Lippincott's Magazine of Popular Literature and Science, October, 1877, Vol. XX. No. 118

es-Alfred Thorne's I

with a morbidly sensitive spot in his nature. A touch on it was torture, a

n, was in his eyes no good at all. Brackenhill was dear to him because he could leave it to whom he would. He was seventy-six, and had spent his life in improving his estate, but he prized nothing about it so much as his right to give the result of his life's work to the first beggar he might chance t

r demanding to be immediately informed whether a monument of national, nay, of world-wide interest, ought not, for the sake of the public, to be more carefully protected from injury. Local arch?ological societies should come and read papers in it. Clergymen, wishing to combine a little instruction with the pleasures of a school-feast, should arrive with van-loads of cheering boys and girls, a troop of ardent teachers, many calico flags and a brass band. Artists, keen-eyed and picturesque, each with his good-humored air of possessing the place so much more truly than any mere country gentleman ever could, should come to gaze and sketch. Mea

rne would have felt the weight before the last cart carried away its load from the trampled sward; that he would have regretted his decision every hour of his life; and if by a miracl

ly than the twice a week of which Hammond talked. Of late years it had not been so. He had used his power to ass

ey argued the matter till it was too late for Alfred to go into the army, the only career for which he had expressed any desire; and then Mr. Thorne found himself face to face with a gentle and lazy resistance which threatened to be a match for his own hard obstinacy. Alfred didn't mind being a farmer. But his father was troubled about the necessary capital, and doubted his son's success: "You will go on after a fashion fo

he rector was rather stormy and uncertain, they happened to be on tolerable terms just then. Sarah was an only child, and would have a little money at Mr. Percival's death, and Alfred was much more submissive and anxious to please his father under these altered circumstances. The

like a thunder-cloud, and never opened his lips to Alfred except to abuse the rector. "You'll have to choose between old Percival and me one of these days," he sai

did remember it. He had heard it often enough, and his father's angry eyes gave it an added emphasis. "I can make an eldest son of James if I like, and I will if you defy me." But nothing could shake Alfred. He had given his word to Miss Percival, and they loved each other, and he meant to keep to it. "You don't believe me," his father thundered: "you think

e of years-a test which Mr. Percival imposed upon him that nothing might be done in haste-and came back, faithful as he went, to ask for the consent which could no longer be denied. Mr. Percival had been presented to a living

ch other, and were content. When their boy was born the rector would have named him Godfrey: at any rate, he urged them to call him by one of the old family names which had been borne by bygone generations of Thornes. But the young husband was resolved that the child should be Percival, and Perciva

ed smiled a little. "The governor must have put his pride in his pocket: old Benham made his money out of composite candles, then retired, and has gas all over the house for fear they should be mentioned. Harry, as we used to call her, is the youngest of them-she must be eight or nine and t

e and announce the birth of a boy for whom the bells had been set ringing as the heir of Brackenhill. Jim, with his sick fancies and querulous con

and not a Benham, as his grandfather did not fail to note. He was delicate. "But he will outgrow that," said Mrs. Middleton, and loved him the better for the care she had to take of him. It was principally for his sake that she was there.

en when the old man was growing feeble, and it was manifest to all but the boy that he would not long be parted from his daughter, it was a sombre but not an unhappy home for the child. Something in the shadow which overhung it, in his grandfather's we

d made his choice long ago-but little by little the idea grew up in his mind that Percival was wronged, for he, at least, was guiltless. He secretly regretted the defiant fashion in which his boy had been christened, and made a feeble attempt to prove that, after all, Percy was an old family name. He succeeded in establishing that a "P. Thorne" had once existed, who of course might have been Percy, as he might have been Peter or Paul;

, and had little or no ambition. Since daily bread-and, luckily, rather more than daily bread, for he was no ascetic-was secured to him, since books were many and the world was wide, he asked nothing better than to study them. He grew

or-house must go to a stranger unless he could humble himself to the son who had defied him. But, old as he was, he had outlived his son, and he was dismayed at his isolation. A whole generation was dead and gone, and the two lads, who were all that remained of the Thornes of Brackenhill, stood far away, as though he stretched his trembling ha

rough the willows. Then he turned, folded his arms and coolly surveyed Brackenhill itself from end to end. Mr. Thorne watched him, expecting some word, but when none came, and Percival

promptitude: "It's a beautiful place. I'm gl

merely a show! Isn't Brackenhill more to you

l allowed: "I have heard my

such an outsider as all t

iled a little, b

ne, I hope?" the other went on.

d house, and I can assure you, sir,

houldn't you call a man a lucky fel

worth having as yours," was the rep

wn this place?" M

ways supposed

to save up for him. I own Brackenhill?" He faced abruptly round. "All that timber is mine, they say; and if I cut down a stick your aunt Middleton is at me: 'Think of Horace.' The place was mortgaged when I came into it. I pinched and saved-I freed

d room I ever saw

mine is such a short lease. When Horace marries and comes into his inheritance, of course it must be done up. It would be a pity to waste money about it now, esp

dfather or to depreciate Horace, told Godfrey Hammond that, though her brother was so absurd about him, she thought he seemed a good sort of

