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186 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