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wus cold as ice. Kissin’ was fasliionable in
them clays—the world wasn't so moral then,
perhaps, as it is now, and kissin 1 wan’t look
ed upon as a crime. So when Alford had
told me good-bye, he said, ‘Won’t you kiss
me"?’ 1 wus too full to answer him, and I
could feel the tears creeping up into my eyes,
but I kept ’em hack and looked down at the
floor. ‘Silence gives consent, 1 he said, and
pressing my hand, he kissed me on this
cheek,” and my aunt put her fore-finger upon
her left cheek, and pausing, gazed vacantly
into the fire.
“Have you finished, aunty?” said TANARUS, after
some minutes silence.
“No,” said she, “no; I was jest a think
in, Well, at last Alford got on his horse,
and rode off very fast, ’thout lookin’ back
once. I gazed down the road after him, but
the tears blinded me, and I couldn’t see no
more than if my eyes had been tite shet. I
went up stairs in my room and laid down,
and cried clean tel dinner time. Brother Na
than and sister didn’t git back tel nite, and
the house seemed twice as big and lonely all
day. Well, Siah, after Alford went away, I
wan’t long findin’ out how I loved him. It
seemed like the month that he staid away was
a whole year. I couldn’t sleep o’ nights like
1 used to, but I’d lay in the bed with my eyes
wide open, and look up at the bright round
moon that wus a shinin’ down through the
winder. The country wan’t thick settled
then like it is now, and it was dangerous to
travel fur through the unsettled parts by yore
self. Well, when I’d git to sleep, I’d have
sich horrid dreems. One night I dreampt
somebody was a killin’ Alford, and I woke
up after I dreampt it, and tried to laugh it
off, but still I couldn’t help a thinking, spos’n
somebody is killin’ him shure nuff—and then
it wus, Siah, that I wus fully satisfied what
wus the matter with me ; and I’d ha’ give all
the treasures in the world es I could jest ha’
brought Alford back home safe. Alford got
back safe, Siah, and I’ll jest skip a little here,
’cause its onpleasant to talk about.
******
“ I asked brother Nathan’s advice after Al
ford had courted me, and he approved very
highly of the match. So I accepted him, and
we wus engaged. Siah, you say you has
never loved anybody ?”
“ No,” said I; “that is, not that I know of,
aunty.”
“Well, Siah, the happiest or the misera
blest part of yore life, you yet have to go
over, and es yore love is returned, you need
look for no happier condition on earth. Al
ford was all that I could ask, devoted, kind,
and I thought, faithful and true. I pass over
the happy hours we spent together—they are
gone forever, and it’s best not to call them to
life again; about three months after I engaged
myself to him, he wished me to pint the day.
I asked brother Nathan’s advice, and he tho’t
a year off would be soon enough. Es I had
had my way, though, I should ha’ said to
morrow. Brother thought, though, that a
longer engagement would be best, because he
said our minds might change. ‘ Not mine,’
said Alford, ‘ef it was ten years off there
would be no change in me.’ Well, we had
to agree to it. ’Bout this time, there wus a
Mr. Owen, a very rich merchant that had re
tired from business, come to live in the vil
lage. He had had a splendid house built fur
him and his daughter to live in. His daugh
ter wus his only child—he wus a widower,
and she wus to inherit the whole of his for
tune. Her name was Caroline, and she wus
the puttiest creetur. Siah, you ever seed. She
wus amiable, intelligent and accomplished.—
The same kind-hearted girl to everybody, the
rich and the poor. All the village loved her,
in a month after she come among us. This
Mr. Owen was the very gentleman that Al
ford carried the money to, though he never
told me a word about it. I found it out from
Carry a long time afterwards. Alford called
on her very shortly after she come to the vil
SOISTFEIISI&EI thatf&l&AtEY ©A S & ‘if’Hi *
lage, and soon began to pay his visits to her
oftener than he did to me. The girls used to
tease me about her, and tell me that Alford
was engaged to her, and all that sort o’ thing.
But I wus a young thing then, and Alford’s
smooth words and professions quieted my
fears of his unfaithfulness. I couldn’t help
seein’, though, young and inexperienced as I
wus, that Alford was not the same Alford
that he used to be, His vows seem to come
from his lips, Siah, not from his heart, and
he seemed uneasy and unhappy when in my
company. About three months after Mr.
Owen come to town, Alford quit clarkin’ for
yore father, and set up store for himself. —
And about a month after that I got a letter ,
the fust he ever writ me, sayin’ that he wus
conscious of a change in his mind—that his
love had cooled down into friendship. He
sent back the curl of my hair that I sent him,
and asked for his’n.” Here my aunt got up
and went to her bureau, and taking out a
little package, she opened it and handed it to
me. It contained a bright golden curl, and a
lock of hair as dark as night. “The curl,”
said my aunt, “is mine, and the other is Al
ford’s. I wouldn’t send it back to him, Siah,
for I had reasons for keepin’ it. This is the
fust time it’s ever been opened,” and folding
up the package, my aunt resumed :
“Brother Nathan was terrible put out ’bout
it, and it took all the persuadin’ I could do to
keep him from challengin’ Alford, for they
settled all diffikilties in them days by duels.