CONTI

And C

hausted the list. You can enjoy a hedgerow from the public road, and I suppose that even if you are a Dissenter you may enjoy a Norman abbey from the street. If, therefore, one talks of anything beautiful in England, the presumption will be that it is private; and indeed such is my admiration of this delightful country that I feel inclined to say that if one talks of anything private, the presumption will be that it is beautiful. Here is something of a dilemma. If the observer permits himself to

interesting in an old, small country, by a kind of exquisite modulation, something suggesting that outline and coloring have been retouched and refined, as it were, by the hand of Time. Independently of its castles and abbeys, the definite relics of the ages, such a landscape seems historic. It has human relations, and it is intimately conscious of them. That little speech about the loveliness of his county, or of his own part of his county, was made to me by my companion as we walked up the grassy slope of a hill, or "edge," as it is called there, from the crests of which we seemed in an instant to look away over half of England. Certainly I should have grown fond of such a view as that. The "edge" plunged down suddenly, as if the corresponding slope on the other side had been excavated, and one might follow the long ridge for the space of an afternoon's walk with this vast, charming prospect before one's eyes. Looking across an English county into the next but one is a very pretty entertainment, the county seeming by no means so smal

gland and other portions of the United States I have coveted the large mansion with Greek columns and a pediment of white-painted timber: in Italy I should have made proposals for the yellow-walled villa with statues on the roof. In England I have rarely gone so far as to fancy myself in treaty for the best house, but, short of this, I have never failed to feel that ideal comfort for the time would be to call one's self owner of what is denominated here a "good" place. Is it that English country life seems to possess such irresistible charms? I have not always thought so: I have sometimes suspected that it is dull; I have remembered that there is a whole literature devoted to exposing it (that of the English novel "of manners"), and that its recorded occupations and conversations occasionally strike one as lacking a certain desirable salt. But, for all that, when, in the region to which I allude, my companion spoke of this and that place being likely sooner or later to come to the hammer, it seemed as if nothing could be more delightful than to see the hammer fall upon

ouse, my companion proposed to leave his card in a neighborly way. The house was most agreeable: it stood on a kind of terrace in the midst of a lawn and garden, and the terrace looked down on one of the handsomest rivers in England, and across to those blue undulations of which I have already spoken. On the terrace also was a piece of ornamental water, and there was a small iron paling to divide the lawn from the park. All this I beheld in the rain. My companion gave his card to the butler, with the observation that we were too much bespattered to come in; and we turned away to complete our circuit. As we turned away I became acutely conscious of what I should have been tempted to call the cruelty of this proceeding. My imagination gauged the whole position. It was a Sunday afternoon, and it was raining. The house was charming, the terrace delightful, the oaks magnificent, the view most interesting. But the whole thing was-not to repeat the epithet "dull," of which just now I made too gross a use-the whole thing was quiet. In the house was a drawing-room, and in the drawing-room was-by which I meant must be-a lady, a charming English lady. There was, it seemed to me, no fatuity in believing that on this rainy Sunday afternoon it would not please her to be told that two gentlemen had walked across the country to her door only to go through the ceremony of leaving a card. Therefore, when, before we had gone many yards,

vation of it-at the fashion in which we American burghers stow ourselves away for July and August in white wooden boarding-houses beside dusty, ill-made roads. But it is fair to say that these improvised homes are not immeasurably more barbaric than the human entassement that takes place in London "apartments" during the months of May and June. Whoever has had unhappy occasion to look for lodgings at this period, and to explore the mysteries of the little black houses in the West End which have a neatly-printed card suspended in the door-light, will admit that from the obligation to rough it our more luxurious kinsmen are not altogether exempt. We rough it, certainly, more than they do, but we rough it in the country, where Nature herself is rough, and they rough it in the heart of the largest and most splendid of cities. In England, in the country, Nature as well as civilization is smooth, and it seems perfectly consistent, even at midsummer, to dress for dinner; albeit that when so costumed you cannot conveniently lie on the grass. But in England you do not particularly expect to lie on the grass, especially in the evening. The a

