of it, as you must be 
 giving up all your time to reading the stuff you 
 publish, which is enough to make any one sick 
 who has a grain of the divine afflatus in her soul 
 —being second-cousin once removed to Colonel 
 Spangles, if you ever heard of him, as no doubt 
 you are ready enough to claim you have, being 
 on the Governor's staff for three years, till he 
 took the fever and died, leaving one of the big- 
 gest fortunes in the State, and six children, and 
 a widow, who gives herself as many airs as if 
 she wa' n't old Sam Malony's daughter that 
 kept the bar at Twenty-second Street. Well, I 
 want to tell you that I know my rights, and I 
 mean to have them. If Mr. Spinks had had a 
 grain of manhood in him he 'd have come down 
 here and had that poem published in the very 
 next number of the magazine after you sup- 
 pressed it ; but he has n 't. But I have, and I 've 
 
 149 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 consulted a lawyer, and he says it 's a clear 
 case, and I can get damages, and big damages at 
 that, and I 'm going to, and he 's one of the best 
 lawyers in the country, and a great friend of 
 mine. What have you done with it ? " 
 
 She paused for breath in sheer exhaustion. 
 
 The associate editor was speechless ; but the 
 chief came to his rescue. He said, calmly: 
 
 "Madam, we shall not be able to publish your 
 poem. It was accepted under a mistake, and we 
 will return it to you." 
 
 Her countenance fell. 
 
 ' ' What ! ' ' she began ; but he was too quick for 
 her. He saw his advantage. 
 
 "The poetry editor has it and will return it 
 to you, and you can keep the money we sent you 
 in payment for the time we have had possession 
 of it." 
 
 She rose. 
 
 "Well, I am glad to get it back on any terms. 
 If I were not too much of a lady ever to be able 
 to quarrel, I should give you a piece of my mind 
 about it; but I never could quarrel." 
 
 "No, madam; your forte is poetry," said the 
 associate editor, mildly, handing her the MS. 
 roll, which he had got from its pigeon-hole. 
 
 "Thank you, I don't want any compliments 
 150 
 
HEE SYMPATHETIC EDITOR 
 from you, sir," slie said, as she seized the paper 
 and, unrolling it, looked over it page by page to 
 see if any of it had been abstracted. Then she 
 turned to the editor: "Good-morning, sir. I 
 know a gentleman when I see him" (turning 
 her head, with nose in the air, towards the asso- 
 ciate). 
 
 She sailed out with her fan clutched in her 
 hand. The editor-in-chief, turning to his desk, 
 began to murmur, 
 
 "Thou art to me a shining star 
 'Mid amaranthine bowers," 
 
 when the associate said: "The bread was sour, 
 after all, was n't it?" 
 
 151 
 
HE KNEW WHAT WAS DUE 
 TO THE COURT 
 
 TTE was one of the characters about the 
 JL-L town when I first knew it, and though I 
 did not at the time know his history, and could 
 not now avouch my witnesses, I somehow took 
 it in from the city at large. He was not exactly 
 a vagabond, for he had a house— a brick house 
 at that, though a little one, and one of the oldest 
 and most dilapidated in the town ; and there was 
 a garden beside it, though it was nothing more 
 than a tangle of bushes, weeds, and briers, and 
 no paling was left to the old enclosure. He was 
 not exactly a drunkard in the police parlance, 
 for though he was often full, he generally got 
 home at some hour of the night, however drunk 
 he might be, and he rarely got into the police 
 court. (It may be doubted if a man can be a 
 vagabond, however drunken and disreputable 
 he may be, if he has a house of his own to which 
 
 152 
 
HE KNEW WHAT WAS DUE THE COURT 
 
 he can retire at will, and a garden, however 
 grown up and unenclosed, in which he can wan- 
 der when he chooses.) 
 
 If he was not a vagabond, however, it was a 
 shadowy wall which withheld him from being 
 one; and if he was not a drunkard, the line 
 which divided him from it was impalpable. He 
 was of a family which once owned a consider- 
 able part of the land on which the town was 
 built. Other members of the family had got 
 rich thereby, but he had grown poorer and 
 poorer. He belonged to a past age, and was at 
 loggerheads with everything new. He was a 
 privileged character. He abused everybody, but 
 nobody minded him. If he said a biting thing, 
 every one laughed; if he got drunk, some one 
 carried him home and poked him inside of his 
 broken door ; if he got angry, some one took his 
 stick from him till he became quiet. He was 
 known universally as "Old Jerry." How he 
 lived was not absolutely known. No one would 
 have dared to offer to give him anything. 
 
 He had been sheriff at one time — a fact of 
 which he was very proud. He had owned then 
 not only the old house and its torn garden, but 
 the ground on both sides of it where the two 
 large factories, owned by a nephew and name- 
 153 
 
PASTIME STOKIES 
 
 sake of his, a somewliat pompous gentleman, 
 had since gone up. At least, he claimed to have 
 owned this ground, though the courts had de- 
 cided otherwise. People said generally that 
 whiskey and dissipation had ruined him; he 
 said the man who owned the factories on either 
 side of him, and the rascality of the world at 
 large, had done so, and he expended every re- 
 source at his command in annoying him. He 
 had long since encumbered the remnant of his 
 property, the old house and garden, in fighting 
 him, and when he lost the suits he consoled him- 
 self by devoting hours a day to vilifying him 
 wherever he could get a hearer to listen, which 
 was not difficult. He always treated me with 
 distinguished politeness, though I was counsel 
 against him. He was paralyzed at this time, 
 and could just shuffle along with his hook- 
 handled stick; but his command of language 
 was by no means as limited as his command of 
 his limbs, and he used to curse his nephew with 
 a lavishness which would have put Amulphus 
 to the blush. He even applied to court to change 
 his relative's name, claiming that he had no 
 right to it; and when that was refused, threat- 
 ened to change his own name, that it might not 
 remain the same with his. 
 
 154 
 
HE KNEW WHAT WAS DUE THE COUET 
 
 At length Ms kinsman's patience gave way; 
 the application to court to change his name was 
 the last feather, and matters culminated. He 
 applied for a writ of lunacy, and Old Jerry was 
 brought up before three justices to be examined. 
 I was counsel. We appeared before the magis- 
 trates in the justices' room in a corner of the 
 old court-house looking out over the old part of 
 the town, where the fashionable residences had 
 been years before when the town was a village, 
 but which was now almost covered by taU fac- 
 tories, with their blank walls and high chim- 
 neys. Almost the only break among them was 
 the gap immediately facing the window, where a 
 dingy little old house, with dormer-windows and 
 a broken porch, was set back in an unfenced 
 yard filled with bushes, and half hidden by two 
 or three scraggy old trees, which leaned above 
 it as if to rest on it as much as to shelter it. 
 
 When we arrived Old Jerry was already there 
 in charge of the deputy sheriff. He was dressed 
 in a clean shirt which showed marks of darning, 
 and his long gray beard gave him a distin- 
 guished air. I had fallen in with the three 
 magistrates and one of the examining physi- 
 cians just outside the door, and the other doctor 
 who had been summoned soon arrived. As we 
 
 155 
 
PASTIME STOEIES 
 
 entered, Old Jerry tried to rise. The officer said 
 he need not get up; but he shuffled to his feet, 
 and made a profound bow to the magistrates, 
 remaining standing until they had all taken 
 their seats, when he tremulously resumed his. 
 He never looked at his nephew, though his man- 
 ner showed hostility in every fiber of his 
 frame. 
 
 "Do you think I do not know what is due to 
 a court, sir? I was sheriff before you were 
 bom, ' ' he said to the officer, who half smiled and 
 said nothing. "Yes, sir, no deputy either— 
 High Sheriff, who made deputies, sir." The 
 officer still said nothing, and the next moment 
 the old fellow apologized to him, declaring that 
 he had always treated him like a gentleman. 
 "Which is more than I can say for every one in 
 this room," he added. 
 
 There was a brief consultation among the 
 magistrates, and then the one who had issued 
 the writ said that they would begin the inquiry. 
 The papers were examined and found in form, 
 and then the two doctors were called upon to 
 testify. The evidence was all one way, and was 
 pretty clear. Old Jerry had persistently refused 
 for years to sell his old house or garden, and 
 had let bushes grow on land worth five dollars a 
 
 156 
 
HE KNEW WHAT WAS DUE THE COURT 
 
 square foot till it was all eaten up. He had pur- 
 sued his nephew with extraordinary virulence. 
 There were, besides, a great many other curious 
 things. This proved something, certainly; the 
 doctors thought, insanity. Old Jerry sat scorn- 
 fully silent till they had both testified. This 
 ended the evidence. The presiding justice 
 asked him if he wished to say anything. He said 
 no, not there— he should appeal ; but a moment 
 afterwards, as they were writing out the com- 
 mittal, he said, suddenly, "There is one in- 
 famous rascal in this room. ' ' Everybody looked 
 up. "I don't refer to you, your Worship, or 
 you, or you, sir," to one justice after the other, 
 very blandly. "I know too well what is due to 
 the court; and"— turning and looking at me 
 very doubtfully— "I don't mean you, either, sir : 
 I knew your father, and he was a gentleman. I 
 know you 've been trying to help rob me of my 
 house all these years, but I don't blame you; 
 that 's your business that you are paid for. And 
 I don't mean you, or you," addressing the doc- 
 tors: "if I were speaking of fools, I might not 
 be able to overlook you. I don't mean you, Mr. 
 Sheriff, and" — ^more briskly— "I don't mean 
 myself." He sat back and looked straight 
 ahead of him, while his relative shifted uncom- 
 
 157 
 
PASTIME STOEIES 
 
 fortably in his chair and tried to look uncon- 
 cerned. 
 
 The committal was made out and delivered 
 to the officer, who, with some evident concern, 
 beckoned to him, on which he rose and went 
 shuffling out, stopping at the door to make a 
 profound bow to the court to which he knew so 
 well what was due. 
 
 A few days later I met the old fellow shuffling! 
 along on the street, and I suppose I showed 
 some surprise in my face, for he stopped and 
 spoke to me. 
 
 "I 'm back, you see," he said, cheerfully. 
 
 "Yes; how is it?" 
 
 "Well, you see," he said, "when I got to the 
 asylum where that rascal got me sent the board 
 was in session, and I knew most of them, and 
 their fathers before them; and they asked me 
 what I was doing there, and I made a clean 
 breast of the whole thing— all about that scoun- 
 drel who has been robbing me, and you, and 
 those two other fools, and all; and that I had 
 a damned sight more sense than all of you put 
 together ; and they said they knew you all, and 
 that I was right." 
 
 He shambled off. 
 
 158 
 
HER 
 
 GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S 
 
 GHOST 
 
 WE had been talking of ghosts, in which my 
 old inammy had taught me to believe. 
 "I was not a particle superstitious in my 
 early days, but I had a singular experience 
 once," she said, in her calm, soft voice. "You 
 know my people all came from Gloucester 
 County, and the old family-place is there. It 
 was too expensive to keep up after the war, the 
 house being one of the large, old-fashioned, 
 colonial brick mansions, and my father having 
 no taste for country life (or rather, perhaps, I 
 should say he was not able to support the fam- 
 ily and educate us in the country after the 
 neighborhood was broken up). So he removed 
 first to a city in Virginia, and then to New 
 York. He never would sell the place, but at 
 every sacrifice kept it just as it was, with the 
 
 159 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 old furniture and all in it, renting some of the 
 fields out, and getting a neighbor to look after 
 it, as well as to take care of Uncle Benny, the 
 old butler, who still lived. He always talked 
 of going back there, and used to tell us stories 
 of it in his childhood, when the large grounds 
 were kept up, and the house was constantly 
 full of visitors. I got thus an accurate idea 
 of the house, except that I always pictured it 
 as being of immense size, and I knew every 
 room and crevice in it as well as if I had been 
 brought up there, instead of never having seen 
 it since I left it at three years old. I knew as 
 well as if I had lived there the old garret where 
 the trunks and chests used to stand; the wide 
 stairway, with the landings and the turned 
 balusters; the big hall, with its settle around 
 the large fireplace; and the drawing-rooms, 
 with the straight-backed chairs, and the long 
 mirrors coming down to the floor, and the old 
 family portraits on the walls, from one of which 
 the faded lady with the brown ringlets and the 
 black dress used to come down on summer eve- 
 nings and rock in the big rosewood rocking- 
 chair, so that every one could hear her all over 
 the house. She was the daughter of my father's 
 great-grandfather, and having lost her husband 
 
 160 
 
HER GEEAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GHOST 
 
 soon after her marriage, came home to live with 
 her father. When he died, which was not long 
 afterwards, she lived with her little boy all alone 
 in the house, and used to spend hours by herself 
 in the drawing-room, sitting in the rocking- 
 chair, weeping or looking vacantly before her. 
 Her servants used to take her orders from her 
 there. Finally she was induced to leave, and 
 went away to visit some relatives ; but one day 
 when the old butler went into the parlor she 
 was sitting in her rocking-chair as usual, only 
 paler than ever. She .did not seem to know him, 
 and asked who he was, and then sent him to 
 look for her carriage, saying she was going 
 away. There was no carriage in sight, nor had 
 any been seen to drive up, and when he went 
 back she was dead in her chair. How she got 
 there no one knew. My father always said I 
 looked like her. 
 
 "My father died suddenly, you know, with- 
 out ever having fulfilled his wish to go back 
 there to end his days. I was seized immediately 
 with an irresistible desire to see the place, and 
 I wrote to his old friend and neighbor that I 
 should come down on a particular day to see it. 
 He wrote me that he would be delighted to see 
 me, and would meet me at the wharf some miles 
 
 161 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 off. The impulse to go, however, was so strong 
 that I could not wait till the day I had ap- 
 pointed ; so I packed up and set out at once. I 
 thus arrived at the wharf two or three days be- 
 fore I was expected, and there was no one to 
 meet me. The man who kept the little store 
 there, however, learning where I was going, 
 kindly agreed to send me over to my destina- 
 tion, and called a boy to hitch a horse to a 
 buggy ; and when I asked him what I should pay 
 him, declined to receive pay, saying that he was 
 in my father's company during the war, and 
 never charged neighbors anything, and the 
 horse was n't doing anything, anyhow. 
 
 "I however insisted on paying something, 
 and he finally named a price which was so low 
 that I, who was used to city charges, felt aU day 
 as if I had robbed him. The hitching up of the 
 horse took some time, but I did not mind it, for 
 my new friend said dinner was ready, and I 
 must come over and get some. I saw that he 
 wanted me, and I went over to the little house 
 back in a yard behind the store. There I was 
 received by a motherly woman, who made me 
 welcome, and was set down to a plain but sub- 
 stantial dinner. My hosts seemed to know all 
 about the gentleman to whose house I was going, 
 
 162 
 
HEE GREAT-aEANDMOTHEE'S GHOST 
 
 and assured me that he would be very glad to 
 see me. I asked them if they had ever been to 
 the old place. The man said he had, and that it 
 had been a fine place once. The woman gave a 
 little half -nervous laugh. 'I 'ain' ever been 
 there,' she said, 'and I don't want to go.' I 
 asked her why. 'Too many ghosts there,' she 
 laughed, as if half ashamed of her superstition. 
 Her husband pooh-poohed it, but she stuck to 
 her point. ' They say that old lady can be seen 
 there any time in broad daylight, and that old 
 negro too ; and they 'd be sure to be there now 
 the place has been shut up so long, ' I said that 
 I was not afraid of ghosts. 
 
 "In a short time I was on the way in a little 
 rickety, high-pitched buggy, which made as 
 much noise as a coach, with my host's son. 
 Tommy, a sleepy-looking, shock-headed boy of 
 fourteen, as my driver. I found that Tommy 
 did not believe in ghosts ; but he admitted that 
 he did not like graveyards at night, though he 
 did not mind them in the day, and he did n't 
 care to go around old deserted houses alone 
 even in the daytime. He had never been to our 
 old place, and would not care to go by himself, 
 though he would not admit that he was afraid to 
 do so. 
 
 163 
 
PASTIME STOEIES 
 
 "We had been on tlie road over an hour, most 
 of tlie time driving througli what seemed to me 
 an unbroken forest, with, only a cabin now and 
 then to break the monotony, though Tommy oc- 
 casionally pointed to dim roads going off into 
 the woods, and indicated them as Mrs. So-and- 
 So's place. Presently, he pointed to a road al- 
 most grown up. 'That 's your place,' he said. 
 Suddenly an irresistible impulse seized me, and 
 I asked him if he would mind going in there with 
 me. He said not, though he was evidently sur- 
 prised and a little startled; and as we drove 
 along the old road, washed into gullies and 
 grown up in weeds, he intimated that we should 
 probably see the lady in black and her old negro. 
 We had to go up and down several hills, though 
 none very high, and cross one or two fields 
 which were in a partial state of cultivation, 
 which he said was done by renters. Then we 
 came to the last hill, on which the house stood. 
 
 ' ' The grounds were really quite extensive, or 
 had been, for the fence around the house and 
 yard had once enclosed several acres. It was 
 now all broken down, and many of the trees were 
 gone, so that the old house, standing up stark 
 in the hot sunlight, looked gaunt and bare. I 
 remembered that my father had had a tenant 
 
 164 
 
HER GEEAT-GRANDMOTHER'S GHOST 
 
 at one time in the yard, and that he had turned 
 him off because he cut down so many of the yard 
 trees. 
 
 "The grass was very short, which my com- 
 panion explained by stating that the house field' 
 was rented as a pasture, and the sheep and cows 
 liked to graze around an old house spot. 
 'That 's the graveyard,' he said, pointing to a 
 group of tombstones, some still standing, and 
 others lying about, off to one side under a clump 
 of trees which I knew had once been in the gar- 
 den. I made him drive across the grass to it, but 
 did not get out there. A small flock of sheep 
 were lying down among the old tombs. The 
 place did not appear very terrifying, and as I 
 wished to be left to wander about quite alone, 
 I told my companion that he could drive back 
 down the road a few hundred yards and wait 
 for me. He seemed to be relieved, for he had 
 hardly taken his eyes from the old door since 
 we drove up, as if he momentarily expected the 
 ghostly lady and her sable butler to walk out on 
 us, and he accepted my proposal with alacrity, 
 though he evidently regarded me as demented. 
 He drove over towards the house, and I sprang 
 out, and he rattled off across the grass and was 
 soon out of sight, though for some little time I 
 
 165 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 could hear his vehicle. I stood and gazed at the 
 house with a strange feeling. It filled me with 
 emotion; I was fascinated by it. Here was 
 where my father was bom, and had lived, and 
 where I was born, the last of my branch of the 
 family. The silence and softness of the warm 
 summer afternoon settled down about me, and 
 I walked about on the short grass under the 
 trees almost as if I were in a trance. The sound 
 of a cat-bird from time to time in a clump of 
 locust-bushes seemed to fill all the quiet air, and 
 when it ceased the stillness was almost painful ; 
 the sunlight glistened in wavering billows above 
 the ground. I observed that several of the win- 
 dow-shutters were open— blown back, I judged, 
 in some wind. I went up the steps and walked 
 to the front door ; but it was fastened. I put my 
 eye close to the cobweb-filled windows beside the 
 door and peeped in. I could see the wide haU 
 dimly lighted through the large fan-shaped tran- 
 som over the door. The big fireplace had the 
 old brass andirons in it, and the settle beside it, 
 and there were several old chairs ranged back 
 along the walls. I could see the end of the wide 
 staircase where it came down. 
 
