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The rose oil her cheek had rather
freshened than faded and her smile
was the very same that first Subdued
my heart; but her fine form was
wholly lost,, and, with it, aill the
grace of her movements. Pleasing
hut melancholy reflections occupied
my mind as I gazed on her dispens
ing her cheerful hospitalities. I
thought of the sad history of many
of her companions and mine, who
need to carry light hearts through
the meny dance. I compared my
after life with the cloudless days of
tny attachment to Polly. Then I was
light 'hearted, gay> iconte|ite|d, and
happy. I aspired to nothing but a
good name, a good Wife, and an easy
competence. The first and last were
mine already; and Polly had given
me too many little tokens of her fa
vour to leave a doubt now that the
second Was at my command. But I
was foolishly told that my talents
were of too high an order to be em
ployed in the drudgeries of a farm,
and t more lool'shly believed it. I
forsook the pleasure which 1 had
tried and proved, and went in pursuit
of those imaginary joys which seem
ed to encircle the seat of Fame. From
that moment to the present, my life
had been little else than one unbrok
en scene of disaster, disappointment,
vexation, and toil. And now, when
I was too old to enjoy the pleasures
which I had discarded, I found that
my aim was absolutely hopeless; and
that my pursuits had only served to
unfit me for the humbler walks of
life, and to exclude me from the
higher. The gloom of these reflec
tions was, however, lightened in a
measure by the promises of the com
ing hour, when I was to live over
again with Mrs. Gibson some of the
happiest moments of my life.
After a hasty repast the young
people returned to their amusement,
followed by myself, with several of
the elders of the company. An hour
had scarcely elapsed before Mrs.
Gibson accompanied by a
goodly number of matrons of her
own age. This accession to the com
pany produced its usual effects. It
raised the tone of conversation a full,
octave, and gave it a triple time
movement; added new life to the wit
and limbs of the young folks, and set
the old men to cracking jokes.
At length the time arrived for me
to surprise and delight Mrs. Gibson.
The young people insisted upon the
old folks taking a reel, and this was
just what I had been waiting for:
for, after many plans for making the
discovery, I had finally concluded up
on that which I thought would make
her joy general among the company:
and that was to announce myself,
just before leading her to the dance,
in a voice audible to most of the as
sembly. I therefore readily assent
ed to the proposition of the young
folks, as did two others of my age,
and we made to the ladies for our
partners. I, of course, offered my
hand to Mrs. Gibson.
“Come,” said I “Mrs. Gibson,
let us see if we can’t outdance these
young people.”
“Dear me, sir,” said she, “I
haven’t danced a step in twenty
years! ’ ’
“Neither have I; but I’ve resolved
to try once more, if you will join me,
just for old time’s sake.”
“I really cannot think of danc
ing,” said she. .
“Well,” continued I (raising my
-voice to a pretty high pitch, on pur
pose to be beard, while my counte
nance kindled with exultation at the
astonishment and delight which I
was about to produce), “you surely
will dance with an old friend and
sweetheart, who used to dance with
you when a girl! ’ ’
At this disclosure her features as
sumed a vast variety of expressions;
but none of them responded precisely
to my expectations; indeed, some of
them were of such an equivocal and
alarming character, that I deemed it
advisable not to prolong her sus
pense. I therefore proceeded:
“Have you forgotten your old
sweetheart, Abram Baldwin?”
“What!” said she, looking more
astonished and confused than ever.
“Abram Baldwin! Abram Baldwin!
I don't think I ever heard the name
before.”
“Do you remember Jim Johnson?”
said I.
“Oh, yea,” said she, “mighty
well,” het countenance brightening
with a smile.
“And Bill Martin?”
“Yes, perfectly well; why, who are
you ? ’ ’
Here we. were interrupted by one
of the gentlemen, who had led his
partner to the floor, with, “Come,
stranger, we’re getting mighty tired
o* standing. It won’t do for old
people that’s going to dance to take
up much time in standing; they’ll
lose all their spryness. Don’t stand
begging Polly Gibson, she never
dances; but take my Sal there, next
to her; she’ll run a reel with you, to
old Nick’s house and back agin.”
No alternative was left me, and
therefore I offered my hand to Mrs.
Sally—l didn’t know who.
“Well,” thought I, as I moved to
my place, “the squire is pretty se
cure from jealousy; but Polly will
soon remember me when she sees my
steps in the reel. I will dance pre
cisely as I used to in my youth, if it
tire me to death.” There was one
step that was almost exclusively my
own, for. few of the dancers of my
day could perform it at all, and none
with the grace and ease that I did.
“She’ll remember Abram Baldwin,”
thought I, “as soon as she sees the
double crosshop.”
It was performed by rising and
crossing the legs twice or thrice be
fore lighting, and I used to carry it
to the third cross with considerable
ease. It was a step solely adapted
to setting or balancing, as all will
perceive; but I thought the occasion
would justify a little perversion of it,
and therefore resolved to lead off
with it, that Polly might be at once
relieved from suspense. Just, how
ever, as I reached my place, Mrs.