oft creepers, and think how strange it is that in this quiet hollow, in the midst of lonely hills, so exquisite and elaborate a work of art should have arisen. It is but an hour's walk to another great ruin, which has held together more completely. There the central tower stands erect to half its altitude, and the round arches and massive pillars of the nave make a perfect vista on the unencumbered turf. You get an impression that when Catholic England was in her prime great abbeys were as thick as milestones. By native amateurs, even now, the region is called "wild," though to American eyes it seems thoroughly suburban in its smoothness and finish. There is a noiseless little railway running through the valley, and there is an ancient little town at the abbey gates-a town, indeed, with no great din of vehicles, but with goodly brick houses, with a dozen "publics," with tidy, whitewashed cottages, and with little girls, as I have said, bobbing courtesies in the street. But even now, if one had wound one's way into the valley by the railroad, it would be rather a surprise to find a small ornamental cathedral in a spot on the whole so natural and pastoral. How impressive then must the beautiful church have been in the days of its prosperity, when the pilgrim came down to it from the grassy hillside and its bells made the stillness sensible! The abbey was in those days a great affair: as my companion said, it sprawled all over the place. As you walk away from it you think you have got to the end of its traces, but you encounter them still in the shape of a rugged outhouse grand with an Early-English arch, or an ancient well hidden in a kind of sculptured cavern. It is noticeable that even if you are a traveller from a land where there are no Early-English-and indeed few Late-English-arches, and where the well-covers are, at their ho

he most obvious reflections in the court of a medi?val dwelling. The court was not always grassy and empty, as it is now, with only a couple of gentlemen in search of impressions lying at their length, one of whom has taken a wine-flask out of his pocket and has colored the clear water drawn for them out of the well in a couple of tumblers by a decent, rosy, smiling, talking old woman, who has come bustling out of the gatehouse, and who has a large, dropsical, innocent husband standing about on crutches in the sun and making no sign when you ask after his health. This poor man has reached that ultimate depth of human simplicity at which even a chance to talk about one's ailments is not appreciated. But the civil old woman talks for every one, even for an artist who has come out of one of the rooms, where I see him afterward reproducing its mouldering quaintness. The rooms are all unoccupied and in a state of extreme decay, though the castle is, as yet, far from being a ruin. From one of the windows I see a young lady sitting under a tree across a meadow, with her knees up, dipping something into her mouth. It is a camel's hair paint-brush: the young lady is sketching. These are the only besiegers to which the place is exposed now, and they can do no great harm, as I doubt whether the young lady's aim is very good. We wandered about the empty interior, thinking it a pity things should be falling so to pieces. There is a beautiful great hall-great, that is, for a small castle (it would be extremely handsome in a modern house)-with tall, ecclesiastical-looking windows, and a long staircase at one end climbing against the wall into a spacious bedroom. You may still apprehend very well the main lines of that simpler life; and it must be said that, simpler though it was, it was apparently by no means destitute of many of our own conveniences. The chamber at the top of t

d of its kind." It must have transported itself to Ludlow for the season-in rumbling coaches and heavyish curricles-and there entertained itself in decent emulation of that metropolis which a choice of railway-lines had not as yet placed within its immediate reach. It had balls at the assembly-rooms; it had Mrs. Siddons to play; it had Catalani to sing. Miss Austin's and Miss Edgeworth's heroines might perfectly well have had their first love-affair there: a journey to Ludlow would certainly have been a great event to Fanny Price or Anne Eliot, to Helen or Belinda. It is a place on which a provincial "gentry" has left a sensible stamp. I have seldom seen so good a collection of houses of the period between the elder picturesqueness and the modern baldness. Such places, such houses, such relics and intimations, always carry me back to the near antiquity of that pre-Victorian England which it is still easy for a stranger to picture with a certain vividness, thanks to the partial survival of many of its characteristics. It is still easy for a stranger who has stayed a while in England to form an idea of the tone, the habits, the aspect of English social life before its classic insularity had begun to wane, as all observers agree that it did, about thirty years ago. It is true that the

ething, well out of the daylight and its dangers-of the comfort of the time having been security, and security incarceration! There are prisons within the prison-horrible unlighted caverns of dismal depth, with holes in the roof through which Heaven knows what odious refreshment was tossed down to the poor groping détenu. There is nothing, surely, that paints one side of the Middle Ages more vividly than this fact that fine people lived in the same house with their prisoners, and kept the key in their pocket. Fancy the young ladies of the family working tapestry in their "bower" with the knowledge that at the bottom of the corkscrew staircase one of their papa's enemies was sitting month after month in mouldy midnight! But Ludlow Castle has brighter associations than these, the chief of which I should have mentioned at the out

ames

le L

tton-growing. On the Horton place especially "the stand" had been pronounced perfect, there being scarcely a gap, scarcely a stalk missing from the mile-long rows of the broad fields. Then, the rainfall had not been so profuse as to develop foliage at the bolls' expense, as was too frequently the case on the river. Yet it had been plenteous enough to keep off the "rust," from which the dryer upland plantations were now suffering. Neither the "boll-worm" nor the dreaded "army-worm" had molested the river-fields; so the tall pyramidal pl

oo, in view of this promised heavy crop that the overseer, Mr. Buck, harangued the slaves at the opening of the picking-season. The burden of his harangue was, that no flagging would be tolerated in cotton-gathering during the season. The figures of the past year were on record, showing

dily and as rapidly as he was able at the unfamiliar employment. When night came he reckoned he had done well. With a complacent feeling he stood waiting his turn as the great baskets, one after another, were swung on the steelyard and the weights announced. He found himself pitying some of

erve, yet here he was behind the children-pickers, behind the gray old women

t ter-morrer, yer yaller raskel! Ef yer can't pick cotton, yer'll be sol' down in Louzany to a sug