 "I went around and tried a door at the side, 
 and found it either unlocked or so shrunken 
 
 166 
 
HEE GEEAT-GRANDMOTHEE'S GHOST 
 
 that tlie bolt did not catcli, and I could push, 
 it open. This let me into a narrow passage-way 
 which I knew led into the hall; so, leaving the 
 door slightly ajar, I went in. The place was 
 oppressively close, and I went over to the front 
 door to try to open it, instinctively stepping 
 softly to prevent any sound of my footsteps. It 
 was fastened by a bar across, and I found it so 
 difficult to undo that I let it alone, and went to 
 the door of the drawing-room or parlor on the 
 right, one window-shutter of which I knew had 
 blown open. 
 
 "I found the door unlocked, and entered. The 
 room was large and high-pitched, and filled with 
 old-fashioned, stiff, black furniture. A half- 
 dozen old portraits, more or less faded, hung on 
 the walls in frames dim with age and neglect. 
 At the windows hung old-fashioned, yellow, 
 brocaded satin curtains very much worn, and 
 two long pier-glasses in gilt frames reached 
 from the floor almost to the ceiling, and repeated 
 everything in the room. It was too dim to see 
 much, so I put back a curtain to let in a little 
 more light— it was thick with dust— and opened 
 the window to get the air. Among the pictures 
 the most striking one was that of a lady in deep 
 black which hung over the old mantel-piece. I 
 
 167 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 knew at once tliat slie was my ghostly great- 
 grandmotlier ; but I was struck by two tbings: 
 sbe was not half as old as I bad always imagined 
 her to be ; indeed, hardly more than a girl, and 
 even in the dim light I could see the resemblance 
 to myself. This picture fascinated me. Which- 
 ever way I turned, those large melancholy eyes 
 followed me, until I forgot everything else and 
 could look only at them. The light was not good 
 on it where it hung, and I climbed upon a chair 
 and tried to take the picture down to place it in 
 a better light ; as I did so, the cord, rotted with 
 age, gave way, and it came near falling. I 
 caught it, however, and, stepping down, set it 
 on a chair against the wall opposite the window, 
 and pulling up a large rocking-chair, took my 
 seat where I could see it well. As I sat there a 
 strange feeling came over me. To think that I, 
 sitting alone in that old house, was the last sur- 
 vivor of my family. Suddenly I felt a singular 
 nearness to the woman in the frame before me. 
 Of all who had lived there only two could come 
 back — for, at least, she could come back to me, 
 if only in imagination. She, too, had suffered ; 
 she, too, had sat there in her loneliness, where I 
 sat now in mine. If I might but die there in 
 that chair, as she had died, and be at rest ! How 
 
 168 
 
HEE GREAT-ORANDMOTHER'S GHOST 
 
 long I sat there I do not know, but I seemed in a 
 little while to have changed places with the 
 woman in the chair ; she was in the rocking-chair 
 and I was in that by the wall. 
 
 "I became gradually conscious of a presence. 
 I opened my eyes, and they fell on the long mir- 
 ror to my right. In it I saw through the open 
 door a man— an old negro man he seemed, 
 though the shadow of the door on his face pre- 
 vented my seeing him plainly. He wore a 
 curious-looking old beaver hat, and had a very- 
 serious expression on his face. His hand was 
 on the knob, and he pushed the door noiselessly 
 wider open as if to enter. At sight of me he 
 stopped short, with a startled look on his face, 
 and the next moment took off his hat and bowed 
 low. 'Your sarvent, mistis,' he said, in a low 
 voice. I was afraid to move. Was he a burglar 
 or what? I tried to speak, but my throat and 
 tongue were dry, and though I made a motion 
 with my lips, there was no sound. I did not dare 
 to take my eyes from the mirror. Presently, 
 with an effort, I said, without moving, 'What 
 do you want?' 'I am the butler, ma'am,' he 
 said, with another low bow, his voice sounding 
 very far away. 'Do you live here?' 'Yes, 
 ma'am; dat is, I did live heah,' he said, with 
 
 169 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 some hesitation. Thinking that if he had any 
 malicious intention it might be well to let him 
 know that I had a companion not far off, I said, 
 as quietly as I could, ' It is time for me to go. Do 
 you see my vehicle out there?' He seemed to 
 bow. I turned quickly towards the door; but 
 the door was shut. For the first time my nerves 
 seemed shaken. "What was he? After a mo- 
 ment's hesitation I roused myself and came out 
 into the hall. It was empty. I made my way 
 out by the same door by which I had entered. 
 It stood slightly ajar as I had left it. In the 
 sunlight my courage revived, and I went over 
 to the old graveyard where the sheep lay in the 
 sunshine and let me walk among them, only one 
 or two jumping up and running off quickly a 
 few paces, sneezing, with their noses to the 
 ground. The cat-bird still sang in the clump of 
 bushes among the tombs. Of course the one 
 tomb which interested me more than all the 
 others was that of my great-grandmother. It 
 lay behind the bushes in which the cat-bird 
 sang. She had died at the age of twenty-two, 
 just my age then. A sheep-path led through a 
 break in the fence out towards the road, and I 
 took it and passed out that way. I found my 
 driver almost in a fit over my long absence- He 
 
 170 
 
HEE GEEAT-aRANDMOTHEE'S GHOST 
 
 was sure that I had been eauglit by a ghost. I 
 did not tell him what I had seen. 
 
 "On my arrival my host received me with 
 great cordiality, and offered to drive me over 
 to the old place that evening; but the hot sun 
 had given me a headache. Old Uncle Benny 
 was even more delighted to see me. He ap- 
 peared almost startled at my looks. 
 
 " 'Lord, master! You is like old mistis,' he 
 exclaimed. 'Am I? Like my grandmother?' 
 'Norm; like you' pa's grandma— like dat one 
 whar hang on de wall, an' walk all 'bout dyah, 
 and come down and set in her big cheer in de 
 parlor.' 'But you never saw her?' I said. 
 ' 'Ain't I? Yes, 'm! I is, too. Done see her 
 and talk to her too. You know my granddaddy 
 he wuz de butler dyah in her time, jes like I wuz 
 in you' pa's time, an' dee say I is jes like him; 
 maybe dat 's de reason she so frien'ly to me. 
 I done see her right in broad daylight ; I see her 
 settin' in her big cheer, an' I see her when she 
 come out an' tuck her kerrige to drive back to 
 the graveyard. You know she so proud she have 
 her kerrige even to drive herself from de grave- 
 yard to de house, and you is jes like her. ' I said, 
 'Yes, my father always said I was like her.' " 
 
 171 
 
RACHEL'S LOVERS 
 
 EACHEL was as black as a crow, or, more 
 J poetically, as a sloe, but this did not 
 prevent her from being a belle on the planta- 
 tion; and though she had reached the mature 
 age of twenty without taking a husband, it was 
 not for want of offers, for she had had many. 
 She was, indeed, the belle of the plantation; but 
 she was also the flirt, and more than the usual 
 number of the young bucks had endeavored to 
 secure her without success. Finally it was sup- 
 posed that Stable-Dick had won the prize and 
 captured the sable nymph's coy affections, and 
 the other lovers fell back. Dick was a strapping 
 young fellow, with shoulders almost as broad 
 as his stable-door, and was as black as Eachel 
 herself. He had been her adorer ever since she 
 was twelve years old, and Jacob never served 
 her historical namesake more faithfully or joy- 
 fully than Dick did this ebon damsel. On St. 
 Valentine's Day he had for many years gotten 
 his young master Charlie (several years his 
 
 172 
 
EACHEL'S LOVERS 
 
 junior) to write her valentines, until they had 
 utilized aU the verses in the category of scal- 
 loped missives, with many of their own inven- 
 tion, which were more original than poetic; at 
 Christmas he had, with unwavering loyalty, given 
 her presents which took all of the little tips he 
 had received from gentlemen whose horses he 
 had taken during the preceding months, and had 
 requested her to "accept his company" at the 
 Christmas parties with unvarying fidelity, taking 
 her customary refusal with as much meekness as 
 he took her occasional acquiescence with joy. 
 Thus, when Eachel finally smiled on him, and 
 que year, along towards the fall, began to ac- 
 cept his attentions, there was a general indorse- 
 ment of her action on the plantation which was 
 akin to sentiment. Eachel herself felt the in- 
 fluence of it enough to openly encourage Dick, 
 and the wedding began to be talked about as 
 one of the events which were to make Christmas 
 notable. Dick was already ia the sixth heaven, 
 and was getting ready to climb into the seventh, 
 when a bar was placed across the entrance. On 
 the plantation there was one of the characters 
 which were almost always found on large plan- 
 tations—an old darky who was always ready 
 to shirk his duty, and to live, so to speak, by his 
 
 173 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 wits, evading both his work and the other regu- 
 lations of the plantation. He was generally a 
 wag and occasionally something of a wit; or, 
 failing this rare possession, he made good his 
 position by a certain assurance which might 
 take the form of grandness of manner or of 
 mere impudence. Uncle Isaac was of the latter 
 class. He had no wit; he was a drunkard, a 
 liar, and a shirker; but he possessed a certain 
 Chesterfieldian manner, copied from that of his 
 old master, and so notably like it that it gave 
 him an air of distinction which no woman on 
 the place seemed able to resist, and which, when 
 re-enforced by constant reference to former 
 companionship with his master, and to a certain 
 blue coat with brass buttons which his master 
 had once given him, impressed even the men. 
 He was, moreover, something of an exhorter; 
 not a preacher exactly, for he was far too fond 
 of drink to enable him to shine in that role ; but 
 he supported acceptably that of exhorter, and 
 his exhortations were the more impressive in 
 that, whatever his life was, he was a most sin- 
 cere believer in a personal Satan, with the most 
 realistic accompaniments of fork, fire, and 
 brimstone. Perhaps it was the fact of the 
 former companionship with his old master 
 
 174 
 
EACHEL'S LOVEES 
 
 whicli gained the old man indulgence from his 
 ''young master" (Charlie's father), and made 
 him shut his eyes to infractions of the planta- 
 tion law which would have got any other person 
 on it into trouble. 
 
 Isaac had already had four wives, two of 
 whom had departed in what is known as "the 
 ordinary course of nature," their exit certainly 
 facilitated if not caused by his treatment, and 
 the other two of whom had departed in a dif- 
 ferent course, having left him because they 
 were unable to stand his whippings, which were 
 said to be not only frequent, but tremendous. 
 This did not, however, at all impair Uncle 
 Isaac's popularity with the sex, and his last 
 wife had barely been borne from his cabin when 
 the old man was a declared lover of Eachel, as 
 well as of one or two less popular damsels, 
 urging as his excuse for such promptness that 
 text of Scripture which declares that it is not 
 good for man to be alone. In fact, the old fellow 
 was notably afraid to be by himself, believing 
 firmly that he was in danger of being carried 
 off bodily by the fiend unless he had some living 
 thing with him. He was accustomed to fortify 
 himself during his periodical terms of widower- 
 hood with a cat. The presence of a cat he be- 
 
 175 
 
PASTIME STOEIES 
 
 lieved to bring good-lnek. "Wlien cat woan* 
 notice rat, den look out," lie used to say. 
 Whether it was tliat the idea of proving suc- 
 cessful where four women had already failed, 
 or whether it was the eclipsing of Molly and 
 Betty ; whether it was the magnificent airs and 
 grandiloquent speech of old Isaac, or whether 
 it was only the natural perversity of her sex 
 that decided Eachel need not be discussed ; but 
 the October Sunday that Uncle Isaac appeared 
 at the big baptizing in his old master's blue coat 
 and brass buttons, which he wore only when he 
 was "setting up to" his several wives, and held 
 his old umbrella over Eachel, decided the fate 
 of poor Stable-Dick ; and though Isaac, after a 
 most impressive exhortation, got so full that he 
 fell down and broke his umbrella, and Eachel 
 had to hold the now damaged article over him 
 instead of his holding it over her, she incon- 
 tinently accepted him and sent poor Dick adrift. 
 She even went so far as to agree to marry the 
 old fellow without waiting for Christmas, but, 
 fortunately for Dick, their master interposed, 
 and declared that he would not permit Isaac to 
 maltreat any more wives, and would not consent 
 to his marrying until he had reformed, and had 
 proved his sincerity by his abstinence for a cer- 
 
 176 
 
EACHEL'S LOVEES 
 
 tain period. This period lie at first fixed at six 
 months, but upon the joint application of both 
 Isaac and Eachel he agreed to reduce it to less 
 than three, and set Christmas Eve as the final 
 limit. 
 
 Perhaps the master thought that in this case 
 two months were as good as six, and that Isaac 
 would no more hold out that time than he would 
 an eternity. At least, every one else thought 
 so, except Dick; but Dick surrendered himself 
 to despair. He moped around in the blackness 
 of gloom, dividing his time between consigning 
 the entire female sex of the African race to the 
 lowest depths of perdition, and trying to get the 
 faithless Eachel to give him even the smallest 
 share of her thought. Finally, he went so far 
 as to apply to his master and ask to be sold in 
 the South. This was serious enough to call for 
 the intervention of authority. The next thing 
 might be a runaway, or even suicide, and Dick 
 was told that if Isaac did not hold out, no fur- 
 ther coquetting on Eachel 's part would be al- 
 lowed, and she should become his bride. Eachel 
 also was notified, and simply giggled over this 
 disposal of her freedom. This did not help her 
 unhappy adorer, who was not comforted even 
 by his young master Charlie's sympathetic as- 
 
 177 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 suranee that Isaac would never hold out. * ' That 
 ole drunk fool '11 hold out jest out o' pure cus- 
 sedness," said he. It did, indeed, look as if 
 Dick's apprehension was well-founded, and as 
 week after week went by, Dick's spirits and 
 those of his young master and ally sank. Char- 
 lie tried to secure his father's assistance in the 
 cause, but was told that his word had been given 
 to both Eachel and Isaac, and must stand. If 
 Rachel chose to make a fool of herself, it was 
 her right as a woman. Rachel made the most 
 of her opportunity, and flounced about and 
 flouted poor Dick with the cruelty and ar- 
 rogance of a much more advanced state of civil- 
 ization. Two days before Christmas Eve Uncle 
 Isaac got an indulgence. He "had to get ready 
 to be married," He shut himself up in his 
 house, and was, or seemed to be, getting it in 
 readiness for his fifth bride. Rachel, too, oc- 
 cupied herself in getting ready, with her young 
 mistress 's assistance,' and enjoyed the notoriety 
 of her position as much as the most fashionable 
 bride could have done. Stable-Dick confined 
 himself to the stable, and bemoaned his fate 
 into the sympathetic ear of his young master. 
 At length it occurred to that astute ally to go 
 and see what direct intercession with the tri- 
 
 178 
 
EACHEL'S LOVEES 
 
 umphant rival miglit avail. He sought Isaac 
 ia his cabin and made known his mission, when 
 he was received with so much scorn that he 
 nearly burst into tears. The disappointment 
 was too much. 
 
 "Uncle Isaac, you kaow you are three times 
 as old as Eachel," he asserted, "and Dick is 
 just the right age." 
 
 "Dat 's so much de better," said the old man, 
 with a guffaw. "I '11 know how to manage her ; 
 'ooman and chillern needs management; hit 's 
 jes like physic to 'em. I got de physic for her. ' ' 
 He glanced up at a peg in the wall from which 
 hung a large bunch of hickories, which rumor 
 said he had often used during his earlier periods 
 of matrimony on Eachel 's predecessors. Some 
 of the switches looked new enough to suggest 
 replenishment. 
 
 Charlie's eye caught the direction of his, and 
 he fired up. "I 'm going to tell Eachel," he 
 said. "You know you beat your other wives 
 scandalously." 
 
 The old fellow looked at him angrily. "Dat 's 
 some lie o' dat black trundle-bed-trash nigger 
 Stable-Dick,'' he said, scornfully. "I '11 trick 
 him if he fool wid me. I jes keep dem switches 
 to whup my cat." 
 
 179 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 Charlie's last arrow was gone. His eyes 
 filled with, tears at the failure of his mission. 
 "Uncle Isaac," he said, "if you '11 give Eaehel 
 up I '11 pay you." 
 
 He did not see the change in the old man's 
 face, nor the shrewd look which crossed it. 
 "How much you gwine gi' me?" he asked. 
 
 "Well, I 've got a dollar and a half, and I '11 
 get another dollar in my stocking Christmas 
 morning." He paused to see if he had any 
 other available assets. 
 
 "Is you got any ole umbrella you kia gi' 
 me?" asked the trader for a wife. 
 
 "No-o ; but I think I could get mamma to give 
 me one. There are several in the house." 
 
 "Well, I tell you what I '11 do: if you '11 go 
 and git me de dollar an' a half right now, and 
 '11 git me de best umbrella you kin, an' '11 
 promise me to gi' me your dollar Christmas 
 mornin', I '11 see 'bout it." 
 
 Charlie promised faithfully, and rushed away, 
 too eager to carry out his part of the bargain to 
 notice the other party's sharp look, or hear his 
 gibe: "Yes, I gwine see 'bout it, an' dat 's all I 
 is gwine do." 
 
 A few minutes later Charlie returned with 
 the dollar and a half, his entire available as- 
 
 180 
 
EACHEL'S LOVERS 
 
 sets, and having deposited it, with a statement 
 that he thought he could get the umbrella, 
 rushed away to report to Dick the happy result 
 of his mission. 
 
 Later that evening Charlie returned to the 
 old man's cabin to learn his decision, but the 
 cabin was locked, and a survey of it through 
 the cat-hole revealed only Uncle Isaac's black 
 cat "Torm" lying on the hearth before the fire, 
 tied to an old plough-point, which was the old 
 man's mode of insuring his continual presence. 
 
 A few hours later a figure in the darkness 
 approached the cabin door with curiously un- 
 steady steps. Something in a bag was slung 
 over its shoulder. There was a long fumbling 
 over the lock, and then the door opened, the 
 figure disappeared inside, and the door was 
 shut. 
 
 The next day Uncle Isaac did not appear. 
 Charlie's most earnest appeals outside of the 
 fastened door failed to bring any answer. 
 
 The cat-hole was stopped up, so that the in- 
 terior of the room was beyond inspection. 
 Charlie was running off to announce the old 
 man's disappearance, when the smoke from the 
 chimney caught his eye. All during the day he 
 made repeated visits to the cabin, but neither 
 
 181 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 hammering nor calling could elicit any re- 
 sponse. At last, about dusk, his impatience be- 
 came too strong, and he applied himself to 
 making a "chink" through which he could see 
 if Isaac were really inside. After a quarter of 
 an hour he succeeded in making a good hole, 
 and, stooping down, he peeped in. In another 
 moment he was speeding breathless towards the 
 place where he knew Dick was, and five minutes 
 later that young Hercules was lying stretched 
 out on the frozen ground, with his eye screwed 
 to the hole Charlie's industry had made. What 
 they saw inside was Uncle Isaac sitting in front 
 of his fire as drunk as a lord, with a large jug 
 between his wabbling knees. 
 
 The next minute Charlie was in Stable-Dick's 
 arms, being whirled about at the risk of losing 
 his head in the latter 's joyful gyrations. There 
 was a hasty and whispered colloquy, inter- 
 rupted by Charlie's giggles as he unfolded some 
 plan, and then the boy rushed off, followed by 
 Dick, his big white teeth looking like rows of 
 corn. When, a half-hour later, the two re- 
 turned, Charlie had equipped himself with a 
 long fishing-pole, a powder-horn, and one or two 
 other articles : Dick had a ladder. They peeped 
 in at the hole. Uncle Isaac still sat as they had 
 
 182 
 
RACHEL'S LOVERS 
 
 left him, only drunker than before. He was 
 fast asleep, and his old cat lay dozing nearer to 
 the sinking fire. A noise roused the old fellow, 
 and he sat up. His eye fell on his jug, and he 
 lifted it unsteadily and took a drink from it. It 
 seemed to revive him. "Whiskey tas'e mighty 
 good when you been dry long time," he said. 
 This reflection induced him to take another pull 
 at the jug. Just then there was a sound as of 
 some one climbing at the top of the chimney. 
 "Hi! what dat?" muttered the old fellow, low- 
 ering his jug. His eye fell on his cat, and he 
 stretched out his leg and stirred him up. 
 "Heah, wake up, Tormy!" he said. "Nem 
 mind; I gwine git mistis for you, and ef she 
 don' treat you well, I gwine gi' her hickory." 
 The anticipation pleased the old fellow so 
 much that he resorted again to his jug, and 
 under its reviving influence he began to sing 
 a snatch from a corn-shuckiag song: 
 
 "I went down to Helltown, 
 Found de deble chained down, 
 
 Oh, Loo John ! oh, Loo ! 
 I hitch' him to my horse-cart, 
 And put him in a long trot, 
 
 Oh, Loo John! oh, Loo!" 
 