At last he cooled down, and said it wus for
tunate that 1 found Alford out, and told me
not to take on about it, for I wouldn’t ha’
been happy with Alford; but I didn’t think
so, and I had a terrible spell o’ sickness after
it. The doctors all give me out, and said
there was no chance for me to git well. —
Brother Nathan wus the only person that
knowed what wus the matter with me, and
he took on mitely ’bout my sickness—so they
told me afterwards, fur I didn’t know nuthin’
while I wus sick. Well, the doctors ali tried
their best to save me. They give me out
though, and the fifth night after I wus taken
sick they all said I must die ’fore mornin’.—
Sister Lucy (yore mother) wus gone off on a
visit to her mother, at the time. ’Bout sun
rise, in the mornin’ of that night, a change
took place for the better, and it ’peared to me
like I had jest woke up from a terrible dream.
There was but one person in the room, and
that was Carry Owen. She had been with
me ever sence I had been sick; day and night
she wus by my side, though she never knew,
and never did know, w T hat had passed ’tween
me and Alford. I need hardly tell you that
we soon become bosom friends. I got well
at last. Carry told me that Alford wus enga
ged to her , and I said nothin’ ’bout my own
engagement, for 1 wanted her to be happy. —
Alford told her that he never loved anybody
but her, and so on, and they wus to be mar
ried on the fust of May, the very time that
my weddin’ wus to be. T wus invited, of
course. Brother begged me not to go, but I
wus ’termined to do it, and I went. They
wus married, and though my heart wus bust
in’ within me, I smiled, and looked as happy
as anybody in the room. Alford wus as hand
some as ever, and 1 loved him still; but 1
made him think I wus indifferent to him.
There’s certain signs, Siah, that a woman can
tell, and read as plain as es what they meant
wus writ on paper before her, and I could tell
that Alford wus still in love, but not with the
beautiful bride that leaned upon his arm. —
Whenever he passed near me, he would gaze
earnestl)’’ at me, and his eyes said as plain as
his tongue did once before, ‘I love you only.’
But I laughed, and chatted with the fellers,
as es nothin’ wus the matter. I even out-did
myself, and wus astonished at my own firm
ness. I waltzed with Alford, and understood
the pressure of his hand, but he believed that
I had forgotten him.
“Well, Siah, I’ll skip agin. It wus jest
three years after Alford’s marriage that his
wife Carry was settin’ in the room with me,
at home. We had been very intimate ever
sence my sickness. But in a little while af
ter her marriage she seemed unhappy ; some
thing seemed weighing on her mind, but when
I would ask what was the matter, she would
force a laugh, and seem surprised at my ques
tion. Well, as I wus sayin’, she wus a set
tin’ in the little parlor with me at home. It
wus a still summer’s day, and not a breath of
air wus stirrin’. Hot as it wus, though, Car
ry had a large thick shawl wrapped round
her neck. I wus surprised at it, but I said
nothin’, and after we had talked some time
she rose to take leave of me. As she got up,
a sudden violent gust of wind swept through
the room, (though it had been as still a day
as you ever saw,) and blew off her shawl.—
I wus very near her, and as the shawl fell
off, I observed a long black streak of bruised
flesh upon her neck. Shocked and surprised,
I breathlessly pointed to it, and asked what
did it! The poor girl sunk into her chair,
and coverin’ her face with her hands she
cried and sobbed bitterly. A dark suspicion
flew through my mind, and it was soon con
firmed by the poor creetur’sown words. Her
husband had mistreated her for a long time,
and the mark upon her bosom wus made by
his hand. She never had told any one of it,
but bore it in silence. I consoled her as well
as I could. The next day she was taken
sick, and gradually sunk into her grave.—
The doctors couldn’t tell what ailed her, and
of all that wus gathered round her death-bed,
but one person in the room knew the cause
of her death, and that person was myself.—
She died of a broken heart. But, Siah, she is
this night in heaven.
“After her death, old Mr. Owen soon fol
lowed her, and Alford come into the property.
Yore uncle, brother William, died about that
time in the West Indies, leaving his large for
tune to yore father and me. Alford courted
me a second time. It is useless for me to say
that I rejected him; and in Uvo weeks after
his second proposal he wus a bankrupt, which
explained his reason for his offers to me. He
wanted my fortune to save him from ruin.
He killed himself a short time afterwards,
and now sleeps beside Carry in the church
yard. The world does not suspect how little
he deserves to rest even there, by her side.
Augusta, Ga., Oct. 10, 1848.