, the most terrible fate, to the negro's ima

y two hunderd an' fawty-seven.-That's the bigges' figger yer's ever struck yit, Liz

Little Lizay ventured to suggest, "an' it

'nuff ter make 'lowances fer col' an' shaw

d feet, tearing and holding back even with his teeth hindering tendrils of the passion-flower and morning-glory and other creepers which had escaped the devastating hoe when the crop was "laid by," and had made good their hold on occasional stalks. Persistently he worked in this intent way all through the hot day, every muscle in action. He lingered at the work till after the last of the other pickers had with great baskets poised on head joined the long, weird procession, showing white in the dusk, that went winding through field and lane to the ginhouse. On he worked till the crescent moon came up and he could hardly discern fleece from leaf. At last, fearing that the basket-weighing might be ended before he could reac

d, hurrying forward to put

Alston was wondering what he had said that was disrespectful, when the man added, "Won't have

to self-repression. All that was endurable in

-'nuff owners; but," he added quickly, by way of mollifying the overseer, who could not fail to be stung by the cover

in Mr. Buck's rear much

basket, which was now on the scales. "S

tied, and weigh it himself when the others were gone? No: the order of routine was peremptory. The baskets must be emptied and stacked on the scaffold outside the cotton-loft, so that there would be n

to stan' sich figgers? Sixty-seven poun's! fou' poun's 'head uv yistiddy. Yer ought ter be fawty ahead. I won't look at nothin' under a h

rbul unhandy. Rickon I kin do better when I gits my

rot in the fiel'. Yer ought ter pick three hunderd ev'ry day. I know'd a nigger onct, a heap littler than Little Lizay, that picked five hunderd ev'ry lick;

said Alston: "I wuckt h

yer lyin' mouth I'l

en listening-had heard all that had passed between the two men. She went down the scaffold-steps, and Alston came

haud's I could ter-day. I can't pick no hunderd poun's uv

. He was a stranger on the place-only a few weeks there-and to be tied up and flogged in the midst of strange, unsympathizing negroes! it was such degradation to his manhood. Since he was a child he had no

and a lashing coming from his own master, but that an overseer was only white trash, who never did "

r's pickin' yer mus' quit stoppin' ter pick out the leaves an' trash. I le

that Little Lizay had the start of him. She had already emptied her sack into her p

n't talk ter me, Lizay. I's got ter put all

ck so much cotton the fus' day: I's got ter kee

out the waist, apron-like. This was to receive immediately the pickings from the hand. When filled it was emptied in a pick-basket, holding with a little packing fifty or sixty pounds. This small basket was kept in the picker's vicinity, being moved forward

gue envy, that Lizay emptied three sacks at least to his one. Yet she did not seem to be working half as hard as he was. With light, graceful movements, now right, n

y near Alston for Lizay's game, but with her back turned to him and the luxuriant cotton-stalks between she reckoned she might venture. One-third of her sack she threw into Alston's basket-about five pounds. And thus the poor s

red from the field in picking-season, especially if, as was the case this year, there was a heavy crop. And occasionally in the winter, when there was unusual company at the Hortons' in the city, Little Lizay was sent for and had the advantage of a season in town. She felt her superiority to the average plantation-negro, and had not married, though not unsolicited. When, therefore, Alston came she at once recognized in him a companion, and she was not long in making over her favor to the distinguished-looking stranger. He was, as she, a half-breed, and Lizay liked her own color. Had Alston courted her favor, she might have yielded it less readily, but he did not take easily to his new companions. Some called him proud: others reckoned he had left a sweetheart, a wife perhaps, in Virginia. Little Lizay's evident preference

sket and hers at the very end of the line. Would he have a hundred? would she fall behind? Would he be saved the flogging? would she have to suffer in his stead? She dreaded a flogging at the hands of that brutal overseer, and all her womanliness shrunk from the degradation of being stripped and flogged in Alst

ease, Mos' Buck," she said in a low tone, "ef I falls 'hin' myse'f, an' don't git up to them fus'

that she was specially desirous to conceal her shame from the man to whom she had given her favor. Mr. Buck resented it that Lizay should rebuff him

of the weight or pea on the steelyard she knew that it was put somewhere near the sixty notch. Up flew the end of the yard, and up flew Lizay's heart with it: out went the pea some ten teeth, yet up again went the impatient steel. Click! click! click! rattled the weigh

lazy dog! I know'd yer wasn't half wuckin'. Now see ter it

f repeating the weight day after day. He had hardly stopped to breathe from day-dawn till moon-rise: he would not always have the friendly moonlight to help him. B

e good thing. Now he should have vent for his spite against the girl. "Thutty-six lashes on yer

er, had fallen behind, and was to be flogged-by the overseer, some said-by Big Sa