 183 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 Just then a large brown rat floated down the 
 chimney, and dropped close to Torm, who 
 pounced upon it, but the next instant settled 
 back to his nap. The rat caught the old man's 
 eye, and he kicked the cat up again. 
 
 "Don't you see dat rat, fool?" he said. But 
 Torm was not interested. He never looked, and 
 simply turned over on his other side. 
 
 "Well, dat 's the curisomest thing I ever 
 see," said Isaac. "Dat 's a rat, sho'! but I 
 *ain' never see Tormy do dat away befo'. I 's 
 gwine to see ef dat 's a rat." He took up his 
 stick and leaned forward. But as he struck at 
 it the rat disappeared up the chimney, and los- 
 ing his balance, he fell forward on his face. 
 
 "Well, befo' de King!" he exclaimed, pick- 
 ing himself up. Just then the rat appeared 
 again, swinging gently to and fro. "Dat rat 
 look might 'ly to me like he was flyin'," said 
 Isaac, picking up the jug. Just then there was 
 a spit of blue flame in the ashes, and Torm 
 jumped to his feet. * ' Heah, le ' me put dis thiag 
 down, ' ' said the old man. A noise on top of the 
 chimney caught his ear. He started. "What 
 dat? I done heah 'bout folks comin' down 
 chimbley Christmas, but I 'ain' never liked it. 
 Master, please don' come down heah," he 
 
 184 
 
RACHEL'S LOVERS 
 
 called, in supplication, and began to chant a 
 hymn as a sort of spell against the possible 
 visitation. Just then the rat appeared again, 
 and after hovering a few moments above the 
 embers, lit close to the once more drowsy Torm. 
 It was rather blacker than it had been, as if 
 there were something like a black powder on its 
 back. " I 's gwine to see ef dat 's a rat or a evil 
 sperit," said Isaac, re-emboldened by his 
 religious exercise. He leaned over and picked 
 up from the corner a half -extinguished chunk, 
 and bent towards the rat. As he did so he 
 tipped the jug over. "Ef you 's a rat, I '11 know 
 you," he said, grimly. He put the chunk on its 
 back. The rat burst into blue sputtering flames, 
 which danced up and down its back and sides, 
 jumped into the ashes, and ran in zigzag lines 
 about the hearth, until they reached the mouth 
 of the overturned jug, when they wound up in 
 a dazzling burst of flame, which threw coals and 
 ashes all over the hearth. 
 
 Two seconds later Uncle Isaac had smashed 
 out of his door, with his eat close behind him, 
 every hair on its body which had not been singed 
 off standing erect, and the rusty plough-point 
 clattering along like a pursuing demon. He 
 burst into the circle of revellers about the 
 
 185 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 kitchen door like a wild man, swearing that the 
 devil was after him. 
 
 The upshot of it all was that Rachel married 
 Dick next night, in the gown which had been 
 given her to wed Isaac, and giggled just as hap- 
 pily. Most people thought at first that Isaac 
 had delirium tremens, but he always maintained 
 that he saw the devil himself, and gave so cir- 
 cumstantial a description of him that it was 
 quite convincing, and brought him so much re- 
 newed credit that Molly shortly afterwards 
 married him, and, be it said, duly got the physic 
 that he had prepared for Rachel. 
 
 186 
 
JOHN'S WEDDING SUIT 
 
 JOHN was a curious sort of fellow. He was 
 one of the quietest-tempered men I ever 
 knew; he had also more sentiment than most. 
 When he was a boy his room was always littered 
 up with what the other boys called "trash": 
 odds and ends, broken whips, tops, knives, 
 kites, dried grass, pressed flowers, etc., which 
 no other boy cared about, but which were 
 precious in John's eyes because they were asso- 
 ciated with something which had given them a 
 value to him. This top had been made by his 
 father ; this old knife had been won as a prize 
 for going to a graveyard after dark ; that book- 
 mark was his little sister's first piece of em- 
 broidery, etc. He would stand an amount of 
 teasing and chafBng which would have set any 
 of the other boys at war; and then suddenly, 
 when some little right had been invaded or some 
 sentiment jarred, he would be a perfect fury. 
 The other boys learned to know the signs, and 
 
 187 
 
PASTIME STOEIES 
 
 would impose on him to a certain extent, but 
 when his face began to grow pale and his hands 
 to tremble, they stopped. 
 
 In time John became a doctor, and returned 
 from college to practise medicine in his native 
 town. He had a genius for physic, and his pro- 
 fessors had urged him to go straight to a city; 
 but he declined, and with his diplomas and prize 
 cases of instruments went back to his little 
 village, where he soon was practising on all the 
 poor people and little girls' dogs in the place. 
 Possibly the fact that his sweetheart, a pretty 
 girl with whom he had been in love since his 
 boyhood, lived there was one of the causes which 
 brought him back. Anyhow, there he was, and 
 when he was not at some sick-bed, or working 
 over some lame beast, he was apt to be on the 
 vine-covered veranda of her house or in its little 
 plain parlor. If he was not at any of these 
 places, he was sure to be poring over a book in 
 his little office or playing with some child. 
 None of these occupations, however, is very 
 remunerative, and John was much busier than 
 he was rich. Such a man is sure to be imposed 
 on, and John was better liked than paid. If he 
 ever collected a bill, the money went either to 
 buy physic for some patient who could not af- 
 
 188 
 
JOHN'S WEDDING SUIT 
 
 ford it, or to get new books or new instruments. 
 Thus John's library and instrument-case were 
 a good deal better furnished than his wardrobe. 
 He lived in a little room back of his office down 
 on the principal street of the village, and was 
 waited on by a boy whose only recommendation 
 was that he was the son of one of John's 
 father's old servants. A more worthless rascal 
 could not be imagined— at least, such was the 
 general opinion of John's friends. But John 
 held on to him. They were about the same 
 age, and had played together as boys, and 
 this was sufficient. Cal (short for Caldicut) 
 was a strapping young fellow about John's 
 size, on which he prided himself, and of a 
 dark gingerbread color. He was a bully, much 
 feared among his set, who knew his strength, 
 and the quickness with which he could whip out 
 a razor as soon as he began to be worsted ; a liar 
 noted around town, and a thief, most people 
 believed— some on general principles, others on 
 more specific grounds. Few, however, ventured 
 to suggest this to John, who was a fool about 
 Cal, as many thought and some said. "When 
 Cal was put in jail for cutting another darky at 
 a dance, John used his utmost endeavors to get 
 him off, and did succeed in getting him a very 
 
 189 
 
PASTIME STOEIES 
 
 light punishment. He took him back as soon as 
 he was out. Cal used to carry his notes to his 
 sweetheart and wear his old clothes, which was 
 pretty much all he did, for John's rooms were 
 sadly neglected. 
 
 At length even John's mind waked up to this 
 fact, and as Cal declared that he cleaned up 
 every day, he set a trap for him, placing several 
 papers on certain spots. There they were next 
 day ; but Cal, when reprimanded, explained that 
 he dusted everything every night, but always 
 put everything back just where he found it. 
 
 At length John's suit with his sweetheart 
 prevailed, and she rewarded his years of con- 
 stancy by finally ' ' fixing the day. ' ' She had, in 
 fact, always been in love with him, and had 
 only waited so long because she knew she could 
 marry him whenever she chose ; and the torture 
 she had inflicted on her lover was a species of 
 cruelty which all her sex enjoy and, as many as 
 dare, practise. 
 
 The town rejoiced in John's success and 
 joined in his happiness. He had the counsel of 
 several of his friends as to his arrangements 
 and outfit; for, as they said, unless some one 
 looked after him, he would very probably forget 
 his wedding-ring, if he did not forget his wed- 
 
 190 
 
JOHN'S WEDDING SUIT 
 
 ding-day, and be found, at the hour appointed 
 for the ceremony, either gathering wild-flowers 
 somewhere for his sweetheart, or setting off for 
 a ten-mile drive to see some old woman who 
 wanted him to cure her cat. A pretty little 
 house had been secured, with more room outside 
 on the vine-covered veranda than within its 
 walls, and it was fitted up with what little the 
 two young people could get together. 
 
 John went to the city at least a month ahead 
 of time to get his wedding-suit. It was his first 
 full evening suit, and he felt about it as a girl 
 must feel about her first ball dress. He undid 
 the parcel with his door locked, and a feeling as 
 if it were a sacred relic ; then tried it on gravely, 
 and looked at himself solemnly. It fitted him 
 exactly, and set off his strong figure well. But 
 he did not think of this ; he thought only of her. 
 He took it off, and, folding it up again in the 
 wrapping of tissue-paper, placed it in the box, 
 and laid it away reverently in his wardrobe, one 
 side of which he cleared for its more fitting re- 
 ception. He would wear it first when he claimed 
 her for his wife. It was sacred in his eyes. 
 Every day or two he locked his door, and, tak- 
 ing the suit out tenderly, laid it out and looked 
 at it, but never put it on again, thinking to do 
 
 191 
 
PASTIME STOEIES 
 
 her greater honor by wearing it first at her wed- 
 ding, and dreaming dimly of laying it away 
 afterwards in lavender and rose leaves. 
 
 The day before the wedding he set aside to 
 clean up and settle his matters, which he had 
 been delayed in doing by several very ill pa- 
 tients. They were still ill, so he set Cal to work 
 and went off to see them. On his return he found 
 little done and Cal absent. In a short whUe, 
 however, Cal appeared. He would have met 
 with a warm reception, but he prevented it by 
 assuming a very mournful look. He spoke be- 
 fore John could say anything. 
 
 "Mr. Johnny" — ^he always used that term 
 when he wanted to gain anything; it recalled 
 old associations— "Mr. Johnny," he said, "I 's 
 had a mighty bad piece of luck hit me." He 
 waited, and John looked at him. "I 's done 
 lost meh grandmother." 
 
 "Why, I thought you lost your grandmother 
 two months ago ! ' ' said John. ' ' You buried her, 
 anyhow." 
 
 "Yes, suh. But this is my other grand- 
 mother. ' ' 
 
 John's face assumed a reminiscent expres- 
 sion. "Why, you lost one last winter, too," he 
 said, "and one — This is the fourth grand- 
 mother you have lost, to my certain knowledge." 
 
 192 
 
JOHN'S WEDDING SUIT 
 
 "Yes, suh, dat 's so. Dat ole man marry 
 mo' 'n any other man I uver see in de wuU," 
 said Cal, reprobatingly. "She die' las' night, 
 an' de funeral comes off dis evenin'; an' I 
 thought I 'd ax you to let me off dis evenin' to 
 go to it." 
 
 He had spoken so rapidly that John had not 
 had time to put in a question. He put one now, 
 however. "When did she die?" 
 
 "Oh!-She died las' night." 
 
 "What was the matter with her?" 
 
 "Suh?" 
 
 "What was the matter with her?" 
 
 "Oh! I don't know, suh." 
 
 "Why did n't you send for me, or mention it 
 before?" 
 
 "Well, you see, suh, she wuz tooken kind 
 o' sudden, jes las' night, an' jes went right off, 
 so." 
 
 "They are burying her in a great hurry," 
 said John. 
 
 "Yes, suh; looks so to me too," said Cal, 
 sympathetically. "I specks dat ole man '11 be 
 marryin' agin befo' de week 's out. He did n' 
 wait but two weeks las' time; I know he won't 
 wait mo' 'n a week dis time." He looked the 
 image o^ reprobation. 
 
 John told him he was afraid there would not 
 193 
 
PASTIME STOEIES 
 
 be much of an attendance at the funeral, as he 
 had heard from one of his patients that there 
 was to be a big negro ball that night at their 
 hall. Cal mournfully admitted that such was 
 his fear too. 
 
 John let him go, and, taking off his coat, set 
 to work himself. 
 
 That night a couple of John's most intimate 
 friends dropped in just to see if he were aU 
 right, and had all his arrangements made. They 
 found everything ready. One of them was 
 growling about his servant having gone off to a 
 negro ball and left his room in disorder. 
 
 "How about your wedding-suit? Is that all 
 right? Does it fit?" they asked. 
 
 John said it was all right, and fitted perfectly. 
 They urged him to let them see it, and finally, 
 after much persuasion, he consented. He went 
 to his wardrobe, and took out the box with a 
 warm feeling about his heart, laid it tenderly on 
 the bed, and gently opened it. It was empty. 
 
 Had his friends known the history of the 
 suit, they would have understood his action 
 better. For a moment John stood perfectly 
 still, with a mystified look on his face ; then he 
 turned slowly to the wardrobe and looked 
 through it; then he turned back to the empty 
 
 194 
 
JOHN'S WEDDING SUIT 
 
 box and stood over it. The next moment a 
 string of unquotable words streamed from his 
 lips. He wheeled suddenly, grabbed up his hat, 
 seized a large stick from a corner and bolted out 
 of the door. 
 
 Five minutes later a man was posted in the 
 shadow of a tree just outside of the light of a 
 gas lamp, a half-square from the lighted hall 
 in which the negro ball was now going on, and 
 close to the sidewalk along which were begin- 
 ning to stream the sable attendants of the fes- 
 tivity. Couple after couple passed him, but the 
 man stood in the shadow as motionless as the 
 tree against which he was planted. A half -hour 
 passed; the crowd was already in, and only an 
 occasional pair came by now; still he did not 
 budge. At last, a couple came strolling along, 
 chatting to each other, and for the first time the 
 shadow stirred. The voices could be heard dis- 
 tinctly. The man was talking. 
 
 "He could n't git 'long at all widout me. I 
 len's him my clo'es. I 's gwine to len' him dis 
 suit to git married in to-morrer." 
 
 The girl laughed affectedly. "Oh, shoo, Mr. 
 Johnsing, you 's jes foolin' me!" 
 
 * * No, I ain 't ; I declare I ain't. Ef I is, I hope 
 de debble may rise right by dat tree an'—" 
 
 195 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 He rose. The couple were right in the fuU 
 glare of the lamp, Cal in a brand-new evening 
 suit. When John stepped out, Cal could not 
 have been more startled had his wish been lit- 
 erally fulfilled. He dropped the girl's arm and 
 staggered back. Then, he tried to recover him- 
 self. He stepped forward again. 
 
 "Mr. Johnny, jes le' me speak to you a min- 
 ute, will you? Jes step over dis a-way a min- 
 ute, won't you?" 
 
 "Take them off," said John. His voice was 
 perfectly quiet. 
 
 "Mr. Johnny, jes—" 
 
 "Take them off," said John. 
 
 "Whar, Mr. Johnny?" 
 
 "Right where you stand," said John. He 
 stepped a step nearer, and the light feU more 
 fully on his face. His hickory stick was in his 
 hand, which was squeezed tight around it till it 
 looked knotty and white. His eyes burned like 
 live coals. "I '11 give you one minute." 
 
 "Yes, suh," said Cal, and began to hustle out 
 of the clothes. 
 
 A dozen negroes had congregated, but neither 
 John nor Cal took any more notice of them than 
 if they had been in a desert. 
 
 ' ' Now walk before me, ' ' said John. And Cal, 
 196 
 
JOHN'S WEDDING SUIT 
 
 with the clothes over his arm, walked back up 
 the street before John as if he felt the crust of 
 the earth breaking beneath him. 
 
 Cal came out of John's door a quarter of an 
 hour later. John had not committed murder, 
 but Cal knew he had had a narrow escape. 
 
 197 
 
WHEN THE COLONEL WAS 
 A DUELLIST 
 
 THE question of duelling was up, and had 
 been discussed. Most of tlie group were 
 young men. Some approved the code; others 
 were doubtful. The Colonel alone had not par- 
 ticipated in it ; he had sat through it all calmly 
 smoking his pipe, with his head thrown back 
 against the wall, and his eyes lazily turning 
 from one speaker to another as the talk pro- 
 ceeded. Finally some one said, "Colonel, you 
 have had a duel, of course?" 
 
 ' ' Once. ' ' He put his pipe back into his mouth, 
 and went on smoking again as before. 
 
 "Tell us about it," they said; for the Colonel 
 was a man of wide experience, and of approved 
 courage in the war. The Colonel's eyes turned 
 up to the ceiling, and stayed so for some time, 
 while his face took on a reminiscent expression, 
 and when his eyes dropped again there was a 
 
 198 
 
WHEN THE COLONEL WAS A DUELLIST 
 
 look of amusement in them. He waited at least 
 two minutes, then took his pipe out of his mouth, 
 and emitted a cloud which would have almost 
 concealed a mountain-top. 
 
 ' ' Well, when I was as young and almost as big 
 a fool as some of you are," he said, "I thought, 
 like you, duelling was a fine thing. I had read 
 a great deal about it, and talked more. I con- 
 sidered the code the proper recourse of a gentle- 
 man, and I so declared myself frequently. This 
 did not prevent me from being disagreeable 
 enough in other ways to get into a number of 
 collisions, in which, as I was a strapping young 
 fellow at the time, I was generally victorious. 
 I was then practising law in the little coimty 
 town where I started, and I deemed myself 
 easily the greatest lawyer in the circuit, if not 
 in the State. It was necessary to be aggressive, 
 I thought. I had taken Lord Thurlow as my 
 model, and I fancied myself like him. There 
 were only two things that stood in my way: 
 there was an older lawyer there who always 
 treated me as if I were about three years old, 
 and the people rather seemed to lean naturally 
 to him. I never went into court with him that he 
 did not make me feel like a fool. I could not 
 pick a quarrel with him and beat him, because 
 
 199 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 he was always most polite when he was most in- 
 sulting, and, besides, he had only one arm, hav- 
 ing lost the other, I had heard, in a wheat-ma- 
 chine. I thought he rather took advantage of 
 it, and I used to writhe under his polished 
 sarcasm, and lie awake at night cursing him. At 
 last I could stand it no longer; and once, when 
 he had gone too far for me to endure it, I con- 
 sulted friends. I selected two young fellows in 
 the village as my advisers : one, a young lawyer ; 
 the other had no profession— he was one of the 
 best fellows in the world, but did nothing but 
 drink whiskey. However, he was sober at that 
 time, and as he was a great authority on the 
 code, I felt that he woidd keep sober while the 
 responsibility was upon him. I consulted them 
 as my friends, and they advised me. The only 
 thing as to which we differed was whether I 
 should give my adversary an opportunity to 
 retract. I maintained that the code required it ; 
 they disagreed with me about it. They were so 
 indignant with him that they had taken up the 
 notion that he was really a coward, and that I 
 could unmask him. They seemed to me to be 
 really blood-thirsty. I might have overcome 
 their arguments if I had not been afraid of 
 being thought a coward. Besides, I was rather 
 
 200 
 
WHEN THE COLONEL WAS A DUELLIST 
 
 in love with a pretty girl in the place, and I be- 
 lieved that a duel would make something of a 
 hero of me, and help my cause. (If there were 
 no women and no fools, there 'd be no duels, 
 gentlemen.)" After this parenthesis the Col- 
 onel proceeded: "Anyhow, they stood out and 
 had their way, and a peremptory challenge was 
 written, and intrusted to Jim Burton. It had 
 all the vigor and venom in it that Jim and Lind- 
 man could distil. I thought it too bitter; but 
 Lindman was a lawyer, and a challenge was a 
 felony, anyhow. It was one of the coldest spells 
 I ever remember; the snow was about a foot 
 deep, and had frozen hard on top; and I well 
 recollect how we gathered around Lindman 's 
 office fire whilst we waited for the reply to my 
 cartel. I was afraid to go home, for we knew 
 the row and my intention to send the challenge 
 had got out, and the sheriff and his deputy 
 would be after us. We barricaded the door, and 
 pulled down the old blinds at the shutterless 
 windows. Jim stayed so long that finally we 
 were about to send Lindman out to look for him, 
 when he gave the three taps agreed on at the 
 window. He was let in, and after warming up 
 a bit, told his story. He had had much difficulty 
 in finding Facton — ^Facton was his name, I for- 
 
 201 
 
PASTIME STOEIEiS 
 
 got to say— but had finally found him, and 
 had presented the challenge. Paeton had read 
 it first with amusement, Jim thought ; then with 
 anger, or fear— he could not tell which. 'Pear, 
 without doubt,' we both decided. I thought of 
 my girl. Then he had said he would send for 
 some one and lay the matter before him, and 
 had told Jim he would let us hear from him in 
 the course of a few hours. 
 