Gibson’s youngest son, a boy about
eight years old, ran in and cried
out, “Mammy, old Boler’s jumped
upon the planks, dragged off a
great hunk o’ meat as big as your
head, ahid broke a <Jish and tiwo
plates all to darn smashes!” Away
went Mrs. Gibson, and off went the
music. Still I hoped that matters
would be adjusted in time for Polly
to return and see the -double cross
hop; and I felt the mortification
which my delay in getting a partner
had occasioned somewhat solaced by
THE WEEKLY JEFFERSONIAN.
the reflection that it had thrown me
at the foot of the rest.
The first and second couples had
nearly completed their performances,
and Polly had not returned. I be
gan to grow uneasy, and to interpose
as many delays as I could without
attracting notice.
The six reel is closed by the foot
couple balancing at the head of the
set, then in the middle, then at the
foot, again in the middle, meeting at
the head, and leading down.
My partner and I had commenced
balancing at the head, and Polly had
not returned. I balanced until my
partner forced me on. I now deem
ed it advisable to give myself up
wholly to the double crosshop; so
that, if Polly should return in time
to see any step, it should be this,
though I was really nearly exhaust
ed. Accordingly,) I macfe the at
tempt to introduce it in the turns of
the reel; but the first! experiment
convinced me of three things at once:
Ist. That I could not have used the
step in this way in my best days;
2d. That my strength would not
more than support it in its proper
place for the remainder of the reel;
and, 3d. If I tried it again in this
way, I should knock my brains out
against the puncheons; for my part
ner, who seemed determined to con
firm her husband’s report of her,
evinced no disposition to wait upon
experiments; but fetching me a jerk
while I was up and my legs crossed,
had wellnigh sent me head foremost
to Old Nick’s house, sure enough.
We met in the middle, my back to
the door, and from the silence that
prevailed in the yard, I flattered my
self that Polly might be even now
catching the first glimpse of the fa
vourite step, when I heard her voice
at some distance from the house:
—---
“Get you gone! G-e-e-e-t you gone!
G-e-e-e-eeet you gone!” Matters
out doors were now clearly explained.
There had been a struggle to get the
meat from Boler; Boler had triumph
ed, and retreated to the woods with
his booty, and Mrs. Gibson was heap
ing indignities upon him in the last
resort.
The three “ Get-you-gones ” met
me precisely at the three closing
balances; and the last brought my
moral energies to a perfect level with
my physical.
Mrs. Gibson returned, however, in
a few minutes after, in a good hu
mour; for she possessed a lovely dis
position, which even marriage could
not spoil. As soon as I could col
lect breath mo ugh for regular con
versation (for, to speak in my native
dialect, I was “mortal tired”), I
took a seat by her, resolved not to
quit the house without making my
self known to her, if possible.
“How much,” said I, “your Pol
ly looks and dances like you used to,
at her age.”
“I’ve told my old man so a hun
dred times,” said she. “Why who
upon earth are you!”
“Did you ever see two persons
dance more alike than Jim Johnson
and Sammy Tant?”
“Never. Why, who can you be!”
“You remember Becky Lewis?”
“Yes!”
“Well, look at Chloe Dawson, and
you’ll see her over again.”
“Well, law me! Now I know I
must tnave seen you somewhere; but,
to save my life, I can’t tell where..
Where did your father live?”
“He died when I was small/’
“And where did you used tto sme;
me?”
“At your father’s, and old Mr;.
Dawson’s, and at Mrs. Barnes’s, and'
at Squire Noble’s, and many other
places.”
“Well, goodness me! It’s mighty
strange I can’t call you to my mind.’
I now began to get petulant, and
thought it best to leave her.
The dance wound up with the old
merry jig, and the company dispers
ed.
The next day I set out for my r nt- -
idence. I had been at home rather
more than two months, when I re
ceived the following letter from
Squire Gibson:
“Dear Sir: I send you the mon
ey collected on the notes you left
with me. Since you left here, Pol
ly has been thinking about old times,
and she says, to save her life, she
can’t recollect you.”
BALDWIN.
Sir William White, who till recently
was Director of Naval Construction of
Great Britain, began life as a ship
wright’s apprentice, but his genius
carried hmi up the ladder with a
rapidity which startled his fellow
workers. He nearly lost his life once
through taking an experimental trip
with a submarine boat which on be
ing submerged stuck in the mud. It
was only after furious work with the
pumps that he was rescued.
(For The Jeffersonian.)
THE RAILROADS.
By James Walker Heatherley.
Pile up the dollars
Up to the sky,
No matter what follows,
Pile ’em up high!
A boy on duty,
Fifteen years old.
Oh, it’s a thing of beauty!
Pile up the gold.
An Engineer sleeping,
Out on the way,
Widows and orphans weeping
The very next day.
A great disaster:
Half a hundred die,
Pile ’em up faster,
Pile ’em up high.
A great collision:
Oh, pitiful cry!
The company’s decision;
Pile ’em up high.
As high as a steeple
Up to the sky:
To hell with the people,
Pile ’em high!
Slumbering republic,
Your life’s at stake.
Oh, when will the public
And voters awake?
Bryan on his world trip
Saw what we need:
'Government ownership.
May it succeed.
Pile up the dollars,
Lay the cash by.
To hell with sorrows:
Pile ’em up high!
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