"hangin' roun' him, an' patchin' his cloze like her wus morred

s. There was but little shrinking from the sight. Human nature is everywhere much the same: cruel spectacles brutalize, whether in Spain or on a negro-plant

ls! an' git yer floggin'," Mr. Buc

ere perched on the gin and in the corners of the loft where the cotton was heaped. Others lay at full length close to the field of action. In every direction the dusky figures dotted the cotton lying on every hand about the little cleared space where the flogging and weighing were done. In a close bunch stood the shr

uck, moving from under the greas

ist-children, strong men and old women. And then there was shrieki

rself, for she felt an intolerable suspense as to what awaited

rward Mr. Buck ca

er," Alsto

r fer? Come up yere, you-" but his vil

rward with a s

ide," was the o

t was to be made on him, realizing that he was to flog Little Lizay,

e?" Mr. Buck bellowed.

on said, reaching for the whip. "I'll

tle Lizay, frightened for Alston. "He'll whip me

ong hair forward: then dropped her face low and stood wi

!" said th

woman and for his own manhood-to die rather than strike her. He was only a slave, used from his cradle to the low and cruel and brutalizing. But he had the making of a man in him: his nature was one that could never become utterly base. But there was no help, no hope, for either of them in anything he could do.

is: it was familiar ground. Over and over again he had settled it: it

er the flogging. Would it not be a mercy to Little Lizay for him to do

ers. She had nerved herself, but the blow, after all, surprised her and made her start; and she had not quite

. Ef yer don't min' me I'll knock yer down. Yer whips like yer wus 'feard yer'd hurt 'er. Yer ac' like yer never whipped no nigger sence yer wus bawn. Yer's g

floors and chimneys built of sticks and clay. Of clay also were the all-important jambs, which served as depositories of perhaps every household article pertaining to the cabin except the bedding and the stools. Th

, for the cabins, standing five yards apart, faced each other in two long lines. In each was a glowing fire, on which logs and pine-knots and cypress-spl

ile the bacon was frying and the corn dough roasting in the ashes or the hoecake baking on the griddle. An occasional woman patched or washed som

ing flames of his cabin-fire, Little Lizay came out and sat on her doorsill. Her cabin stoo

er, Lizay," he said. "Do yo

os' knows my baskit won't weigh no two hunderd an' fawty-seven poun's. 'Tain't fa'r ter 'spec' that much from me: it's a he

returning the joke. "I'd give a hea

ay. "Ef yer keeps on improvin', mayby ye

," Alston

eckon. Reckon yer'd he'p Edny

I d

n Virginny more'n yer likes

d back thar'," said

n' yer: reckon yer won't never see um no mo'. Heap better

d then he was silent, his thoughts g

: "Was yer sorry y

ness that made her heart beat faster. "I would er knocked that white nigger

nothin' won't he'p us: a

sleep," said Alston: "got te

as before, persistent devotion to the picking; then the holding on after dusk for one more pound; the same result at night-the man

hunderd an' fawty-seven 'gin two hunderd an' six! It's all laziness an' mulishness. I'll git yer outen that thar' notch, else I'

ghten Little Lizay

xt morning. "Save my life, I can't pick no more'n a hunderd an' a fe

n' it-can't

he wouldn't 'low yer ter git twict es many licks, nohow.

antation. He don't want us ter come 'plainin' ter him. He's mighty busy-gits a heap er practice, makes a heap er money. He went down the river onct, mo

n was no longer listening, but was

e field by wagon in wooden trays and buckets. There were three cotton-baskets filled w

ickin' wus heap handier than at fus'. Look yere, Lizay: ef I know'd I'd git more'n a hunderd I'd he'p ye

with glowing cheek and eyes looking down. To her own heart she said, "I likes him better'n he likes me. Reckon he can't git over mou'nin' fer som

ire Minor. I tuck a wife off'en our plantation. She's goin' ter ax her moster ter sell her an' the childun to Mo

don't yer?" Little Lizay

like Ol' Virginny ter have her an' the childun, but they's better off thar'. They couldn't pick cotton, I r

er, sho'

. They wants ter put my wife into her place, but they can't git shet with Aunt Juno: she's jis' boun' she'll do the white folks' cookin'. She says thar'

our. But as he was still over a hundred he escaped a flogging. Mr. Buck, being unable to reckon exactly the number of lashes to

at Alston's basket fell yet behind: Mr. Buck acknowledged it was a "hunderd, but a m

" Alston said. He was evidently glad for her

ied, adding to herself that to-morrow she m

ost the whole of it tumbled in a compact mass into Alston's basket. He would not need so much help as this to ensure him, so she proceeded to transfer a portion of the heap to her basket. Suddenly she started as though shot. Some one was calling to h

I emptied it in Als'on's baskit when I didn't go ter do it. I ain't tuck a

nn. Then she called Alston with the O which Southerners

Lizay pleaded. "I'll give yer my new c

calling: "O Als'on!