 " 'Did you tell him where to send?' we asked 
 Jim. 
 
 " 'Of course,' he said. 'I told him we would 
 sit here all night. ' 
 
 " 'That 's right,' we agreed. 
 
 " 'And he as good as kicked me out of his 
 house, sir,' said Jim. 
 
 " 'What!' We were overwhelmed at this 
 breach of decorum, and Jim had to specify. ' Of 
 course he did not lay his hand on me, but he 
 rang the bell, and told that black butler of his 
 to show me the door. ' This did look like it ; and 
 Jim, who was rather talkative, declared that for 
 a little he would call him out himself. 
 
 " 'Jim, whom did he say he would send for!' 
 we asked. 
 
 " 'I did not catch the name exactly, but it 
 sounded like "Drace"; it could not have been 
 him, though; he 's the sheriff I' 
 
 202 
 
WHEN THE COLONEL WAS A DUELLIST 
 
 " 'Drace! Are you sure it was Drace? 
 There 's only one Drace in the county, and 
 that 's the sheriff!' Jim's memory was re- 
 freshed by our repetition of the name, and he 
 was positive it was Drace. Here was a bomb- 
 shell. The whole plot burst on us. He was 
 going to send for the sheriff and have us ar- 
 rested, and then get the credit of being the only 
 one out. It was diabolical. 'Why in the mis- 
 chief did you tell him where we were ? ' we asked ; 
 which made Jim rather sulky, and he said truly 
 that we had just praised him for doing that 
 very thing, and said something further about 
 our being a couple of fools. As he was neces- 
 sary to us, and had done the best he could, we 
 had to mollify him, which was not hard to do. 
 Still, there was the question of arrest to be con- 
 sidered. To be the first arrested in a duel was a 
 crying disgrace. It was decided to send Lind- 
 man out to reconnoitre. He had not been gone 
 long when he came rushing back, and began to 
 barricade the door faster than ever. He had 
 run upon the sheriff himself coming out of old 
 Facton's yard, and the sheriff had attempted to 
 arrest him: 'But I knocked him down,' said he, 
 triumphantly. This was a new complication. 
 The sheriff was already the friend and creature 
 of old Facton, who was the commonwealth's 
 
 203 
 
PASTIME STOEIES 
 
 attorney, and now to have knocked Mm down 
 would make Mm all the more bitter against us. 
 Jim changed the current of our thoughts sud- 
 denly by saying: 'Suppose old Facton should 
 choose shot-guns and buckshot? He 's one of 
 the best shots with a shot-gun in the world, one- 
 armed or no one-armed. ' I had not thought of 
 this, and I was conscious of a sudden and unex- 
 plained catching of my breath wMch left a little 
 taste in my mouth. Then I thought of my girl 
 again. I asked Jim how the Colonel lost his 
 arm. He said in the Mexican war ; and I don't 
 know why, but I was conscious again of that 
 same sinking sensation and taste. However, we 
 did not have much time to consider, for just then 
 we heard the 'cranch' of approaching footsteps 
 through the frozen snow, and the next moment 
 there came a thundering knock at the door, and 
 the sheriff was demanding admittance. I was 
 sensible of something not unlike a feeling of re- 
 lief, at which I was rather ashamed, but Lind- 
 man seemed to be in a frenzy of excitement. He 
 sprang up and seized a heavy desk. The sheriff 
 and his posse (for there were several in the 
 party, as we could tell from their voices), find- 
 ing the door locked, dashed against it, and it 
 creaked and cracked, and seemed about to give 
 
 204 
 
WHEN THE COLONEL WAS A DUELLIST 
 
 way, when Lindman got his desk against it and 
 flung himself on top of it. 'Get out of the win- 
 dow,' he whispered; 'hurry; go to Eice's loft. 
 I '11 hold it. I '11 keep the scoundrels out.' I, 
 of course, had to appear to be trying to get 
 away, so I began to fumble at the window, and 
 would have found a reasonable excuse in its 
 tight sash, if Jim had not solved the difficulty 
 by kicking the window out, sash and all. There 
 was nothing for me to do then but to climb out. 
 But, Jerusalem, how cold it was! I thought 
 the wind would split me. I was about to climb 
 back, when Jim pushed me out. (They were the 
 most eager seconds I ever saw.) I told them 
 I could not go out in that wind without a hat 
 and overcoat. They flung me a hat, and asked 
 where my overcoat was. I was looking around 
 with one eye for the coat and the other on the 
 door, hoping it might give way, which it threat- 
 ened to do every minute, when it did give way 
 with a smash, and the sheriff came in head- 
 foremost through the split. Lindman flung him- 
 self on him like a tiger, shouting to me to run — 
 he 'd hold him— and Jim gave me a shove, so 
 there was nothing else to do, and I got out. It 
 was as cold as Christmas, and as I ran across 
 the lots to Rice's stable I thought the wind 
 
 205 
 
PASTIME STORIES 
 
 would cut me in two. Jim followed, and we 
 climbed up into the loft in the hay. At first I 
 was sensible of relief at getting out of that bit- 
 ing wind, but after a little I began to freeze 
 again. I asked Jim if he thought he could get 
 any whiskey. He said not, and began to preach 
 on temperance in general, and especially on the 
 necessity of sobriety in a duellist. I said, ' Jim, 
 you talk as if you were drunk now. ' He was so 
 much offended at this that I apologized. I bur- 
 rowed down into the hay, but to no purpose. 
 Jim was better off than I, for he had an over- 
 coat. The idea that whiskey would keep me 
 from freezing seemed to take possession of me, 
 and I began to think about it all the time. 
 Presently I actually began to smell it. This 
 rather scared me, for I thought I must be 
 freezing to death. My feet were already numb. 
 Jim, who had at first been very voluble, had be- 
 come less and less so, and now only answered 
 from his hole in the hay in grunts, or not at all. 
 How long we were there I don't know, but 
 presently I could get no answer from Jim. The 
 idea seized me that he must be freezing to 
 death. This, with the delusion about the smell 
 of whiskey, aroused me, and after calling him 
 again and again and getting no response, I 
 
 206 
 
WHEN THE COLONEL WAS A DUELLIST 
 
 crawled over to him through the dark, and put 
 my hand on him. The first thing I struck was 
 a whiskey-bottle. It was empty. Jim had been 
 lying up there with that bottle until he was dead- 
 drunk. Well, I was mad. I had a great mind 
 to leave him there, but I was afraid he would 
 freeze to death. My other second I knew was 
 arrested. So there was nothing to do but to go 
 in. I crawled out and took a survey. Not a light 
 was to be seen. I was afraid to arouse any one, 
 so I had to get Jim down out of the loft and 
 back to Lindman's office by myself. He came 
 down the ladder easily enough— too easily. I 
 was afraid he had broken his neck. Did any of 
 you ever try to carry a hundred and sixty 
 pounds of limp humanity a quarter of a mile 
 through a twelve-inch snow? Well, if you have 
 not, don't try it. Next time I 'U let him freeze, 
 if he is Greorge Washington. 
 
 "When I got into Liudman's office the fire 
 was out, and the door and window looked as if 
 a jqyclone had struck them. There were splin- 
 ters enough, however, lying around to make a 
 fire, and I utilized them. I soon fried Jim out 
 enough to find he was alive ; and I never knew 
 just how it happened, but the next thing I knew 
 the sheriff was standing by Lindman's bed, and 
 
 207 
 
PASTIME STOEIES 
 
 I was in it. He had one eye in a poultice, and 
 Ms temper and nose needed one too ; but, bad as 
 they were, they were not as bad as Lindman's. 
 Lindman had spent the night in the jaU parlor, 
 after one of the most heroical fights ever put up 
 in the county. When he found that I had slept 
 in his bed it capped the climax. It came near 
 bringing on another duel, and would have done 
 so if he could have got anybody to take his chal- 
 lenge that morning. As it was, we were aU 
 bound over to keep the peace, and Facton went 
 on our bond, after making a handsome apology 
 to me, and doing all he could to shield us from 
 the public ridicule which threatened to over- 
 whelm us. Lindman became his partner after- 
 wards, and I married his daughter. That was 
 my only duel." 
 
 The Colonel stopped, and began to reach for 
 a match. 
 
 "What became of your old sweetheart. Col- 
 onel, for whom you fought?" 
 
 "She married a Methodist preacher, and went 
 as a missionary to China," said the Colonel. 
 
 THE END 
 
 208 
 
POEMS 
 
.... "Pew, few are they; 
 Perchance, among a thousand, one 
 Thou shouldest find, for whom the sun 
 Of Poesy makes an inner day." 
 — Ute Medea of Euripides — Way's TramlaUon. 
 
DEDICATION 
 
 TO F. L. P. 
 
 ^ S one who wanders in a lonely land, 
 
 Through all the blackness of a stormy night, 
 Now stumbling here, now falling there outright. 
 And doubts if it be worse to stir or stand, 
 Not knowing what abysses yawn at hand. 
 What torrents roar beyond some beetling height ; 
 Yet scales the top to find the dawn in sight. 
 And Earth kissed into radiance with its wand : 
 So, wandering hopeless in the darkness, I, 
 Scarce recking whither led my painful way. 
 Or whether I should faint or strive to prove 
 If 'jond the mountain-top some path might lie. 
 Climbed boldly up the steep, and lo ! the Day 
 Broke into pearl and splendor in thy love. 
 
 211 
 
THE COAST OF BOHEMIA 
 
 THERE is a land not charted on all charts ; 
 Though many mariners have touched its coast, 
 Who far adventuring in those distant parts, 
 Meet ship-wreck there and are forever lost; 
 Or if they e'er return, are soon once more 
 Borne far away by hunger for that magic shore. 
 
 Its mystic mountains on the horizon piled. 
 Some mariners have glimpsed when driven far 
 Out of life's measured course by tempests wild, 
 Or lured therefrom by the erratic star 
 They chose as pilot, till their errant guide 
 Drew them resistlessly within its witching tide. 
 
 For oft, they tell, who know its sapphire strand 
 
 The golden haze enfolding it hangs low. 
 
 And those who careless steer may miss the land, 
 
 Deep buried in the sunset's purple glcw, 
 
 Its lights mistaken for the evening stars. 
 
 Its music for the surf-beat on its golden bars. 
 
 Young Jason found it when he dauntless sought 
 The golden fleece by Colchis' perilous stream. 
 And in his track full many an argonaut 
 Hath found the rare fleece of his golden dream, 
 
 213 
 
THE COAST OF BOHEMIA 
 
 And at the last, Ulysses-like, surcease 
 
 From Sorrow's dole and Labor's heavy prease. 
 
 One voyager charted it for every age, 
 From azure rim to starry mountain core. 
 A nameless player on the World's great stage. 
 He spread his sails, adventured to that shore 
 And reared a pharos with his art sublime, 
 Like Ilion's song-wrought towers, to beacon every 
 clime. 
 
 The great adventurers reached it when they brake 
 Columbus-led into the unknown West, 
 And those who followed in their shining wake. 
 But left no trace of where their keels have pressed; 
 Yet have through stress of storm and tempests' rage 
 Won by his quenchless light a happy anchorage. 
 
 There rest the heroes of lost causes lorn, 
 On their calm brows more fadeless chaplets far 
 Than aU their conquerors' could e'er adorn, 
 When shone ascendant Fame's effulgent star; 
 There fallen patriots reap the glorious prize 
 Of deathless memory of their precious sacrifice. 
 
 There many a dream-faced maid and matron dwells, 
 From Argive Helen on through gliding time ; 
 There drink the poets draughts from crystal wells, 
 And choir high music to their harps sublime : 
 And there the great philosophers discourse 
 Divine Philosophy in due and tranquil course. 
 
 214 
 
THE COAST OF BOHEMIA 
 
 There not alone the great and lofty sing; 
 But silent poets too find there the song 
 They only sang in dreams when wandering 
 Amazed and lost amid the earthly throng; 
 Their hearts unfettered all from worldly fears. 
 Attuned to meet the spacious music of the spheres : 
 
 Gray, wrinkled men, the sea-salt in their hair. 
 Their eyes set deep with peering through the gloom, 
 Their voices low with speaking ever, where 
 The surges break beneath the mountains' loom; 
 But deep within their yearning, burning eyes 
 The light reflected ever from those radiant skies. 
 
 There fadeless Youth, unknowing of annoy, 
 Walks aye with ichangeless Love ; and Sorrow there 
 Is but a memory to hallow Joy, 
 With chastened Happiness so deep and rare, 
 Well-nigh the Heart aches with its rich content, 
 And Hope with full fruition evermore is blent. 
 
 Constant Penelope, her web complete. 
 
 Rests there content at last and smiling down 
 
 On worn Ulysses basking at her feet; 
 
 Calm Beatrice wears joyously the crown 
 
 Bestowed by exiled Dante in his grief, 
 
 And Laura, kind, gives Petrarch's tuneful heart relief. 
 
 'Mid bloomy meadows laved by limpid streams. 
 Repose the Muses and the Graces sweet; 
 There kiss we lips we only kissed in dreams 
 Meshed in the grosser world ; and there we meet 
 
 215 
 
THE COAST OF BOHEMIA 
 
 The fair and flower-like lost loves of our Youth, 
 When unafraid we trod the ways with radiant Truth 
 
 Those who return have pressed alone the coast; 
 
 But tell of some lost in that charmed strond : 
 
 Aspiring souls who loving Honor most, 
 
 Have sought the crystal mountain-tops beyond. 
 
 And striven upward, heedless of their scars. 
 
 To where all paths lead ever to the shining stars. 
 
 216 
 
T 
 
 THE VOICE OP THE SEA 
 
 HITS spake to Man the thousand-throated Sea; 
 Words which the stealing wiiids caught from 
 its lips : 
 
 Thou thinkest thee and thine, God's topmost crown. 
 But hearken unto me and humbly learn 
 How infinite thine insignificance. 
 Thou boastest of thine age — ^thy works — ^thyself: 
 Thine oldest monuments of which thou prat'st 
 Were built but yesterday when measured by 
 Yon snow-domed mountains of eternal rock: 
 The Earth, thy mother, from whose breast thou 
 
 draw'st, 
 The sweat-stained living which she wills to give, 
 And in whose dust thine own must melt again, 
 Was aged cycles ere thine earliest dawn; — 
 But they to me are young : I gave them birth. 
 Climb up those heaven-tipt peaks thy dizziest height. 
 Thou there shalt read, graved deep, my name and age ; 
 Dig down thy deepest depth, shalt read them still. 
 Before the mountains sprang, before the Earth, 
 Thy cradle and thy tomb, was made, I was : 
 God called them forth from me, as thee from Earth. 
 Thou burrow 'st through a mountain, here and there, 
 Work'st all thine engines, cutting off a speck; 
 
 217 
 
THE VOICE OF THE SEA 
 
 I wash their rock-foundations under; tear 
 
 Turret from turret, toppling thundering down, 
 
 And crush their mightiest fragments into sand : 
 
 Thou gravest with thy records slab and spar. 
 
 And callest them memorials of thy Might; — 
 
 Lo ! not a stone exists, from' yon black cliff 
 
 To that small pebble at thy foot, but bears 
 
 My signature graved there when Earth was young, 
 
 To teach the mighty wonders of the Deep. 
 
 Thy deeds — ^thyself— are what? A morning mist! 
 
 But I ! I face the ages. Dost not know 
 
 That as I gave the Earth to spread her fair 
 
 And dew-washed body in the morning light. 
 
 So, still, 't is I that keep her fair and fresh ? — 
 
 That weave her robes and nightly diamond them? 
 
 I fill her odorous bowers with perfumes rare; 
 
 Strew field and forest with bee-haunted stars; 
 
 I give the Morn pearl for her radiant roof. 
 
 And Eve lend glory for her rosy dome; 
 
 I build the purple towers that hold the West 
 
 And guard the passage of Retiring Day. 
 
 Thy frailest fabric far outlasts thyself: 
 
 The pyramids rise from the desert sands, 
 
 Their builders blown in dust about their feet. 
 
 The winged bull looms mid an alien race. 
 
 Grim, silent, lone. But whither went the King? 
 
 I cool the lambent air upon my breast. 
 
 And send the winds forth on mine embassies; 
 
 I offer all my body to the Sun, 
 
 And lade our caravans with merchandise, 
 
 To carry wealth and plenty to all climes. 
 
 218 
 
THE VOICE OF THE SEA 
 
 Yon fleecy continents of floating snow, 
 
 That dwarf the mountains over which they sail, 
 
 Are but my bales borne by my messengers, 
 
 To cheer and gladden every thirsty land. 
 
 The Arab by his palm-girt desert pool, 
 
 The Laplander above his frozen rill, 
 
 The "Woodsman crouched beside his forest brook, 
 
 The shepherd mirrored in his upland spring. 
 
 Drink of my cup in one great brotherhood. 
 
 'T is, nay, not man alone— thou art but one 
 
 Of all the myriads of life-holding things, — 
 
 Brute, beast, bird, reptile, insect, thing unnamed. 
 
 Whose souls find recreation in my breath: 
 
 Nay, not a tree, flower, sprig of grass or weed. 
 
 But lives through me and hymns my praise to God 
 
 I feed, sustain, refresh and keep them all: 
 
 Mirror and type of God that giveth life. 
 
 I sing as softly as a mother croons 
 
 Her drowsy babe to sleep upon her breast. 
 
 On quiet nights when all my winds are laid, 
 
 I wile the stars down from their azure home 
 
 To sink with golden footprints in my depths: 
 
 I show the silvered pathway to the moon. 
 
 All paved with gems the errant Pleiad lost, 
 
 That night she strayed from her sisters wan; 
 
 But I sing other times strains from that song 
 
 Before whose awfuhiess my waters sank, 
 
 And at whose harmony the mountains rose, 
 
 I heard that morning when the breath of God 
 
 Moved on my face, and said, Let there be light! 
 
 I thrill and tremble since but at the thought 
 
 219 
 
THE VOICE OF THE SEA 
 
 Of that great wonder of that greatest dawn, 
 When at God's word the brooding darkness rose, 
 Which veiled my face from all the birth of things 
 And rolled far frighted from its resting-place, 
 To bide henceforth beyond Day's crystal walls, 
 While all the morning stars together sang. 
 And on the instant God stood full revealed ! 
 