Sketches of £ife.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
MY UNCLE SIMON’S PLANTATION ;
—OR —
SKETCHES OF SOUTHERN LIFE,&C.
BY ABRAIIAM GOOSE QUILL, ESQ.
STUMP-SPEAKING AND THE BARBECUE.
“ Com’st thou with deep, premeditated lines,
With written pamphlets, studiously devised
Humphrey of Gloster 1 If thou canst accuse*
Or aught intend’st to lay unto my charge,
Do it without invention, suddenly ;
As I with sudden and extemporal speech
Purpose to answer what thou canst object.”
[ 1. King Henry VI.
Every fourth year, if we are to credit our
stump-speaking pettyfoggers. and hireling
slangwhangers, our liberties reach a crisis.
Without their patriotic efforts, induced by
their love for the dear people, these liberties
would most assuredly be dashed down the
precipice of destruction, and lost in the Mael
strom of annihilation. In the name of all
that is good and holy, how shall we reward
the labors of these gentry ? How shall we
repay them for the love which accumulates
in their bosoms, until, every four years, the
interest exceeds the principal, and breaks out
in such torrents of eloquence for us the sov
ereign people ? Oh! “ Daniel come to judg
ment, and let us know how we shall discharge
the debt of gratitude due by us ! Would
it not have been better for the renowned
‘ committee of eight,” to have spent their
time deliberating this question, than, coil
pared with it, the trifling subject which they
did investigate? But we will let oneoftlm
aforesaid benefactors, in the absence of ■
Daniel, enlighten us upon this subject -
Come on then, Mr. Pettyfogger ; just whim
per it in my ear, and 1 assure you I\ V jM
keep it from the common people that you
have any such thought. If I mistake not
I hear in private something like these words
“ Give us office /” Helas! pauvre Yorique ’
It was proposed, not long ago, to have a
“ free discussion,” and barbecue in th.c neigh
borhood of Uncle Simon. The old gentle
man was very much opposed to it:—“For' l
said he, “I have heard several of these free
discussions, and I never knew any thin*
good to come of one of them yet. Your
Democrat is not going to believe your Whi
orator, and vice versa. Each speaker is
disposed to indulge in ridicule,- low anec
dote, and too often in falsehood. The par
ty which halloos loudest, and laughs most
is the one which gains the advantage. Now
are not such proceedings demoralizing in the
extreme ? Instead of our smart men’s setting
examples of good taste, and high-toned mo
rality, they are for pandering to the prejudi
ces of the people, and teaching them that ri
baldry is superior to logic.”
These were my uncle’s views, in which 1
perfectly coincided with him.
The statute of 29th Charles 11, chap. 3.
called the “Statute of Frauds,” and passed
as “An Act for the prevention of Frauds and
Perjuries,” is one of the wisest laws that a
dorn any civil code. I suggest to our gentle
men legislators, wherever found, the propri
ety of passing a law, with like intention, a
gainst the practice of stump-speaking. I
have no hope, however, that my suggestion
will be heeded by those to whom it is address
ed, since most of them are afflicted with the
mania which my proposed medicine would
cure.
But to return. Uncle Simon’s objections
were overruled by the tribunal which held
jurisdiction, and it was agreed to have a “ free
barbecue, and discussion.’ The Pettyfog
gers and so on must come, and enlighten us
so that we may know how to cast our votes;
we poor ignoramuses. All in the neighbor
hood subscribed a shote or more, according
to their several abilities, and uncle Simon,
conforming to the will of the majority, did
the same.
The night before the barbecue rolled round,
and Major Lookover was appointed to super
intend the feast. The pits had all been dug,
the wood hauled, and the pepper, salt and
vinegar gotten ready, together with all the
other little et ceteras appertaining to such an
occasion. The next day at about ten o’clock,
I went to the pit. I learned from old David,
who was one of the chief men in barbecue
dom, that the shotes, about forty in number,
and the lambs, about ten, had been “ put on”
that morning near day-break. Major Look
over was boisterous in his commands to the
darkies who were placed under his charge.
He felt his importance fully as much as any
one on the ground, except perhaps, the speak
ers and old David.
I was much amused to hear with what in
effable contempt the latter spoke of “poor
white folks,” who, he said, seemed overanx
ious to swallow some of that of which he
knew they were destitute at home. He said
that whenever Maj. Lookover happened to
turn his back another way, these folks would
pounce down upon the pig’s tails and ears,
already sufficiently cooked, like a turkey
buzzard at the birth of a litter of these gen
tlemen grunters. “ Mass Abraham,” said he.
“ they don’t know no more about manners
dan a gentleman's niggers. Old Davy
black, but he knows heap better dan to be
gin to eat afore he is axed.”
Reader, imagine old David walking up and
down the pit, with a stick in one hand, now
punching the fire, and then brandishing bis
weapon over the head of some delinquent