lence as she saw Alston coming with long str

n stealin' yer cotton: see'd 'er do it-see'd 'er take a hea

discerned any plainer the surprise, the disappointment, the grief. Lizay saw wi

. "I know it's mighty haud on yer, gittin' cowhided ev'

Little Lizay said with a certain d

o it," Edny An

t go ter do it," Little Lizay continued. "It

hen Alston went up close to her, so that Edny Ann

immediately, shouldered his basket, and went away from her to another part of the field, leaving his row unfinished. He wondered how much cotton Lizay had taken from his basket-if its weight would be brought down below a hundred; and meditated what he should do in case he was called up to be flogged by the brutal overseer. Sho

ed and seven, while Little Lizay's had fallen lower than ever before. Alston thought it was b

between them. She was already humiliated in his sight, and to raise his hand against her was like striking a

with it. Taunts and jeers met her on every hand. Stealing from white folks the negroes regarded as a very trifling matter, sin

neered one negro, commentin

eet'art!" s

din' like her

er cotton-neber see'd none till he come yere-an' her know'd he

"Sich puffawmance's wusser'n st

the story would subject her, and everything was to be feared from Mr. Buck's retaliation should he learn that he had been tricked. Besides, she wished, if possible, to go on helping Alston. She doubted, too, if he would receive it well that she had been helping him. Might he not gravely resent it that through her action such a p

ng that Alston had told her the previous day was making her heart sing. This is what he told her: "While yer wus stealin' from

couldn't stand it to have him strain and tug and bend to his work as no other hand in the field did, only to be disappointed at night. She could never bear it that he should be flog

don't b'lieve the tale I tole yistiddy, Als'on: ye

, Lizay," Alston said. His ton

st ter save me some lashes, an' yer throw'd it up ter me yistiddy. Now, look yere, Als'on: I's been he'pin' yer a

cotton, and stood staring in a bewildered way at th

't lemme he'p yer now yer'll fal

this yer fer me," Alston said, feeling that he would like to kiss the poor shoulders that had been scourged for him. G

he'p yer ter-day,

," he said in

whippin', Als'on

ke a floggin' f

' 'way: they'd ketch yer an' bring yer back. Thar's nigger-hunters an' blood-

ton all 'bout it. Ef he's a genulman he'll 'ten' ter us. They won't miss us til

n do-go tell moster an' mistis. But, law! I ought er go pull

Alston. "We mus' start quick: come 'long. Le's hide

s about eleven o'clock, and found Dr. Horton at home, having just finished his lunch. They were admitted at once to the di

Alston said humbl

Little Lizay's more

yer new boys fr

is speech. "I reckon I'll hear a good report of you from Mr. Buck. You look like you could stan' u

n I went ter pick cotton I wusn't use ter it. I wuckt haud's I could, 'fo' day an' arter dark. Mos' Hawton, I couldn't pick a poun' more'n I pick ter save my life. But I wus 'hin' all t'other han's. Then Mos' Buck wus goin' ter flog me ef I didn't git a hunderd: then Little Lizay, her he'ped me unb

ster than he had ever been to his poor people. He asked many questions, and drew forth all the facts, Lizay telling how Alston was helpin

k cotton," he said to A

ev'rything 'bout cawn; I kin split rai

u run a c

the black folks says

t more'n half read writin'. Well, do you tell him, Alston, to put you to ginnin' cotton: Little Sam mus' work with you a few days till you ge

er yer haud's I kin. Please

night in the week. Confound it! a mule couldn't stan' it. If I've got a negro that needs floggin' ev'ry night, I'll sell him or give 'im away, or turn 'im out to grass to shif' for himself. I'll be out t

, mo

o get married right away

ooked at each other, smil

ny, an' I promused I'd wait an' wouldn't git morred ag'in tell she'd write

got a letter for you the other day from her

" Alston said

an you read? or sha

please,

. Horto

ite folks 'bout yere is will 'cept mistis: her's got the dumps. All the childun say, Howdy? the black folks all says, Howdy? an' Pete says, Howdy? an' Andy says, Howdy? an' Viny says, Howdy? an' Cinthy says, Howd

ionate wif

d Sundy 'fo' las' at quat'ly meetin'. Brudder Mad'son Mason puffawmed the solemn cer'mony, an' preached a beautiful discou'se. Me

-day, right now, if you wish to. Uncle Moses can marry you: he's a member of the Church in good an' regular standin': I don't