 220 
 
LONG ROLL AT NAPOLEON'S TOMB 
 
 Til "WAS the marble crypt where the Emperor lay, 
 _L His mighty marshals on either side, 
 Guarding his couch since the solemn day 
 France brought him home in her chastened pride, 
 To sleep on her heart, from the sea-girt cage 
 Where the Eagle pined and died in his rage, 
 
 I thought of the long, red carnival 
 Death held in the track of his sword, amain, 
 Prom Toulon's bloom to the crimsoned pall 
 He spread upon Waterloo's ripened grain; 
 I thought of the long black years of dread 
 When the nations quaked at his armies' tread. 
 
 A-sudden above as the twilight fell 
 
 The deathly silence around was shocked 
 
 By the roll of a drum. At the throbbing swell 
 
 The vaulted dome of the Heavens rocked, 
 
 Till it seemed that the mighty conqueror's soul 
 
 Was shaking the earth in that drum's long roll. 
 
 In the purple glooming the spell was wrought; 
 And forth from their tomb the legions sprang: 
 A Cadmus-brood of a Master's thought; 
 The long-roll beat and the bugles sang: 
 
 221 
 
LONG EOLL AT NAPOLEON'S TOMB 
 
 The tattered standards again unfurled, 
 And Napoleon once more bestrid the world. 
 
 I heard that instant the self-same drum 
 
 Which beat at his call when France arose 
 
 From her ashes and blood when he bade her come 
 
 In Liberty's name to face her foes; 
 
 I saw her invincible armies arise, 
 
 The light of Liberty in their eyes. 
 
 O'er Tyranny's pyre her standards flew; 
 I felt the thrill of the new-born life: 
 As cleansed from Terror, France the true, 
 Sprang forth rejoicing amid the strife, 
 As a woman rejoiceth travail-torn 
 At the living voice of ner own first-born. 
 
 From the ruddy morning on Egypt's sands, 
 When her eagles rose in their terrible flight 
 To stretch their shadow across the lands 
 Till it perished in Russia's frozen night. 
 When th' insatiable conqueror's reckoning came 
 And his Empire melted away in flame : 
 
 When there at Moscow the Lord God spoke 
 And said, "Thine end is at hand: prepare," 
 As at Kadesh once, from amid the smoke. 
 To the prophet who led His People there ; 
 "I set thee up, I will cast thee down. 
 For that thou claimedst thyself the crown. 
 
 222 
 
LONG EOLL AT NAPOLEON'S TOMB 
 
 "Thine eyes have seen; but thou shalt not stand 
 On the promised shore of a world set free ; 
 The People shall pass alone to the Land 
 Of Promise and Light and Liberty: 
 Of Peace enthroned in a Nation's trust, 
 When thou and thy throne alike are dust." 
 
 223 
 
THE PRINCESS' PROGRESS 
 
 ACROSS the dusky land 
 .xA- The Gracious Goddess, Spring, 
 In vernal robes arrayed. 
 Last night her royal progress made, 
 Scattering with lavish hand 
 Her fragrant blossoming. 
 Along the wold, 
 In spendthrift glee. 
 She strewed her gold 
 And gilded all the lea. 
 The dandelions' yellow coin 
 Lie scattered in the tangled grass. 
 And buttercup and crocus join 
 To tell the way she chose to pass. 
 In lavish wealth the gleaming daffodil 
 Shines on the cloudy April hUl, 
 And many a yellow marigold 
 Marks where her brazen chariot rolled; 
 The slender-necked narcissus bends 
 His dewy head, and leaning down, 
 Looks deep to find within a dew-drop 's lens 
 A mirrowing pool where Love may drown. 
 No cranny deep nor nook 
 But felt her tender look; 
 
 224 
 
THE PEINCESS' PROGRESS 
 
 No secret leafy place 
 
 But wanned before her face 
 
 And blossomed with her grace. 
 
 The woodland, sombre yesterday, 
 
 Hath in her presence donned a brave array, 
 
 And in a night grown gay. 
 
 Her purple cloak, all careless flung, 
 
 Upon the red-bud hung; 
 
 And on the forest trees. 
 
 Her richest laceries. 
 
 While sprinkled deep with dust of gold 
 
 The tender, flowery branches hold 
 
 Her verdant robe blown fold on fold. 
 
 Her queenly figure clad 
 
 In broidered raiment glad, 
 
 Complete and passing sweet. 
 
 Hath set the sylvan zephyrs mad. 
 
 About her breathed rare odors sweet, 
 
 Of roses blowing neath her feet: 
 
 About her breathed sweet odors rare, 
 
 Of violets shaken from her hair. 
 
 As though unseen of mortal eyes. 
 
 She 'd jarred the gates of Paradise. 
 
 Her crystal horn in passing by she wound, 
 
 And at the witching sound. 
 
 As by the enchanter's stroke, 
 
 The fields in music broke. 
 
 And every silent grove in melody awoke. 
 
 Responsive to her charmed lyre 
 
 The dewy-throated choir 
 
 Carol in every brake and brier, 
 
 225 
 
THE PRINCESS' PROGRESS 
 
 And flood with golden song 
 
 The verdant reaches ranged along — 
 
 Where drinking deep from fountains clear 
 
 Their inspiration, 
 
 They hymn their jubiliation 
 
 That Spring again is here ; 
 
 And all together sing 
 
 The Goddess of the Tear, 
 
 The Spring: the gracious Spring. 
 
 226 
 
YOUTH 
 
 I ONCE might hear the fairies sing 
 Upon the feathery grass a-swing, 
 Or in the orchard's blossoming: 
 Their melody so fine and clear, 
 One had to bend his ear to hear, 
 Or else the music well might pass 
 For zephyrs whispering in the grass 
 
 I once might see the fairies dance 
 
 A-circle in their meadow-haunts, 
 
 Soft-tapered by the new-moon's glance: 
 
 Their airy feet in crystal shoon 
 
 Made twinklings neath the silver moon. 
 
 Such witchery, but that 't was seen. 
 
 Might well have been the dew-drops' sheen- 
 
 I 've wandered far yond summer seas, 
 
 Where Music dwells mid harmonies 
 
 That well the Seraphim might please; 
 
 But never more I catch, ah me ! 
 
 The fairies* silvery melody — 
 
 Their crystal twinkling on the moonlit lea. 
 
 227 
 
AMERICA: GREETING 
 
 I HAVE journeyed the spacious world over, 
 And here to thy sapphire wide gate, 
 America, I, thy True Lover 
 Return now, exalted, elate. 
 As an heir who returns to recover 
 His forefathers' lofty estate. 
 
 I 've seen visions of castle and palace 
 
 Up-soaring to sun-flooded skies, 
 
 Where men have drunk deep of Death's chalice, 
 
 In infinite soul-agonies — 
 
 Where Tyranny glutted her malice 
 
 And battened on Liberty's cries. 
 
 Where splendor of palace and tower 
 
 Cried up unto God with men's blood; 
 
 Where th' emblems of Tyranny's Power 
 
 Imperial and brazen have stood. 
 
 With faggot and sword to devour. 
 
 And the rack scowling hard by God's Rood. 
 
 And now at thy fair, open portal, 
 
 I stand as I stood in my Youth, 
 
 Amazed at the vision immortal 
 
 Of naked and unashamed Truth : 
 
 The Truth that the Fathers have taught aU 
 
 Their children : their birth-right in sooth. 
 
 228 
 
AMERICA: GREETING 
 
 I greet thee : thy purple, large reaches,— 
 From the snow-mantled, spire-pointed pine, 
 To thy golden, long, low-lying beaches, 
 Awash with thy tropical brine, 
 And thine infinite bosom that teaches 
 How God hath made Freedom divine. 
 
 God dowered thee fair mid the Oceans: 
 He bulwarked thee strong with the seas, 
 That Man might preserve here the motions 
 He gave Freedom's bold processes: 
 That Man in his loftiest devotions 
 Might serve Freedom's altars in Peace. 
 
 How crude then and rude then soever 
 Thy struggles to lift from the sod. 
 Thy Freedom is strong to dissever 
 The Shackles, the Yoke, and the Rod ; 
 Thy Freedom is Mighty forever. 
 For men who kneel only to God. 
 
 229 
 
DAWN 
 
 WHO hath not heard in dusky summer dawn^ 
 Ere winds Aurora's horn, the dreamy spell 
 Just rippled by some drowsy sentinel. 
 Who from his leafy outpost on the lawns 
 Chimes sleepily his call that all is well? 
 A moment— pipes another silvery note : 
 Aurora's crystal wheels flash up the sky; 
 The sentries cry the Dawn and joyously 
 Glad Welcome peals from every dewy throat, 
 And every leafy bough chimes melody. 
 
 So, in the gloom and silence of the night, 
 My heart in slumber steeped, unheeding lay, 
 Not recking how the hours might fleet away ; 
 When on my Heavens dawned a radiant light, 
 And straight I wakened to a shining day. 
 
 230 
 
THE POET ON AGRADINA 
 
 THE spacious cities hmnmed with toil: 
 The monarch reared his towers to the skies ; 
 Men delved the fruitful soil 
 And studied to be wise; 
 Along the highway's rocky coil 
 The mailed legions rang; 
 Smiling unheeded 'mid the moil, 
 The Poet sang. 
 
 The glittering cities long are heaps : 
 The starry towers lie level with the plain; 
 The desert serpent sleeps 
 Where soared the marble fane; 
 The stealthy, bead-eyed lizard creeps 
 "Where gleamed the tyrant 's throne ; 
 The grandeur dark oblivion steeps : 
 The song sings on. 
 
 231 
 
THE SHEPHERD OP THE SEAS 
 
 FROM Raleigh's Devon hills the misty sea 
 Climhs ever westward till it meets the sky,. 
 And silently the white-fleeced ships go by, 
 And mount and mount up the long azure lea, 
 Peaceful as sheep at night that placidly 
 Climb the tall downs to quiet pastures high, 
 Assured no foes dare lurk, no dangers lie 
 "Where still abides their shepherd's memory. 
 "Well did men name him "Shepherd of the Seas," 
 "Who knew so well his shepherd's watch to keep. 
 Driving the Spanish wolves with noble rage : 
 Forsaking Pomp and Power and Beds-of-ease 
 To herd his mighty flock through every Deep 
 And make of every sea their common pasturage. 
 
 232 
 
SLEEP 
 
 IN MEMOBIAM : A. B. P. 
 
 THOU best of all: God's choicest blessing, Sleep; 
 Better than Earth can offer— Wealth, Power, 
 Fame: 
 
 They change, decay ; thou always art the same ; 
 Through all the years thy freshness thou dost keep ; 
 Over all lands thine even pinions sweep. 
 
 The sick, the worn, the blind, the lone, the lame, 
 
 Hearing thy tranquil footsteps, bless thy name ; 
 Anguish is soothed. Sorrow forgets to weep. 
 Thou ope'st the captive's cell and bid'st him roam; 
 
 Thou giv'st the hunted refuge, free'st the slave, 
 
 Show'st the outcast pity, call'st the exile home; 
 Beggar and king thine equal blessings reap. 
 
 We for our loved ones Wealth, Joy, Honors crave ; 
 
 But God, He giveth his beloved— Sleep. 
 
 233 
 
TO A LADY AT A SPRING 
 
 10NG aeons since, in leafy woodlands sweet, 
 i Diana, weary with the eager chase, 
 
 Was wont to seek full oft some trysting-place 
 Loved of her rosy train ; some cool retreat 
 Of crystal springs, deep-bowered from the heat 
 
 Of sultry noon, wherein each subtle grace 
 
 Of snowy form and radiant flower-face, 
 Narcissus-like, goddess and nymph might greet. 
 Diana long hath fleeted 'yond the main ; 
 
 The founts which erst she loved are all bereft ; 
 
 No more 'mid violet-banks her feet are set; 
 Silent her silvern bugle, fled her train ; 
 
 One spot alone of all she loved is left: 
 
 This poplar-shaded spring is Goddess-haunted yet 
 
 234 
 
UNPORGOTTEN 
 
 OH ! do not think that thee I can forget : 
 Though all the Centuries should o'er me roll- 
 Though Space should spread more far than Pole from 
 
 Pole, 
 Or star from furthest star betwixt us ; yet, 
 I still would hold thee in my heart's core set: 
 More rare than rarest Queens whom Kings extol 
 "When Death hath throned them high above regret. 
 Through endless Time when Memory the stone 
 Rolls back from silent years long sepulchred, 
 To call the Past forth from the sullen tomb, 
 Howe'er far 'yond her voice all else hath flown, 
 Shalt thou appear — her living summons heard — 
 Fresh as Eternal Spring in all thy radiant bloom. 
 
 235 
 
THE OLD LION 
 
 "THE WHELPS OF THE LION ANSWER HIM" 
 
 THE Old Lion stood in his lonely lair : 
 The sound of the hunting had broken his rest : 
 He scowled to the Eastward: Tiger and Bear 
 Were harrying his Jungle. He turned to the westj 
 And sent through the murk and mist of the night 
 A thunder that rumbled and rolled down the trail; 
 And Tiger and Bear, the Quarry in sight, 
 Crouched low in the covert to cower and quail ; 
 For deep through the midnight like surf on a shore, 
 Pealed Thunder in answer resounding with ire. 
 The Hunters turn'd stricken: they knew the dread 
 
 roar: 
 The Whelp of the Lion was joining his Sire. 
 
 236 
 
THE DRAGON OF THE SEAS 
 
 THEY say the Spanish ships are out 
 To seize the Spanish Main; 
 Reach down the volume, Boy, and read 
 The story o'er again: 
 
 How when the Spaniard had the might, 
 He drenched the Earth, like rain. 
 With Saxon blood and made it Death 
 To sail the Spanish Main. 
 
 With torch and steel; with stake and rack 
 He trampled out God's Truce 
 Until Queen Bess her leashes slip't 
 And let her sea-dogs loose. 
 
 God ! how they sprang and how they tore ! 
 The Gilberts, Hawkins, Drake ! 
 Remember, Boy, they were your sires: 
 They made the Spaniard quake. 
 
 Dick Grenville with a single ship. 
 Struck all the Spanish line: 
 One Devon knight to the Spanish Dons: 
 One ship to fifty and nine. 
 
 237 
 
THE DEAGON OF THE SEAS 
 
 Wlien Spain in San Ulloa's Bay 
 
 Her sacred treaty broke, 
 
 Stout Hawkins fought his way through fire 
 
 And gave her stroke for stroke. 
 
 A bitter malt Spain brewed that day, 
 She drained it to the lees: 
 The thunder of her guns awoke 
 The Dragon of The Seas. 
 
 From coast to coast he ravaged far, 
 A scourge with flaming breath: 
 Where'er the Spaniard sailed his ships, 
 Sailed Francis Drake and Death. 
 
 No coast was safe against his ire; 
 Secure no furthest shore; 
 The fairest day oft sank in fire 
 Before the Dragon's roar. 
 
 He made th' Atlantic surges red 
 Round every Spanish keel, 
 Piled Spanish decks with Spanish dead, 
 The noblest of Castile. 
 
 From Del Fuego's beetling coast 
 To sleety Hebrides 
 He hounded down the Spanish host 
 And swept the flaming seas. 
 
 He fought till on Spain's inmost lakes 
 'Mid Orange bowers set, 
 
 238 
 
THE DRAGON OF THE SEAS 
 
 La Mancha's maidens feared to sail 
 Lest, they the Dragon met.* 
 
 King Philip, of his ravin' reft, 
 
 Called for "the Pirate's" head; 
 
 The great Queen laughed his wrath to scorn 
 
 And knighted Drake instead. 
 
 And gave him ships and sent him forth 
 To sweep the Spanish Main, 
 For England and for England's toood, 
 And sink the fleets of Spain. 
 
 And well he wrought his mighty work, 
 TiU on that fatal day 
 He met his only conqueror. 
 In Nombre Dios Bay. 
 
 There in his shotted hammock swung 
 Amid the surges' sweep, 
 He waits the look-out's signal cry 
 Across the quiet deep, 
 
 And dreams of dark Ulloa's bar, 
 And Spanish treachery, 
 And how he tracked Magellan far 
 Across the unknown sea. 
 
 ^Note. It is related that King Philip one day invited 
 a lady to sail with him on a lake, and she replied 
 that she was afraid they might meet "the Dragon." 
 
 239 
 
THE DRAGON OF THE SEAS 
 
 But if Spain fire a single shot 
 Upon the Spanish Main, 
 She '11 come to deem the Dragon dead 
 Has waked to life again. 
 
 240 
 
THE BENT MONK 
 
 EVER along the way he goes, 
 With eyes cast down as in despair, 
 And shoulders stooped with weight of woes 
 And lips from which unceasing flows 
 An agonized prayer. 
 
 His form is bent ; his step is slow ; 
 
 His hands with fasting long are thin; 
 And wheresoe'er his footsteps go, 
 Men hear his muttered prayer and know 
 
 He weeps for deadly sin. 
 
 This monk was once the knightliest 
 
 Of knights who ever sat in hall: 
 With wondrous might and beauty blest; 
 And whoso met him lance-in-rest 
 
 Had need on Christ to call. 
 
 Men say this monk with hair so hoar, 
 
 And eye where grief hath quenched the flame, 
 Onoe loved a maiden fair and pure. 
 And for she would not wed him swore 
 He 'd bring her down to Shame. 
 
 241 
 
THE BENT MONK 
 
 They say he wooed her long and well; 
 
 And splendid spoils both eve and mom 
 Of song and tourney won, they tell, 
 He gave her till at last she fell, 
 
 Then drave her forth with scorn. 
 
 The world was cold; her father's door 
 Was barred — they thus the tale repeat— 
 
 Her name was heard in jousts no more ; 
 
 And so, one day the river bore 
 And laid her at his feet. 
 
 Her brow was calm, the sunny hair 
 Lay tangled in the snowy breast, 
 And from the face all trace of care 
 And sin was cleansed away, and there 
 Shone only utter rest. 
 
 The old men say that when the wave 
 That burden brought, then backward fled, 
 
 He stooped, no sign nor groan he gave, 
 
 As mourners by an open grave; 
 But fell as one struck dead. 
 
 He seemed, when from that swound he woke, 
 
 A man already touched by Death, 
 As when the stalwart forest oak, 
 Blasted beneath the lightning's stroke 
 Lives on, yet languisheth. 
 
 242 
 
THE BENT MONK 
 
 And ever since he tells his beads, 
 
 And sackcloth lieth next his skin, 
 And nightly his frail body bleeds 
 "With knotted cord that intercedes 
 With Christ for deadly sin. 
 
 For his own soul he hath no care, 
 By penance purged as if by flame: 
 
 Men know that agonized prayer 
 
 He prays is for the maiden fair 
 "Whom he brought down to Shame. 
 
 And still along the way he goes, 
 
 With eyes cast down as in despair, 
 And shoulders stooped with weight of woes. 
 And lips from which forever flows 
 An agonized prayer. 
 
 243 
 
THE MESSAGE 
 
 AN ancient tome came to my hands: 
 jLJL a tale of love in other lands : 
 Writ by a Master so divine, 
 The Love seems ever mine and thine. 
 The volume opened at the place 
 That sings of sweet Francesca's grace: 
 How reading of Fair Guinevere 
 And Launcelot that long gone year, 
 Her eyes into her lover's fell 
 And— there was nothing more to tell. 
 That day they op 'ed that book no more : 
 Thenceforth they read a deeper lore. 
 
 Beneath the passage so divine, 
 
 Some woman's hand had traced a line, 
 
 And reverently upon the spot 
 
 Had laid a blue forget-me-not: 
 
 A message sent across the years, 
 
 Of Lovers' sighs and Lovers' tears: 
 
 A messenger left there to teU 
 
 They too had loved each other well. 
 
