Adventure | Science Fiction | Ghost stories | Poetry | Children | History BookOpen Original Text amatized_ The Vicar of Wakefield.
The titles of these books describe their contents, and the following
extract gives their style. The scenes are laid in Georgia; and even
when Major Jones travels, he remains a Georgian still.
MAJOR JONES'S CHRISTMAS PRESENT TO MARY STALLINGS.
(_From Major Jones's Courtship._[31])
They all agreed they would hang up a bag for me to put Miss Mary's
Crismus present in, on the back porch; and about ten o'clock I told
'em good-evenin' and went home.
I sot up till midnight, and when they wos all gone to bed, I went
softly into the back gate, and went up to the porch, and thar, shore
enough, was a great big meal-bag hangin' to the jice. It was monstrous
unhandy to git to it, but I was termined not to back out. So I sot
some chairs on top of a bench, and got hold of the rope, and let
myself down into the bag; but jist as I was gittin in, it swung agin
the chairs, and down they went with a terrible racket; but nobody
din't wake up but Miss Stallinses old cur dog, and here he come rippin
and tearin through the yard like rath, and round and round he went,
tryin to find out what was the matter. I scrooch'd down in the bag,
and didn't breathe louder nor a kitten, for fear he'd find me out;
and after a while he quit barkin.
The wind begun to blow bominable cold, and the old bag kept turnin
round and swingin so it made me sea-sick as the mischief. I was afraid
to move for fear the rope would break and let me fall, and thar I sot
with my teeth rattlin like I had a ager. It seemed like it would never
come daylight, and I do believe if I didn't love Miss Mary so powerful
I would froze to death; for my heart was the only spot that felt warm,
and it didn't beat more'n two licks a minit, only when I thought how
she would be supprised in the mornin, and then it went in a canter.
Bimeby the cussed old dog came up on the porch and begun to smell
about the bag, and then he barked like he thought he'd treed
something.
"Bow! wow! wow!" ses he. Then he'd smell agin, and try to git up to
the bag. "Git out!" ses I, very low, for fear the galls mought hear
me. "Bow! wow!" ses he. "Begone! you bominable fool!" ses I, and I
felt all over in spots, for I spected every minit he'd nip me, and
what made it worse, I didn't know wharabouts he'd take hold. "Bow!
wow! wow!" Then I tried coaxin--"Come here, good feller," ses I, and
whistled a little to him, but it wasn't no use. Thar he stood, and kep
up his everlastin barkin and whinin, all night. I couldn't tell when
daylight was breakin, only by the chickens crowin, and I was monstrous
glad to hear 'em, for if I'd had to stay thar one hour more, I don't
believe I'd ever got out of that bag alive.
Old Miss Stallins come out fust, and as soon as she seed the bag, ses
she: "What upon yeath has Joseph went and put in that bag for Mary?
I'll lay it's a yearlin or some live animal, or Bruin wouldn't bark at
it so."
She went in to call the galls, and I sot thar, shiverin all over so I
couldn't hardly speak if I tried to,--but I didn't say nothin. Bimeby
they all come runnin out on the porch.
"My goodness! what is it?" ses Miss Mary.
"Oh, it's alive!" ses Miss Kesiah. "I seed it move."
"Call Cato, and make him cut the rope," ses Miss Carline, "and let's
see what it is. Come here, Cato, and get this bag down."
"Don't hurt it for the world," ses Miss Mary.
Cato untied the rope that was round the jice, and let the bag down
easy on the floor, and I tumbled out, all covered with corn-meal from
head to foot.
"Goodness gracious!" ses Miss Mary, "if it ain't the Majer himself!"
"Yes," ses I, "and you know you promised to keep my Crismus present as
long as you lived."
The galls laughed themselves almost to death, and went to brushin off
the meal as fast as they could, sayin they was gwine to hang that bag
up every Crismus till they got husbands too. Miss Mary--bless her
bright eyes!--she blushed as beautiful as a mornin-glory, and sed
she'd stick to her word. . . . I do believe if I was froze stiff, one
look at her sweet face, as she stood thar lookin down to the floor
with her roguish eyes, and her bright curls fallin all over her snowy
neck, would have fotched me to. I tell you what, it was worth hangin
in a meal bag from one Crismus to another to feel as happy as I have
ever sense.
FOOTNOTE:
[31] By permission of T. B. Peterson and Brothers, Philadelphia.
JAMES BARRON HOPE.
~1827=1887.~
JAMES BARRON HOPE was born near Norfolk, Virginia, educated at William
and Mary College, and began the practice of law at Hampton. In 1857 he
wrote the poem for the two hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the
settlement of Jamestown, and in 1858 an Ode for the dedication of the
Washington Monument at Richmond. He also wrote poems for the "Southern
Literary Messenger," as _Henry Ellen_. In 1861 he entered the
Confederate service and fought through the war as captain. Afterwards
he settled in Norfolk to the practice of his profession. His best
poems are considered to be "Arms and the Man," and "Memorial Ode," the
latter written for the laying of the corner-stone of the Lee Monument
in Richmond, 1887, just before his death.
WORKS.
Leoni di Monota, [poems].
Elegiac Ode and other Poems.
Under the Empire, [novel].
Arms and the Man, and other Poems.
THE VICTORY AT YORKTOWN.
(_From Arms and the Man._[32])
A Metrical Address recited on the one hundredth anniversary of the
surrender of Lord Cornwallis at Yorktown, on invitation of the United
States Congress, October 19, 1881.
PROLOGUE.
Full-burnished through the long-revolving years
The ploughshare of a Century to-day
Runs peaceful furrows where a crop of Spears
Once stood in War's array.
And we, like those who on the Trojan plain
See hoary secrets wrenched from upturned sods;--
Who, in their fancy, hear resound again
The battle-cry of Gods;--
We now,--this splendid scene before us spread
Where Freedom's full hexameter began--
Restore our Epic, which the Nations read
As far its thunders ran.
Here visions throng on People and on Bard,
Ranks all a-glitter in battalions massed
And closed around as like a plumèd guard,
They lead us down the Past.
I see great Shapes in vague confusion march
Like giant shadows, moving vast and slow,
Beneath some torch-lit temple's mighty arch
Where long processions go.
I see these Shapes before me all unfold,
But ne'er can fix them on the lofty wall,
Nor tell them, save as she of Endor told
What she beheld to Saul.
WASHINGTON AND LEE.
(_From Memorial Ode._)
Our history is a shining sea
Locked in by lofty land,
And its great Pillars of Hercules,
Above the shifting sand
I here behold in majesty
Uprising on each hand.
These Pillars of our history,
In fame forever young,
Are known in every latitude
And named in every tongue,
And down through all the Ages
Their story shall be sung.
The Father of his Country
Stands above that shut-in sea,
A glorious symbol to the world
Of all that's great and free;
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