Little Lizay's wil

But she nevertheless glanced down at her coarse field-dres

in, and Mrs. Horton and al

Dr. Horton, "did you

red-Lemme see how many wives has

nd Dr. Horton proceeded to

y that business, but reckon I coul

you try your han

book: got ter have a Bible, or hym

pocket edition of Don Quixote, wh

pretence of seeking for the marriage ceremony. At length he appeared

service, with some remarkable emendations. "An' ef yer solemnly promus," he said in conclusion, "ter lub an' '

new couple. Bearing this between them, Alston and Little Lizay went back to the plant

inter K

Of The

diet. The second they performed with a diligence so commendable that the name of them in the river became as legion, and the original possessors of the waters were steadily extirpated or took despairingly to small rivulets, and led ever after a life of undeserved ignominy and obscurity. There were bass in the river from the Falls of the Potomac, near Georgetown, to a point as near its source as any self-respecting fish could approach without detriment to the buttons on his vest by reason of the shallowness of the water. They were in all it

served him right." He had swallowed the younger fish, who, for aught he knew to the contrary, or cared, might have been his own son; and his confidence in his capacity being ably supported by his appetite, he undertook a contract to which he was unequal in the matter of expansion. He couldn't disgorge, being in the predicament of the boa-constrictor who swallows a hen head first, and finds her go against th

fate of the California emigrants. The fact is, that at Georgetown the Potomac River makes a very abrupt change in its grade, and the Great Falls, as they are called, are both picturesque and arduous of passage. The salmon, being of luxurious habit, betakes him each year to the seaside, and at the end of the season returns in a connubial frame of mind to the spot endeared to him by his early associations. It is quite possible that these

e with a tenacity that very few fish exhibit. In the spring or fall, when the water and the air are at a comparatively low temperature, a bass will live for eight or ten hours without water. The writer has brought fifty fish, weighing on an average two and three-quarter pounds, from Point of Rocks to Baltimore, a distance of seventy-two miles, and after they had been in the air six hours has placed them in a tub of water and found two-thirds of the number immediately "kick" and plunge with an amount of energy and ability that threw the water in all directions. These fish had been caught at various times during the day, and as each was taken from the hook a stout leather strap was forced through the floor of its mouth beneath its tongue, and the bunch of fish so secured allowed to trail overboard in the stream. They were thus dragged all day against a powerful current, but never showed any symptoms of "drowning." In the evening they were strung upon a stout piece of clothes-line, and after lying for some time on the railway platform were transferred to the floor of the baggage-car, and so transported to the city. It is quite evident that we do not live in the fear of Mr. Bergh. But what is one to do? The fish is not to be discouraged except by the exhibition of great and bruta

e river's bed. Huge boulders stem the current, and the rocks stand out in shelves and rugged ridges, around which the stream whirls swiftly and sweeps off into broad dark pools in whose green, mysterious depths there should be noble fish. Below, the river widens and has long placid reaches, but for the most part its banks are precipitous, and the deep water runs along the trunks and bares the roots of great trees whose branches stretch far out over its surface. Occasionally, the mountains recede and form a vast amphitheatre, clad in primeval forest, and there are islands on which vegetation runs riot in its unbridled luxury, and weaves festoons of gay creepers to conceal the gaunt skeletons of the endless piles of dead drift-wood. Al

the river as if it was great fun and all propriety. The stalwart exhortations and clean-cut phraseology of the mule-drivers and the notes of the bugles go ringing over to Virginia's shore, and fill the air with cadences so sweet and musical that they sound like the pleasant laughter of good-humored Nature, instead of the well-punctuated and di

in the morning on the bank of the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal near Point of Rocks. "It's onconvanient to be outside of the boat whin

hat, McGra

vil a child had

n that he was d

was that, sor

were to fish slowly down with the current. We had a horse and tow-rope, and a small boy, mounted on the animal, started off at a smart trot. It was quite exhilarating, and the boats dashed along merrily at a capital rate. A gray mist hung low on the river, and thin wraiths of it rose off the water of the canal and crept up the mountain-side, shrouding the black pines and hiding the summit from view. Beyond, the tops of the hills on the Virginia shore were beginni

I was ready. I got out, and there being a pleasant air stirring, I made my casts with a great deal of ease and comfort. There was a deep hole below the rocks, bordered on both sides by a swift ripple-as pretty a spot as ever a fly was thrown over. I sped them over it in all directions, casting fifty and sixty feet of line, and admiring the soft flutter with which they dropped on the edge of the ripple or the open water. Mr. McGrath was surveying the operation critically, nodding his head in approval fro

turning round: "of cours

y to step up an' inquire. Augh, be me sowl! but it's the thruth I tell you. Now, if it was a dacent throut that were

t any sportsman ought to fish for, and fishing with a worm and a cork I always looked upon as equal to shooting a partridge on the ground in May. I did not believe Mr. McGrath, and I

rr: there may be none there at all; b

hrew it in every direction with great vigor and precision, and, as I could not help noticing, with very little splashing. I turned away with e

e facilitated the departure of the line, which was going out at a famous rate. "B

o cane bent until it cracked. At the same moment, about a hundred and fifty feet away, a splendid fish leaped high and clear out of the