 The centuries had glided by 
 
 Since Love had heaved that tender sigh; 
 
 The tiny spray that spoke her trust. 
 
 Had like herself long turned to dust. 
 
 244 
 
THE MESSAGE 
 
 I felt a sudden sorrow stir 
 My heart across the years for her, 
 Who, reading how Francesca loved. 
 Had found her heart so deeply moved: 
 "Who, hearing poor Francesca 's moan. 
 Had felt her sorrow as her own. 
 I hope where e 'er her grave may be, 
 Forget-me-nots bloom constantly: 
 That somewhere in yon distant skies 
 He who is Love hath heard her sighs : 
 And her hath granted of His Grace, 
 Ever to see her Lover's face. 
 
 245 
 
THE NEEDLE'S EYE 
 
 THEY bade me come to the House of Prayer, 
 They said I should find my Saviour there : 
 I was wicked enough, God wot, at best, 
 And weary enough to covet rest. 
 
 I paused at the door with a timid knock : 
 The People within were a silken flock — 
 By their scowls of pride it was plain to see 
 Salvation was not for the likes of me. 
 
 The Bishop was there in his lace and lawn, 
 And the cassocked priest,— I saw him yawn, — 
 The rich and great and virtuous too. 
 Stood smug and contented each in his pew. 
 
 The music was grand,— the service fine, 
 The sermon was eloquent, — ^nigh divine. 
 The subject was, Pride and the Pharisee, 
 And the Publican who was just like me. 
 
 I smote my breast in an empty pew. 
 
 But an usher came and looked me through 
 
 And bade me stand beside the door 
 
 In the space reserved for the mean and poor. 
 
 246 
 
THE NEEDLE'S EYE 
 
 I left the clrarch in my rags and shame : 
 In the dark without, One called my name. 
 "They have turned me out as weU," quoth He, 
 "Take thou my hand and come fare with me. 
 
 "We may find the light by a narrow gate, 
 The way is steep and rough and strait; 
 But none wiU look if your clothes be poor, 
 When you come at last to my Father's door." 
 
 I struggled on where'er He led : 
 The blood ran down from His hand so red ! 
 The blood ran down from His forehead torn. 
 " 'Tis naught," quoth He, "but the prick of a 
 thorn!" 
 
 'You bleed," I cried, for my heart 'gan quail. 
 ' 'Tis naught, 'tis naught but the print of a nail." 
 'Yoii limp in pain and your feet are sore." 
 'Tea, yea," quoth He, "for the nails they were four." 
 
 'You are weary and faint and bent," I cried. 
 ' 'Twas a load I bore up a mountain side." 
 ' The way is steep, and I faint. ' ' But He : 
 'It was steeper far upon Calvary." 
 
 By this we had come to a narrow door, 
 I had spied afar. It was locked before ; 
 But now in the presence of my Guide, 
 The fast closed postern opened wide. 
 
 And forth there streamed a radiance 
 More bright than is the noon-sun's glance; 
 
 247 
 
THE NEEDLE'S EYE 
 
 And harps and voices greeted Him — 
 The music of the Seraphim. 
 
 I knew His face where the light did fall : 
 I had spat in it, in Herod's Hall, 
 I knew those nail-prints now, ah, me! — 
 I had helped to nail Him to a tree. 
 
 I fainting fell before His face, 
 Imploring pardon of His grace. 
 He stooped and silencing my moan, 
 He bore me near to His Father's throne. 
 
 He wrapt me close and hid my shame, 
 And touched my heart with a cleansing flame. 
 'Rest here," said He, "while I go and try 
 To widen a little a Needle's Eye." 
 
 248 
 
THE CLOSED DOOR 
 
 IORD, is it Thou who knockest at my door? 
 A I made it fast and 't will not open more ; 
 Barred it so tight I scarce can hear Thy knock, 
 And am too feeble now to turn the lock, 
 Clogged with my folly and my grievous sin: 
 Put forth Thy might, Lord, and burst it in. 
 
 249 
 
CONVENTION 
 
 4 T the Judgment-bar stood spirits three : 
 XJL a thief, a fool and a man of degree, 
 To whom spake the Judge in his Majesty : 
 
 To the shivering thief: "Thy sins are forgiven, 
 For that to repent thou hast sometime striven ; 
 There be other penitent thieves in Heaven." 
 
 To the fool: "Poor fool, thou art free from sin; 
 
 To My light thou, too, mayest enter in, 
 
 "Where Life and Thought shall for thee begin." 
 
 To the mirror of others, smug and neat, 
 With the thoughts and sajdngs of others replete. 
 This Judgment rolled from the Judgment-seat: 
 
 "Remain thou thyself, a worm to crawl. 
 Thou, doubly damned, canst not lower fall 
 Than ne'er to have thought for thyself at all." 
 
 250 
 
s 
 
 THE MAGDALEN 
 
 HE flaunted recklessly along, 
 With hollow laugh and mocking song; 
 
 In tawdry garb and painted mirth, 
 The sorrowfulest thing on earth. 
 
 Time runs apace : the fleeting years 
 Left but her misery and her tears. 
 
 The very brothel-door was barred 
 Against a wretch so crook 'd and marred. 
 
 She knocked at every gate in vain, 
 The cast-out harlot black with stain — 
 
 At all save one, — when this she tried, — 
 'T was His, the High Priest crucified. 
 
 He heard her tears, flung wide His door 
 And said, "Come in, and sin no more." 
 
 251 
 
THE REQUIREMENT 
 
 TO the Steward of his vineyard spake the Lord, 
 When he handed him over His Keys and Sword 
 "See that you harken unto my word: 
 
 "There be three chief things that I love," quoth He, 
 ' ' That bear a sweet savor up to me : 
 They be Justice, Mercy and Purity." 
 
 Justice was sold at a thief's behest; 
 
 Purity went for a harlot's jest. 
 
 And Mercy was slain with a sword in her breast. 
 
 252 
 
THE LISTENER 
 
 ASPAEROW sang on a weed, 
 Sprung from an upturned sod, 
 And no one gave him heed 
 Or heard the song, save God. 
 
 CONTRADICTION 
 
 A BISHOP preached Sunday on Dives forsaken 
 . How he was cast out and Lazarus taken ; 
 The very next day he rejoiced he was able 
 To dine that evening at Dives' table. 
 While wretched Lazarus, sick and poor. 
 Was called an impostor and turned from the door. 
 
 253 
 
THE QUESTION 
 
 WHY may I not step from this empty room, 
 Where heavy round me hangs the curtained 
 gloom, 
 And passing through a little darkness there, 
 Even as one climbs to bed an unlit stair, 
 Find that I know is but one step above. 
 And that I hunger for: my Life: my Love? 
 
 'T is but a curtain doth our souls divide, 
 A veil my eager hand might tear aside — 
 One step to take, one thrill, one throb, one bound. 
 And I have gained my Heaven, the Lost have found- 
 Have solved the riddle rare, the secret dread: 
 The vast, unfathomable secret of the Dead. 
 
 It seems but now that as I yearning stand, 
 I might put forth my hand and touch her hand ; 
 That I might lift my longing eyes and trace 
 But for the darkness there the gracious face; 
 That could I hush the grosser sounds, my ear 
 The charmed music of her voice might hear. 
 
 She may not come to me, Alas ! I know. 
 
 Else had she surely come, long, long ago. 
 
 The Conqueror Death, who save One conquers aU, 
 
 Had never power to hold that soul in thrall; 
 
 254 
 
THE QUESTION 
 
 No narrowest prison-house ; no piled up stone 
 Had held her heart a captive from my own. 
 
 No, 't is not these: Hell's might nor Heaven's 
 
 charms, 
 Had never power to hold her from my arms ; — 
 'T is that by some inscrutable, fixed Law, 
 Vaster than mortal vision ever saw, 
 Whose sweep is worlds; whose track Eternity, 
 Somewhere her soul angelic waits for me: — 
 
 Waits patiently His Wisdom, whose decree 
 Is Wisdom's self veiled in Infinity: 
 Who gives us Life divine with mortal breath. 
 Yet in its pathway, lo ! hath planted Death ; 
 Who grants us Love our dull souls to uplift 
 Nearer to Him ; yet tears away His Gift ; 
 
 Crowns us with Reason in His image made, 
 Yet blinds our eyes with never lifting shade. 
 Who may the mystery solve ? 'T is His decree ! 
 Can Mortal understand Infinity? 
 Prostrate thyself before His feet, dull clod. 
 Who saith, "Be still, and know that I am God." 
 
 Ah! did we surely know the joys that wait 
 Beyond the portal of the silent gate. 
 Who would a moment longer here abide. 
 The spectre. Sorrow, stalking at his side? 
 Who would not daring take the leap and be 
 Unbound, unfettered clean, a slave set free! 
 
 255 
 
OUR DEAD 
 
 WE bury our dead, 
 "We lay them to sleep 
 With the earth for their bed, 
 With stones at their head : 
 We leave them and weep 
 When we bury our dead. 
 
 We bury our dead, 
 We lay them to sleep,— 
 On our Mother's calm breast 
 We leave them to rest — 
 To rest while we weep. 
 
 We bury our dead, 
 We lay them to sleep — 
 They reek not our tears, 
 Though the sad years creep — 
 Through our tears, through the years 
 They tranquilly sleep. 
 
 We bury our dead. 
 
 We lay them to sleep ; 
 
 We bury the bloom 
 
 Of our life, — all our bloom 
 
 In the coffin we fold : 
 
 We enfold in the tomb: 
 
 We reenter the room 
 
 We left young,— we are old. 
 
 256 
 
OUE DEAD 
 
 We bury our dead, 
 
 We lay them to sleep ; 
 
 The cold Time-tides flow 
 
 With winter and spring, 
 
 With birds on the wing, 
 
 With roses and snow. 
 
 With friends who beguile 
 
 Our sorrow with pity — 
 
 With pity awhile. 
 
 Then weary and smile, 
 
 Then chide us, say, "Lo! 
 
 How the sun shines, — 't is May." 
 
 But we know 't is not so— 
 
 That the sim died that day 
 
 When we laid them away. 
 
 With the earth for a bed — 
 
 When we buried our dead. 
 
 We bury our dead. 
 
 We lay them to sleep ; 
 
 We turn back to the world ; 
 
 We are caught, — we are whirled 
 
 In the rush of the current — 
 
 The rush and the sweep 
 
 Of the tide, without rest. 
 
 But they sleep— they the blest — 
 
 The Blessed dead sleep : 
 
 They tranquilly rest 
 
 On our Mother's calm breast. 
 
 257 
 
MY MOTHER 
 
 I KNEW her in her prime, 
 Before the seal of Time 
 Was graven on her brow, 
 As Age hath graved it now : 
 When radiant Youth was just subdued 
 To yield to gracious womanhood. 
 And as an inland lake 
 Lies tranquil mid the hills, 
 Unruffled by the storms that break 
 Beyond, and mirrors Heaven; 
 So, to her spirit, freed from ills, 
 A blessed calm was given. 
 Encircled by War's strife 
 Peace ruled her life. 
 
 Christ's teachings were her constant guide, 
 And naught beside; 
 
 Christ's Death and Passion were her plea — 
 None needed she; 
 
 For that amid earth's fiercest strife 
 Her life was patterned on His life. 
 Now when her eyes grow dim 
 She lives so close to Him, 
 The radiance of His smile 
 Envelops her the while. 
 As when the Prophet's figure shone 
 With light reflected from the Throne, 
 
 258 
 
MY MOTHER 
 
 So, ever in her face 
 
 Shines Heaven's divinest grace. 
 
 Her soul is fresh and mild 
 
 As is a little child. 
 
 And as the fleshly tenement 
 
 With age grows worn and bent, 
 
 Her Spirit's unabated youth 
 
 Is aye to me 
 
 The mind-compelling truth 
 
 Of Immortality. 
 
 Her voice is, as it were, 
 
 A silver dulcimer, 
 
 Tuned like the seraph's lays 
 
 Eternally to praise. 
 
 The blessings of Christ's chosen friends 
 
 Are doubly hers, whose mind, 
 
 To charity inclined. 
 
 No selfish ends 
 
 Have ever for an instant moved; 
 
 Who served like Martha 
 
 And like Mary loved. 
 
 259 
 
HER INFLUENCE 
 
 THE tender Earth that smiles when kissed by 
 Spring; 
 The flowers; the budding woods; the birds that sing 
 The Summer's song her spirit to me bring. 
 
 The meadows cool that breathe their fragrant myrrh ; 
 Deep, placid pools that little breezes blur; 
 Soft-tinkling springs speak to my heart of her. 
 
 Heaven's purple towers upon the horizon's rim; 
 The dove that mourns upon his lonely limb, 
 Fill my soul's cup with memories to its brim. 
 
 In evening's calm when in the quiet skies, 
 The lustrous, silent, tender stars uprise, 
 I feel the holy influence of her eyes. 
 
 That deeper hour when Night with Dawn is blent, 
 And Silence stirs, its languors well-nigh spent, 
 I hear her gently sigh with sweet content. 
 
 I hear young children laughing in the street: 
 
 Catch rays of sunshine from them as we meet, 
 
 And smile content to know what makes them sweet. 
 
 Yea, everywhere, in every righteous strife, 
 I find her spirit's fragrant influence rife, 
 Like Mary's precious spikenard sweetening Life. 
 
 260 
 
MATTHEW AENOLD 
 
 HE challenged all that came within his ken, 
 And Error held with steadfast mind aloof. 
 E'en Truth itself he put upon the proof: 
 Holding that Light was God's first gift to men. 
 
 261 
 
THE STRANGER 
 
 STRAYING one day amid the leafy bowers, 
 A Presence passed, masked in a sunny ray, 
 Tossing behind him carelessly the hours, 
 As one shakes blossoms from a ravished spray, — 
 Strewing them far and wide. 
 Nor glanced to either side. 
 
 A-sudden as he strolled he chanced upon 
 
 A flower which full within his pathway blew, 
 
 "White as a lily, modest as a nun, 
 
 Sweeter than Lilith's rose in Eden grew — 
 
 Her beauty he espied, 
 
 Approached and softly sighed. 
 
 His breath the blossom stirred and all the air 
 Grew fragrant with a subtle, rich perfume; 
 The spiced alleys glowed, the while a rare 
 And crystal radiance did illume 
 
 All the adjacent space 
 
 As 't were an angel's face. 
 
 Kneeling, he gently laid his glowing lips, 
 Like softest music on her lips, when came 
 A thrill that trembled to her petal-tips. 
 And on the instant, with a sudden flame. 
 
 Leaped forth the shining sun, 
 
 And Earth and Heaven were one. 
 
 262 
 
THE STRANGEE 
 
 "Who art thou?" queried she, "Tell me thy name, 
 To whom Godlike this Godlike power is given, 
 That thus for me, without or fear or shame, 
 But by thy lips' soft touch Greatest Heaven?" 
 Whilst to his heart she clove, 
 He whispered, "I am Love." 
 
 263 
 
LOVE 
 
 (AFTEK ANACEBON) 
 
 ASTRAY within a garden bright 
 J\. I found a tiny winged sprite: 
 
 He scarce was bigger than a sparrow 
 And bore a little bow and arrow. 
 
 I lifted him up in my arm, 
 "Without a thought of guile or harm; 
 
 But merely as it were in play, 
 With threats to carry him away. 
 
 The sport he took in such ill part, 
 He stuck an arrow in my heart. 
 
 And ever since, I have such pain, — 
 I cannot draw it out again. 
 
 And yet, the strangest part is this : 
 
 I love the pain as though 't were bliss. 
 
 264 
 
AN OLD REFRAIN 
 
 IT seems to me as I think of her, 
 That my youth has come again: 
 I hear the breath of summer stir 
 The leaves in the old refrain: 
 
 "Oh! my Lady-love! oh! my Lady-love! 
 Ohl where can my Lady he? 
 I will seek my Love, with the wings of a dove, 
 And pray her to love but me." 
 
 The flower-kissed meadows all once more 
 Are green with grass and plume ; 
 The apple-trees again are hoar 
 With fragrant snow of bloom. 
 
 Oh ! my Lady-love, Oh, my Lady-love ! 
 
 Oh ! where can my Lady be ? etc. 
 
 The meadow-brook slips tinkling by 
 
 "With silvery, rippling flow, 
 
 And blue-birds sing on fences nigh, 
 
 To dandelions below. 
 
 Oh ! my Lady-love, Oh, my Lady-love 1 
 Oh ! where can my Lady be ? etc. 
 
 I hear again the drowsy croon 
 Of honey-laden bees. 
 And catch the poppy-mellowed rune 
 They hum to locust trees. 
 
 265 
 
AN OLD REFRAIN 
 
 Oh ! my Lady-love ! Oh ! my Lady-love ! 
 Oh ! where can my Lady-love be ? etc. 
 
 Far off the home-returning cows 
 Low that the Eve is late, 
 And call their calves neath apple-boughs 
 To meet them at the gate. 
 
 Oh ! my Lady-love ! Oh ! my Lady-love ! 
 
 Oh ! where can my Lady be ? etc. 
 
 Once more the Knights and ladies pass 
 
 In visions Fancy- wove : 
 
 I lie full length in summer grass. 
 
 To choose my own True-Love. 
 
 Oh ! my Lady-love ! Oh ! my Lady-love ! 
 
 Oh ! where can my Lady be ? etc. 
 
 I know not how, — I know not where, — 
 
 I dream a fairy-spell: 
 
 I know she is surpassing fair, — 
 
 I know I love her well. 
 
 Oh ! my Lady-love ! Oh ! my Lady-love ! 
 
 Oh ! where can my Lady be ? etc. 
 
 I know she is as pure as snow : — 
 As true as God's own Truth: — 
 I know,— I know I love her so. 
 She must love me, in sooth ! 
 
 Oh ! my Lady-love ! Oh ! my Lady-love ! 
 
 Oh ! where can my Lady be ? etc. 
 
 266 
 
AN OLD EEFRAIN 
 
 I know the stars dim to her eyes ; 
 The flowers blow in her face : 
 I know the angels in the skies 
 Have given her of their grace. 
 
 Oh ! my Lady-love ! Oh ! my Lady-love I 
 
 Oh ! where can my Lady be ? etc. 
 
 And none but I her heart can move, 
 Though seraphs may have striven ; 
 And when I find my own True-love, 
 I know I shall find Heaven. 
 
 Oh ! my Lady-love ! Oh ! my Lady-love ! 
 
 Oh ! where can my Lady be ! 
 
 I will seek my Love with the wings of a dove 
 
 And pray her to love but me. 
 
 267 
 
TO CLAUDIA 
 
 IT is not, Claudia, that thine eyes 
 Are sweeter far to me. 
 Than is the light of Sununer skies 
 To captives just set free. 
 
 It is not that the setting sun 
 
 Is tangled in thy hair, 
 And recks not of the course to run, 
 
 In such a silken snare. 
 
 Nor for the music of thy words. 
 
 Fair Claudia, love I thee, 
 Though sweeter than the songs of birds 
 
 That melody to me. 
 
 It is not that rich roses rare 
 
 "Within thy garden grow. 
 Nor that the fairest lilies are 
 
 Less snowy than thy brow. 
 
 Nay, Claudia, 't is that every grace 
 
 In thy dear self I find ; 
 That Heaven itself is in thy face, 
 
 And also in thy mind. 
 
 268 
 
THE APPLE TREES AT EVEN 
 
 AH ! long ago it seems to me, 
 JIjL Those sweet old days of summer, 
 "When I was young and fair was she. 
 And sorrow only rumor. 
 
 And all the world was less than naught 
 
 To me who had her favor ; 
 For Time and Care had not then taught 
 
 How Life of Death hath savor. 
 
 And all the day the roving bees 
 Clung to the swinging clover. 
 
 And robins in the apple trees 
 
 Answered the faint-voiced plover. 
 
 And all the sounds were low and sweet; 
 
 The zephyrs left oflE roaming 
 In curving gambols o'er the wheat, 
 
 To kiss her in the gloaming. 
 
 The apple-blossoms kissed her hair, 
 The daisies prayed her wi'eathe them; 
 
 Ah, me! the blossoms still are there, 
 But she lies deep beneath them. 
 
 269 
 
THE APPLE TREES AT EVEN 
 
 I now have turned my thoughts to God, 
 
 Earth from my heart I sever; 
 With fast and prayer I onward plod— 
 
 With prayer and fast forever. 
 
 Yet, when the white-robed priest speaks low 
 
 And bids me think of Heaven, 
 I always hear the breezes blow 
 
 The apple trees at even. 
 
 270 
 
MY TRUE-LOVE'S WEALTH 
 
 MY True-love hath no wealth they say ; 
 But when they do, I teU. them nay,— 
 For she hath wealth of golden hair. 
 Shot through with shafts from Delos' bow. 
 That shines about her shoulders rare. 
 Like sunlight on new driven snow. 
 
 My True-love hath no wealth they say ; 
 But when they do, I tell them nay, — 
 For she hath eyes so soft and bright. 
 So deep the light that in them lies, 
 That stars in heaven would lose their light 
 Ashine beside my True-love's eyes. 
 
 My True-love hath no wealth they say ; 
 But when they do, I tell them nay, — 
 For oh! she hath such dainty hands. 
 So snowy white, so fine and small. 
 That had I wealth of Ophir's lands, 
 For one of them I 'd give it aU. 
 
 My True-love hath no wealth they say; 
 But when they do, I teU them nay, — 
 For oh ; she hath a face so fair. 
 Such winsome light about it plays. 
 For worldly wealth I nothing care, 
 So I can look upon her face. 
 
 271 
 
MY TRUE-LOVE'S WEALTH 
 
 My True-love hath no wealth they say ; 
 But when they do, I tell them nay, — 
 For endless wealth of mind hath she. 
 Her heart so stored with precious lore — 
 Her riches they as countless be 
 As shells upon the ocean's shore. 
 
 My True-love hath no wealth they say; 
 But when they do, I tell them nay, — 
 The wild-brier bough hath less of grace 
 And on wild violets when she treads 
 They turn to look into her face 
 And scarcely bow their azure heads. 
 
 My True-love hath no wealth they say; 
 But when they do, I tell them nay, — 
 For oh ! she hath herself, in fee, 
 And this is more than worlds to me. 
 
 272 
 
A VALENTINE 
 
 MY patron saint, St. Valentine, 
 Why dost thou leave me to repine, 
 Still supplicating at her shrine ? 
 
 But bid her eyes to me incline, 
 I '11 ask no other sun to shine, 
 More rich than is Golconda's mine. 
 
 Range all that "Woman, Song, or Wine 
 
 Can give ; Wealth, Power, and Fame combine ; 
 
 For her I 'd gladly all resign. 
 
 Take all the pearls are in the brine. 
 
 Sift heaven for stars, earth's flowers entwine, 
 
 But be her heart my Valentine. 
 
 273 
 
A PORTRAIT 
 
 A MOUTH red-ripened like a warm, sweet rose, 
 Wherein are gleaming pearls all pure and bright 
 As dewdrops nestled where the zephyr blows 
 With pinion soft across the humid night; 
 A cheek not ruddy, but soft-tinged and fair, 
 Where whiles the rich patrician blood is seen, 
 As though it knew itself a thing too rare 
 For common gaze, yet did its high demean ; 
 A brow serene and pure as her white soul, 
 By which the sifted snow would blackened seem 
 That sleeps untrodden where the Northern pole 
 Rests calm, unscanned save by the Moon's chaste beam ; 
 Eyes gray as Simimer twilight skies are gray. 
 And deep with light as deep, still waters are,- 
 Tender as evening's smile when kissing day, 
 Yet bright and true as is her lustrous star. 
 These all unite and with accordant grace 
 Make heaven mirrored ever in her face. 
 
 274 
 
FfiLIOE 
 
 YOU are very fair, Felice, wondrous fair, 
 And the light deep in your eyes 
 Is more soft than summer skies, 
 And pink roses in your cheek 
 Play with lilies hide-and-seek, — 
 Play as Pleasure plays with Care. 
 
 And your throat is white, Felice, wondrous white, 
 
 "White as sifted snow, I wis, 
 
 Ere the sun hath stol'n a kiss. 
 
 High up starry mountain-heights, 
 
 Or as ia rich moonful nights 
 
 Parian baths in Cynthia's light. 
 
 And, Felice, your rippling waves of soft hair, 
 
 In their mystic depths aye hold 
 
 Shade and shimmer of red gold. 
 
 Like a halo round your face. 
 
 Lending you another grace 
 
 From the sunbeams shining there. 
 
 And your voice is sweet, Felice, wondrous sweet, 
 
 As the murmur of the sea, 
 
 After long captivity, 
 
 To a sailor far inland,— 
 
 Or as summer flowers fanned 
 
 By soft zephyrs blown o'er wheat. 
 
 275 
 
FELICE 
 
 But so stony, fair Felice, is your heart, 
 That I wonder oft, I own. 
 If you 're not mere carven stone — 
 While my soul your charms enfold — 
 Just some chiseled Goddess cold: 
 Merely Beauty, Stone, and Art. 
 
 276 
 
LOVE SONG 
 
 10VE 's for Youth, and not for Age, 
 i E 'en though. Age should wear a crown ; 
 For the Poet, not the Sage; 
 Not the Monarch, but the Clown, 
 
 Love 's for Peace, and not for War, 
 E'en though "War bring all renown; 
 
 For the Violet, not the Star; 
 For the Meadow, not the Town. 
 
 Love 's for lads and Love 's for maids, 
 Courts a smile and flees a frown; 
 
 Love 's for Love, and saucy jades 
 Love Love most when Love has flown. 
 
 Love a cruel tyrant is : 
 
 Slays his victims with a glance. 
 Straight recovers with a kiss, 
 
 But to slay again, perchance. 
 
 Wouldst thou know where Love doth bide? 
 
 "Whence his sharpest arrows fly? 
 In a dimple Love may hide, 
 
 Or the ambush of an eye. 
 
 277 
 
LOVE SONG 
 
 Wert thou clad in triple mail 
 
 In a desert far apart, 
 Not a whit would this avail ; 
 
 Love would find and pierce thy heart. 
 
 THE HARBOUE LIGHT 
 
 OH, the Harbour-light and the Harbour-light! 
 And how shall we come to the Harbour-light ? 
 'Tis black to-night and the foam is white, 
 And would we might win to the Harbour-light! 
 
 Oh, the Harbour-bar and the Harbour-bar ! 
 And how shall we pass o'er the Harbour-bar? 
 The sea is tost and the ship is lost. 
 And deep is the sleep 'neath the Harbour-bar. 
 
 278 
 
FADED SPRAT OF MIGNONETTE 
 
 FADED spray of mignonette 
 Can you ever more forget 
 How you lay that summer night, 
 In the new moon's silvery light, 
 Dreaming sweet in tranquil rest 
 On my true-love's snowy breast? 
 
 Since her rosy finger-tips 
 Bore you to her fragrant lips, 
 Blessed you with a shadowy kiss. 
 Nestled you again in bliss, 
 (Envied of the Gods above) 
 All is faded save my love. 
 
 279 
 
LOST ROSES 
 
 I STOOD beside the laughing, shining river, 
 And shook the roses down upon its breast,— 
 I watched them whirl away with gleam and quiver 
 As 't were a merry jest. 
 
 I stood beside the silent, sombre river, 
 As creepingly the tide came from the sea, 
 I watched for my fair roses, but ah ! never 
 Did they come back to me. 
 
 280 
 
DE NAME OF OLE VIRGINIA 
 SONG 
 
 DE old place on de Ches'peake Bay- 
 Is in my heart to-night — 
 I hopes to git back d'yar some day, 
 An' hongers for de sight. 
 
 Dee come an' tole me I was free, 
 An' all my work was done; 
 I left dem whar was good to me, 
 An' now I 'se all alone. 
 
 De name of ole Virginia 
 
 Is sweet as rain in drouf — 
 
 Oh! Master, say, has you been dy'ar? 
 
 Hit 's way down in de Souf . 
 
 De grass dat grows 'pon top de hDl 
 
 De ones I love does hide, 
 
 I pray de Lord to spyah me still 
 
 To sleep dyar by dee side. 
 
 De ole plantation 's sole an' all, 
 
 But sometime dee will come. 
 
 An' I will hear Brer Gabrull call, 
 
 To fetch de ole man home. 
 
 De name ob ole Virginia 
 
 Is sweet as rain in drouf — 
 
 Oh! Master, say, has you been dy'ar? 
 
 Hit 's way down in de Souf. 
 
 281 
 
THE DANCER 
 
 FEOM ONE WHO KNOWS ONE 01" THE MCSES 
 
 YOU say the gods and muses all 
 From earth now banished be? 
 Will you believe that yester-eve 
 I saw Terpsichore? 
 
 Her robe of snow and gossamer 
 
 Enclad a form most neat; 
 Such sandals green were never seen 
 
 As shod her twinkling feet. 
 
 Her every step was melody, 
 
 Her every motion grace, 
 That one might prize a thousand eyes 
 
 To note both form and face. 
 
 The motes that dance in sunny beams 
 
 Tripped never in such wise; 
 This lovely sprite danced in the light 
 
 That beamed from her own eyes. 
 
 A man's head once was danced away — 
 
 You know how it befell? 
 My dainty fay danced yesterday 
 
 Men's hearts away as well. 
 
 "What 's that? 'Twas but a graceful girl 
 That took the hearts for pelf? 
 
 Nay, I was there, and 't was, I swear, 
 Terpsichore herself. 
 
 282 
 
THE APRIL-FACE 
 
 AS OLD IDYL OF A RICHMOND STREET-OAE 
 
 ALL up the street at a stately pace 
 XjL The maiden passed with her April-face, 
 And the roses I 'd paid for, on her breast 
 Were white as the eggs in a partridge-nest, 
 While behind her — driver upon his stool — 
 Tinkled the bell of the street-car mule. 
 
 " Going to walk up the street ? " I said ; 
 
 She graciously bowed her beautiful head. 
 "Then I '11 walk, too; 't is a lovely day."— 
 
 Thus I opened the ball in my usual way. 
 "Do you see the car anywhere?" inquired 
 
 The April-face, "I 'ma trifle tired." 
 
 I urged a walk ; 't was a useless suit ! 
 
 She wildly waved her parachute ; 
 
 The stub-tailed mule stopped quick enow; 
 
 I handed her in with a stately bow; 
 
 And the bell rang out with a jangled quirk. 
 
 And the stub-tailed mule went off with a jerk. 
 
 Three men as she entered solemnly rose, 
 And quietly trampled their neighbors' toes; 
 A dudish masher left his place, 
 And edged near the girl with the April-face, 
 
 283 
 
THE APRIL-FACE 
 
 Who sat on tlie side you 'd call "the lee," 
 ("With the same sweet smile she 'd sat on me). 
 
 The day it was lovely ; mild the air ; 
 The sky, like the maiden's face, was fair; 
 The car was full, and a trifle stale 
 (Attached to the mule with the stubbly tail) ; 
 Yet the maiden preferred the seat she hired. 
 To the stroU with me ; for I made her tired. 
 
 And now when the maiden walks the street 
 With another's flowers, and smile so sweet, 
 1 wave to the driver upon his stool, 
 And stop the stub-tailed street-car mule, 
 While I purchase a seat with half my pelf; 
 For it makes me a trifle tired myself. 
 
 284 
 
COME BACK TO US, DAVIE 
 
 SO, Davie, you 're gaeing to tak yo' a wife 
 To halve a' yo' sorrows, an' sweeten yo' life; 
 An' Davie, my laddie, I wish you enow 
 Of joy and content on your shiny auld pow. 
 
 She 's feat and she 's brightsome, I ken, as the day 
 When sinshine is whispering its luve to the May; 
 Her cheeks are like blossoms, her mouth is a rose, 
 And her teeth are the pearlies its petals enclose. 
 
 Of her voice, her ain music, I dinna' say mair, 
 
 Than that 'tis a strain might a bogle ensnare. 
 
 And her een they are stars beaming forth a bright 
 
 flame 
 To cheer a puir wanderer and lead him safe hame. 
 
 Yes, Davie, ye villain, ye 're sleekit and slee, 
 
 Te 've lift the door sneck and looped in afore me ; 
 
 Ye 've steek it ahint ye and lea'ed me alain, 
 
 Like a dowie auld cat blinkin' by the hearth-stane. 
 
 Yet Davie, b'elyve, should you mind in your joy 
 The puir lonely carlies you lo'ed as a boy. 
 The memories of canty auld days we have spent 
 Will come like the harp-tones o'er still waters sent. 
 
 285 
 
COME BACK TO US, DAVIE 
 
 Then come to me, Davie, auld days we '11 renew; 
 We '11 heap the bit-ingle and bouse the auld brew ; 
 We '11 smoke the auld pipe, till we freshen your life. 
 And send you back young as a boy to your wife. 
 
 286 
 
THE WITCH 
 
 CELIA, before her mirror bends, 
 Inquiring how to please her friends. 
 
 The mystery is solved apace : 
 The mirror but reflects her grace. 
 
 Her mirror Celia now defies, 
 She sees herself in all men's tyes. 
 
 Celia 's a witch, and hath such arts, 
 Her image is in all men's hearts. 
 
 HUMANITY 
 
 LOVER left his new-made bride 
 And shot a dove with her mate at her side. 
 
 EEALITY 
 
 THERE be three things real in all the earth : 
 Mother-love, Death, and a Little Child's mirth. 
 
 287 
 
ASPIRATION 
 
 I HAVE stood and watched the Eagle soar into the 
 Sun, 
 And envied him his swift light-cleaving pinion; 
 And, though I may not. soar, at least I may- 
 Lift up my feet above the encumbering clay. 
 
 288 
 
LITTLE DOLLY DIMPLE 
 
 IITTLE Dolly Dimple, 
 J In her green wimple, 
 Knows all the philosophers know : 
 That fire is hot 
 And ice is not, 
 
 And that sun will melt the snow. 
 She has heard that the moon is made of green cheese ; 
 But she 's not quite certain of this. 
 She knows if you tickle your nose you will sneeze 
 And a hurt is made well hy a kiss. 
 I wish I were wise as Dolly is wise. 
 For mysteries lie in her deep, clear eyes. 
 
 289 
 
T 
 
 A VALENTINE 
 
 TO M. F. AND F. P. 
 
 HE Fourteenth Day of Feiruary fine: 
 I choose you for my Valentine." 
 
 Thus ran the first of the sweet old rhymes 
 On the Lovers '-Day in the old, sweet times: 
 And so, I f oUow closely along 
 To tell my love in the words of the song. 
 
 "Roses are red; violets are blue; 
 Pinks are sweet, and so are you." 
 
 Roses are red in my sweetheart's cheeks, 
 
 Deepening tints whenever one speaks; 
 
 Violets are blue in the eyes of one ; 
 
 In the eyes of the other smiles the sun; 
 
 But never were roses half so rare 
 
 And never were pinks a tithing as fair 
 
 And never have they in their garden-bed 
 
 A himdredth part of the fragrance shed. 
 
 As my two flowers in their sweet home-frame, 
 
 Both flowers by nature and one by name. 
 
 So as sure as the bloom grows on the vine 
 
 I '11 choose them for my valentine: 
 
 My sweet-heart one and my sweet-heart two, 
 
 Both little sweet-hearts sweet and true — 
 
 To love and to cherish forever mine : 
 
 To cherish and love as my valentine. 
 
 290 
 
DIALECT POEMS 
 
 FB.OM "BEFO' DE WAB," 
 
UNCLE GABE'S WHITE POLKS 
 
 SARVENT, Marster! Yes, suh, dat 's me— 
 'Ole Unc' Gabe' 's my name; 
 I thankee, Marster; I 'm 'bout, yo' see. 
 
 "An' de ole 'ooman?" She 's much de same: 
 Po'ly an' c'plainin', thank de Lord! 
 But de Marster 's gwine ter come back from 'broad 
 
 "Fine ole place?" Yes, suh, 't is so; 
 
 An' mighty fine people my white folks war — 
 But you ought ter 'a' seen it years ago, 
 
 When de Marster an' de Mistis lived up dyah; 
 When de niggers 'd stan' all roun' de do', 
 Like grains o' corn on de cornhouse flo'. 
 
 ' ' Live ' mons 'oiis high 1 ' ' Yes, Marster, yes ; 
 
 D' cut 'n' onroyal 'n' gordly dash; 
 Eat an' drink till you could n' res'. 
 
 My folks war n' none o' yo' po '-white-trash; 
 Nor, suh, dey was of high degree— 
 Dis heah nigger am quality! 
 
 "Tell you 'bout 'em?" You mus' 'a' beam 
 
 'Bout my ole white folks, sho'! 
 I tell you, suh, dey was gre't an' stern; 
 D' didn' have nuttin' at all to learn; 
 
 D ' knowed all dar was to know ; 
 Gol' over dey head an' onder dey feet; 
 An' silber! dey sowed 't like folks sows wheat. 
 
 293 
 
UNCLE GABE'S WHITE FOLKS 
 
 "Use ter be rich?" Dat warn' de wud! 
 
 D' jes' wallowed an' roll' in wealf. 
 Why, none o' my white folks ever stir'd 
 
 Terlif'ahan'for d'self; 
 De niggers use ter be stan'in' roun' 
 Jes' d' same ez leaves when dey fus' fall down; 
 De stable-stalls up heah at home 
 Looked like teef in a fine-toof comb ; 
 De cattle was p'digious— I mus' tell de fac'! 
 An' de hogs mecked de hill-sides look lite black; 
 An' de flocks o' sheep was so gre't an' white 
 Dey 'peared like clouds on a moonshine night. 
 An' when my ole Mistis use' ter walk — 
 
 Jes' ter her kerridge (dat was fur 
 
 Bz ever she walked) — I tell you, sir, 
 You could almos' heah her silk dress talk; 
 
 Hit use' ter soun' like de momia' breeze, 
 When it wakes an' rustles de Gre't House trees. 
 An' de Marster's face! — de Marster's face. 
 
 Whenever de Marster got right pleased — 
 Well, I 'clar' ter Gord ! 't would shine wid grace 
 
 De same ez his countenance had been greased. 
 Dat cellar, too, had de bes' o' wine, 
 An' brandy, an' sperrits dat yo' could fine; 
 An' ev'ything in dyah was stored, 
 'Skusin' de Glory of de Lord! 
 "Warn' dyah a son?" Yes, suh, you knows 
 
 He 's de young Marster now; 
 But we heah dat dey tooken he very clo'es 
 
 Ter pay what ole Marster owe ; 
 He 's done been gone ten year, I s'pose. 
 
 294 
 
UNCLE GABE'S WHITE FOLKS 
 
 But he 's comin' back some day, of eo'se; 
 An my ole 'ooman is aluz 'pyard, 
 
 An' meckin' de Blue-Room baid; 
 An' ev'ry day dem sheets is ayard, 
 
 An' will be tell she 's daid ; 
 An' dem styars she '11 scour, 
 
 An' dat room she '11 ten', 
 
 Ev'y blessed day dat de Lord do sen'! 
 
 "What say, Marster? Yo' say, you knows — ? 
 
 He 's young an' slender-like an' fyah; 
 Better-lookin' 'n you, of eo'se! 
 Hi! you 's he? 'Fo* Gord! 't is him! 
 