Kape a tight line on him, sorr: niver let him delu

: "Sorra bit, sorr: bring him in. It's great fun ye'll have wid the vagabone in that current! No, sorr:

ater, and as I brought the line taut on him again he went off down stream as fast as ever. I had the current full against him this time, and I brought him steadily up through it, and held him well in hand. I swept him around in front of Mr. McGrath's landing-net, but he shied off so quickly that I thought he would break the line. Away down he went as stiffly and stubbornly as possible, and there he lodged, rubbing his nose against a rock and trying to get rid of the hook. Half a d

that you called him when

him, sorr? A mi

sake, McGrath, what

McGrath, throwing the bass overboard to

er heard such a name as that for a

he slaps him into an illigant glass bottle of sperrits, as I thought he was goin' to say to me, 'McGrath, have ye a mouth on ye?' an' I as dhry as if I'd et red herrin's for a week. 'Yis,' sez he to

"Micropteros Floridanus" I read it as gravely as I could, smiled feebly at my own ignorance, and returned it to him

replaced the slip in the crown of his h

my hook by passing it through his upper and lower lips, and cast him out upon the stream. The red top of the cork spun merrily down the current and out among the oily ripples of the deep water below, but Mr. McGrath could beat me completely in handling his. I noticed that I threw my fish so that it struck hard upon the water, "knocking the sowl out of it," as he said, while he threw his hither and thither with the greatest ease

wid him to a convanient spot for to turn him an' swallow him head first, by rason of his sthickles an' fins all p'intin' the other way. Whin he takes it, sorr, jist let him run away wid it as far

very feet, it disappeared. I could not believe that a bass had taken it, but all doubt on the subject was dispelled by the shrill whir of my reel as the f

s hard as I could. "Illigant, begorra!" said he as the fish, maddened and fri

impetuosity that involved more line or broken tackle-to feel that vigorous, oscillating pull of his, and to not

ive-green on the back and sides, the fins quite black at the ends, and the under side white. They change color rapidly, and as their vitality decreases become paler and paler, turning when dead to a very light olive-green. The mouth in general form resembles that of

historic gentleman would have disgraced himself by catching fish he could not use. He never caught ten times as many of the Salmo fontinalis as he and all his friends could eat, and then threw the rest away to rot. This kind of thing has prevailed to a great extent, but natural causes have nearly brought it to an end. The wholesale slaughter of the fish has reduced their numbers, and a surfeit of indecent sport can no longer be indulged in. Such fishermen should be confined by law to a large aquarium, in which the fish they most affected could be taught to undergo catching and re-catching until the gentlemen had had enough. The fish might grow to like it eventually, and submit as a purely business matter to being caught regularly for a daily consideration in chopped liver and real flies. But how our ancestor, just alluded to, would despise the sport of this progressi

es had been similar to mine, but he had too much regard for his fine fly-rod, he said, to use it for "slinging round a bait as big as a herring." He had taken it to piec

fishing?

ught nine beauties. Pete does al

Whenever Pete hooked a fish my friend would lay down his pipe and play the fish into the landing-net. "It's

hort struggle, and started down stream, leaving him to his laziness just as he was settling

ce. We were about to change our position when we were detained by a

ter with them,

t there in the bow," he replied, pointing t

Virginia side, we disembarked. In the excitement of fishing I had not thought of luncheon, but now I found I h

ood many more, but Pete is so lazy. It was a

our worthy guides agreeing that the fish do not bite well between noon and that hour, and both of us being disposed to rest a little. My friend stretched himself on the thick grass, and when his pipe was exhausted went fast asleep, and snored with great precision and power to a mild sternutatory accompaniment by Mr. McGrath and Pete. I employed myself in bringing up my largest bass from the b

riend he was red, perspirational and full of lively entomological suspicions. He slapped the legs of his pantaloo

w how it is myself: a fellow always feels t

icks here?

k of peeling off and jumping into the river after a general search. He was finally reassured, and we started out. We had even better sport than in the morning, and accumulated a splendid string o

those people are?

Washington. They come up for a day's fishin' all along of the illigant fishin

that, M

sez he, 'that they don't bite at all to-day. You haven't caught any, have you?'-'Well, sorr,' sez I, 'I did dhrop on a few little ones as I come down.'-'Oh, did you, really?' sez another one, puttin' a glass in his eye and standin' up excited like. 'Why, my good man,' sez he, 'be good enough to 'old them up, you know. We'd like so much to see them!'-Wid that, sorr, I up wid the sthring as high as I could lift it, an' it weighin' nigh onto a hundred pound. Well, they were that wild they didn't know what to make of it. One of them sez, sez he, 'The beggar's been a hauling of a net, he has.'-'Divvle a bit more than yerself,' sez I. 'There's me impliments, a

broiled bass, country sausage, fried ham and eggs, and coffee. The cooki

ckay

alis Of A

end, no pages

well, and yet

d as wind through

rfume, swift

Plato's stream

Moschus sing

d Dante wand

ill the Golde

to which old

old. A livin

ears: in it I

ad truths I f

ttle child;

Dante's in its

ce F.

Unto H