 'T is de very voice an' eyes an' hyah, 
 
 An' mouf an' smile, on'y yo' ain' so slim— 
 I wonder whah— whah is de ole 'ooman ? 
 Now let my soul 
 
 Depart in peace 
 For I behol' 
 Dy glory, Lord! — I knowed you, chile— 
 
 I knowed you soon 's I see 'd your face! 
 Whar has you been dis blessed while ? 
 
 Yo' 's "done come back an' buy de place?" 
 
 Oh, bless de Lord for aU his grace ! 
 De ravins shell hunger, an' shell not lack 
 De Marster, de young Marster is done come back! 
 
 295 
 
LITTLE JACK^ 
 
 YES, suh. 'T was jes' 'bout sundown 
 Dad went— two months ago; 
 I always used ter run down 
 
 Dat time, bee 'us', you know, 
 I wudden like ter had him die, 
 An' no one nigh. 
 
 You see, we eudden git him 
 Ter come 'way off dat Ian' — 
 
 'E said New House did n' fit him, 
 No mo' 'n new shoes did ; an' 
 
 Gord mout miss him at Jedgment day, 
 Ef he moved 'way. 
 
 ' ' How ole ? " Ef we all wondered 
 How ole he was, he 'd frown 
 
 An' say he was "a hundred an — 
 Ole Miss done sot it down. 
 
 An' she could tell — 't was fo' or five — 
 Ef she was live." 
 
 "Well, when, as I was sayin', 
 
 Dat night I come on down, 
 I see he bench was layin' 
 
 Flat-sided on de groun'; 
 
 > In memory of John Dabney, of Kiohmond, Viiglnla: 
 a man faithful to all trusts. 
 
 296 
 
LITTLE JACK 
 
 'An' I kinder hurried to'ds de do' — 
 Quick-like, you know. 
 
 Inside I see him layin' 
 
 Back, quiet, on de bed; 
 An' I heahed him kep on sayin': 
 
 "Dat 's what ole Marster said; 
 An' Marster warn' gwine tell me lie^ 
 
 He '11 come by-m'-by." 
 
 I axed how he was gettin'. 
 
 "Nigh ter de furrow's een','' 
 He said; "dis ebenin', settin' 
 
 Outside de do', I seen 
 De thirteen curlews come in line. 
 
 An' knowed de sign. 
 
 "You know, ole Marster tole me 
 He 'd come for me 'fo' long; 
 
 'Fo' you was born, he sole me— 
 But den he pined so strong 
 
 He come right arter Little Jack 
 An' buyed him back. 
 
 "I went back ter de kerrige 
 
 An' tuk dem reins ag'in. 
 I druv him ter his marriage ; 
 
 An', nigger, 't was a sin 
 Ter see de high an' mighty way 
 
 I looked dat day! 
 
 297 
 
LITTLE JACK 
 
 "Dat coat had nary blitton 
 
 'Skusin' it was ob gole ; 
 My hat — ^but dat wam't nuttin'! 
 
 'T was noble ter behole 
 De way dem bosses pawed de yar, 
 
 Wid me up dyar. 
 
 "Now all 's w'ared out befo' me! — 
 
 Marster, an' coat, an' all; 
 Me only lef— you know me! — 
 
 Cheat wheat 's de lars' ter fall: 
 De rank grain ben's wid its own weight, 
 
 De light Stan's straight. 
 
 "But heah ! Ole Marster 's waitin' — 
 
 So I mus' tell you: raise 
 De jice dyar ; 'neaf de platin' — 
 
 De sweat o' many days 
 Is in dat stoekin' — ^toil an' pain 
 
 In sun an' rain. 
 
 "I worked ter save dem figgers 
 
 Ter buy you ; but de Lord 
 He sot free all de niggers, 
 
 Same as white-folks, 'fo' Gord! 
 Free as de crows ! Free as de stars ! 
 
 Free as ole hyars! 
 
 "Now, chile, you teck dat money, 
 Git on young Marster 's track, 
 
 298 
 
LITTLE JACK 
 
 An' pay it ter him, honey; 
 
 An' tell him Little Jack 
 Worked forty year, dis Chris 'mus come, 
 
 Ter save dat sum; 
 
 "An' dat 't was for ole Marster, 
 To buy your time f'om him; 
 
 But dat de war come farster. 
 An' squandered stock an' lim' — 
 
 Say you kin work an' don't need none, 
 An' he carn't, son. 
 
 "He aia' been use ter diggin' 
 
 His livin' out de dirt; 
 He carn't drink out a piggin, 
 
 Like you; an' it 'ud hurt 
 Ole Marster 's pride, an' make him sw'ar, 
 
 In glory dyar ! ' ' 
 
 Den all his strength seemed fallin'; 
 
 He shet his eyes awhile. 
 An' den said: "Heish! he 's callin'! 
 
 Dyar he! Now watch him smile! 
 Yes, suh— You niggers jes' stan' back! 
 
 Marster, here 's Jack!" 
 
 299 
 
ASHCAKB 
 
 WELL, yes, suh, dat am a comical najne 
 It are so, an' for a fac' — 
 But I knowed one, down in Ferginyer, 
 Could 'a' toted dat on its back. 
 
 "What was it?" I 'm gwine to tell you — 
 
 'T was mons'us long ago: 
 'T was, "Ashcake," suh; an' all on us 
 
 Use' ter call 'im jes', "Ashcake," so. 
 
 You see, suh, my ole Marster, he 
 
 Was a pow'ful wealfy man, 
 Wid mo' plantations dan hyahs on you haid — 
 
 Gre't acres o' low-groun' Ian': 
 
 Jeems River bottoms, dat used ter stall 
 
 A fo'-hoss plough, no time; 
 An' he 'd knock you down ef you jes' had dyared 
 
 Ter study 'bout guano 'n' lime. 
 
 De com used ter stan' in de row dat thick 
 
 You jes' could follow de balk; 
 An' rank ! well I 'clar ' ter de king, Ise seed 
 
 Five 'coons up a single stalk! 
 
 300 
 
ASHCAKE 
 
 He owned mo' niggers 'n arr' a man 
 About dyar, black an' bright; 
 
 He owned so many, b'fo' de Lord, 
 He did n' know all by sight! 
 
 "Well, suh, one evelin', long to'ds dusk, 
 
 I seen de Marster stan' 
 An' watch a yaller boy pass de gate 
 
 Wid a ashcake in his ban'. 
 
 He never had no mammy at all — 
 
 Leastways, she was dead by dat — 
 An' de cook an' de hands about on de place 
 
 Used ter see dat de boy kep ' fat. 
 
 Well, he trotted along down de parf dat night. 
 
 An' de Marster he seen him go, 
 An' hollered, "Say, boy — say, what 's yer name?" 
 
 "A— ashcake, suh," says Joe. 
 
 It 'peared ter tickle de Marster much, 
 
 Aq' he called him up to de do'. 
 "Well, dat is a curisome name," says he; 
 
 "But I guess it suits you, sho'." 
 
 "Whose son are you?" de Marster axed. 
 
 "Young Jane's," says Joe; "she 's daid." 
 A sperrit cudden 'a' growed mo' pale. 
 
 An', "By Gord!" I heard him said. 
 
 301 
 
ASHCAKE 
 
 He tuk de child 'long in de house, 
 
 Jes' 'count o' dat ar whim; 
 An', dat-time-out, you nuver see 
 
 Sich sto ' as he sot by him. 
 
 Aji' Ashcake swung his cradle, too, 
 
 As clean as ever you see ; 
 An' stuck as close ter ole Marster's heel 
 
 As de shader sticks to de tree. 
 
 'Twel one dark night, when de river was out, 
 
 De Marster an' Ashcake Joe 
 Was comin' home an' de skifE upsot, 
 
 An' bofe wo 'd 'a' drowned, sho', 
 
 Bxcusin' dat Ashcake cotch'd ole Marst'r 
 
 An' gin him holt o' de boat. 
 An' saved him so; but 't was mo'n a week 
 
 B'fo'' his body comed afloat. 
 
 An' de Marster buried dat nigger, suh, 
 In de white-folks' graveyard, sho! 
 
 An' he writ 'pon a white- folks' tombstone, 
 "Ashcake"— jes' "Ashcake" so. 
 
 An' de Marster he grieved so 'bouten dat thing, 
 
 It warn' long, suh, befo' he died; 
 An' he 's sleep, 'way down in Ferginyer, 
 
 Not fur from young Ashcake 's side. 
 
 302 
 
ZBKYL'S INFIDELITY 
 
 MISTIS, I r'al'y wish you 'd hole 
 A little conversation 
 Wid my old Zekyl 'bout his soul. 
 
 Dat nigger's sitiwation 
 Is mons'us serious, 'deed 'n' 't is, 
 'Skusin' he change dat co'se o' his. 
 
 Dat evil sinner 's sot he face 
 
 Ginst ev'y wud I know; 
 Br'er Gabrul say, he 's fell from grace, 
 
 An' Hell is got him sho' ! 
 
 He don' believe in sperits, 
 
 'Skusin' 't is out a jug! 
 Say 'tain' got no mo' merits 
 
 Den a ole half-cured lug; 
 'N' dat white cat I see right late, 
 One evelia' nigh de grave-yard gate, 
 "Wam't nuttin' sep some ole cat whar 
 Wuz sot on suppin' off old hyah. 
 
 He 'oont allow a rooster 
 
 By crowin' in folks' do', 
 Kin bring death dyah; and useter 
 
 Say, he wish mine would crow. 
 
 303 
 
ZEKYL'S INFIDELITY 
 
 An' lie even say, a hin mout try, 
 Sep woman-folks would git so spry, 
 An' want to stick deeselves up den, 
 An' try to crow over de men. 
 
 'E say 't ain' no good in preachin'; 
 
 Dat niggers is sicli fools- 
 Don' know no mo' 'bout teachin' 
 'N white-folks does 'bout mules ; 
 An' when br'er Gabrul's hollered teU 
 You mos' kin see right into Hell, 
 An' rambled Scriptures fit to bus', 
 Dat hard-mouf nigger 's wus an' wus. 
 
 'E say quality (dis is mainer 
 
 'N all Ise told you yit) — 
 Says 'tain' no better 'n 'arf -strainer ; 
 
 An' dat his master '11 git 
 Good place in Heaven — po '-white-folks, mark!- 
 As y' all whar come right out de ark; 
 An' dat— now jes' heah dis! — dat he, 
 A po '-white-folks' nigger 's good as mel 
 
 He 's gwine straight to de deble ! 
 
 An' sarve him jes' right, too! 
 H]e 's a outdacious rebel, 
 
 Arter all Ise done do !— 
 Ise sweat an' arguified an' blowed 
 
 Over dat black nigger mo' 
 'N would 'a' teck a c'nal-boat load 
 
 Over to Canyan sho'! 
 
 304 
 
ZEKYL'S INFIDELITY 
 
 Ise tried refection — 't warn' no whar! 
 Ise wrastled wid de Lord in pra'r; 
 Ise quoiled tell I wuz mos daid; 
 Ise th'owed de spider at his haid— 
 But he ole haid 't wuz so thick th'oo 
 Hit bus* my skillit spang in two. 
 
 You kin dye black hyah an' meek it light; 
 You kin tu'n de Ethiope's spots to white; 
 You mout grow two or three eubics bigger — 
 But you carn't onehange a po '-white-folks' nigger. 
 When you 's dwellin' on golden harps an' chunes, 
 A po-white-f oiks' nigger's thinkin* bout coons ; 
 An' when you 's snifflin' de heaven 'y blossoms, 
 A po '-white-folks' nigger 's studyin' 'bout possums 
 
 305 
 
MARSB PHIL 
 
 YES, yes, you is Marse Phil's son; you favor 'm 
 might 'ly, too. 
 We wuz like brothers, we wuz, me an' him. 
 You tried to fool d' ole nigger, but, Marster, 'twouldn' 
 do; 
 Not do yo' is done growed so tall an' slim. 
 
 Hi! Lord! Ise knowed yo', honey, sence long befo' 
 yo' bom— 
 I mean, Ise knowed de family dat long; 
 An' dees been white folks, Marster — dee han 's white 
 ez young corn — 
 An', ef dee want to, couldn' do no wrong. 
 
 Tou' gran 'pa bought my mammy at Gen'l Nelson's 
 sale, 
 An' Deely she come out de same estate; 
 An' blood is jes' like pra'r is— hit tain' gwine nuver 
 fail; 
 Hit 's sutney gwine to come out, soon or late. 
 
 When I wuz Bom, yo' gran 'pa gi' me to young Marse 
 Phil, 
 
 To be his body-servant — like, you know; 
 An' we growed up together like two stalks in a hill — 
 
 Bofe tarslin' an' den shootin' in de row. 
 
 306 
 
MAESE PHIL 
 
 Marse Phil wioz bom in harves', an' I dat Christmas 
 come; 
 My mammy nussed bof e on we de same time ; 
 No matter what one got, suh, de oder gwine git 
 some— 
 We wuz two fibe-cent pieces ia one dime. 
 
 We cotch ole hyahs together, an' possums, him an' 
 me; 
 
 We fished dat mill-pon' over, night an' day; 
 Rid horses to de water ; treed coons np de same tree ; 
 
 An' when you see one, turr warn' fur away. 
 
 When Marse Phil went to College, 't wuz, "Sam- 
 Sam 's got to go." 
 Ole Marster said, "Dat boy 's a fool 'bout Sam." 
 Ole Mistis jes' said, "Dear, Phil wants him, an', you 
 know — " 
 Dat "Dear"— hit used to soothe him like a lamb. 
 
 So we all went to College — 'way down to Williams- 
 burg — 
 
 But 't warn' much I'arnin out o' books we got; 
 Dam urrs warn' no mo' to him 'n a ole wormy lug; 
 
 Yes, suh, we wuz de ve'y top-de-pot. 
 
 An' ef he didn' study dem Latins an' sich things, 
 
 He wuz de popularetis all de whUe 
 De ladies use' to call him, "De angel widout wings"; 
 
 An' when he come, I lay dee use' to smile. 
 
 307 
 
MARSE PHIL 
 
 Yo' see, he wuz ole Marster's only chile; an' den, 
 
 He had a body-servant— at he will ; 
 An' wid dat big plantation; dee 'd all like to be 
 brides ; 
 
 Dat is ef dee could have de groom, Marse Phil. 
 
 'T wuz dyah he met young Mistis — she wuz yo' ma, 
 of co'se! 
 I disremembers now what mont' it wuz: 
 One night, he comes, an' seys he, "Sam, I needs new 
 elo'es;" 
 An' seys I, "Marse Phil, yes, suh, so yo' does." 
 
 "Well, suh, he made de tailor meek ev'y thing bran' 
 new; 
 He would n' w'ar one stitch he had on han' — 
 Jes' throwed 'em in de chip box, an' seys, "Sam, 
 dem 's fur you." 
 Marse Phil, I tell yo', wuz a gentleman. 
 
 So Marse Phil co'tes de Mistis, an' Sam he eo'tes de 
 maid — 
 We always sot our traps upon one parf ; 
 An' when we tole ole Marster we bofe wuz gwine, he 
 seyd, 
 "All right, we '11 have to kill de fatted calf." 
 
 An' dat wuz what dee did, suh — de Prodigal wuz 
 home; 
 Dee put de ring an' robe upon yo' ma. 
 
 308 
 
MARSE PHIL 
 
 Den you wuz born, young Marster, an' den de storm 
 hit come; 
 An' den de darkness settled from afar. 
 
 De storm hit comed an' wrenchted de branches from 
 de tree — 
 
 De war— you' pa — ^he 's sleep dyah on de hill; 
 An' do I know, young Marster, de war hit sot us free ? 
 
 I seys, "Dat 's so ; but tell me whar 's Marse Phil?" 
 
 "A dollar!" — thankee, Marster, you sutney is his 
 son; 
 You is his spitt an' image, I declar'! 
 What sey, young Marster? Yes, suh: you sey, "It 's 
 five — not one—" 
 Yo' favors, honey, bofe yo' pa an' ma! 
 
 309 
 
ONE MOURNER 
 
 FOB mWIN ETJSSELL, WHO DIED IN NEW ORLEANS IN 6KEAT 
 DESTITUTION, ON CHBISTMA8 EVE, 1879) 
 
 WELL, well, I declar'! I is sorry. 
 He 's 'ceasted, yo' say, Marse Joe?- 
 Dat gent 'man down in New Orleans, 
 Wliar writ 'bout'n niggers so, 
 
 An' tole, in all dat poetry 
 
 You read some time lars' year, 
 
 'Bout niggers, an' 'coons, an' 'possums, 
 An' ole times, an' mules an' gear? 
 
 Jes' name dat ag'in, sell, please, seh; 
 
 Destricution 's de word yo' said? 
 Dat signifies he wuz mons'us po% 
 
 To' say?— want meat and bread? 
 
 Hit mout: I never knowed him 
 Or hearn on him, 'sep ' when you 
 
 Read me dem valentines o' his'n; 
 But I lay you, dis, seh 's, true — 
 
 Dat he wuz a rael gent 'man. 
 
 Bright fire dat burns, not smokes; 
 
 An' ef he did die destricute, 
 He war n't no po '-white-folks. 
 
 310 
 
ONE MOURNER 
 
 Dat gent 'man knowed 'bout niggers, 
 
 Heah me ! when niggers wuz 
 Ez good ez wMte-folks mos', seh, 
 
 I knows dat thing, I does. 
 
 An' he could 'a' tetched his hat, seh. 
 
 To me jes' de same ez you; 
 An' folks gwine to see what a gent 'man 
 
 He wuz, an' I wuz, too. 
 
 He could n' 'a' talked so natchal 
 'Bout niggers in sorrow an' joy, 
 
 Widdouten he had a black mammy 
 To sing to him 'long ez a boy. 
 
 An' I think, when he tole 'bout black-folks 
 An' ole-times, an' all so sweet, 
 
 Some nigh him mout 'a' acted de ravins 
 An' gin him a mouf-ful to eat. 
 
 An' not let him starve at Christmas, 
 "When things ain't sca'ce nowhar — 
 
 Ef he hed been a dog, young Marster, 
 I 'd 'a f ceded him den, I 'elar'! 
 
 But wait ! Maybe Gord, when thinkin' 
 
 How po' he 'd been himself, 
 Cotch sight dat gent 'man scufflin'. 
 
 An' 'lowed fur to see what wealf 
 
 311 
 
ONE MOURNER 
 
 Hit mout be de bes' to gin him, 
 Ez a Cbristmas-gif ', yo' know; 
 
 So he jes' took him up to heaven, 
 Whar he earn' be po' no mo'. 
 
 An' jes' call his name ag'in, seh. 
 
 How?— Iewin Russell — so? 
 I 'se gwine fur to tell it to Nancy, 
 
 So ef I 'd furgit, she 'd know. 
 
 An' I hopes dey '11 lay him to sleep, seh, 
 Somewhar, whar de birds wiU sing 
 
 About him de live-long day, seh, 
 
 An* de flowers will bloom in Spring. 
 
 An' I wish, young Marster, you 'd meek out 
 To write down to whar you said. 
 
 An' sey, dyar 's a nigger in Eichmond 
 Whar 's sorry Marse Irwin 's dead. 
 
 312 
 
L 'ENVOY 
 
 I AST night, when the pale, sweet moonlight lay 
 J Like a halo over the sleeping world, 
 And the skies above grew soft and gray 
 And the weary banners of toil were furled, 
 She stood at my side as she used to stand 
 In that summer sweet when I saw her last, 
 And I thought I felt the touch of her hand. 
 And said, ' ' 'Tis the moonlight over the land 
 That opens the door of the Past." 
 
 313