And maybe you'll get the mitten, VII. Well, he sighed at me and I laughed at him He pressed my hand, but I heeded not, He whispered something about the past, For my heart was throbbing loud and fast, He led me out beneath the stars, I told him it was vain For him to vow. I had no faith To pledge with him again. His voice was sad and thrilling and deep, And my pride flew away, And left me to weep, And when he said he loved me most true, And ever should love me, "Yes, love only you," he said, I could not help trusting Archie, Say, could you?-GAIL HAMILTON. UNCLE DANIEL'S INTRODUCTION TO A MISSISSIPPI STEAMER. WHATEV WHATEVER the lagging, dragging journey may have been to the rest of the emigrants, it was a wonder and delight to the children, a world of enchantment; and they believed it to be peopled with the mysterious dwarfs and giants and goblins that figured in the tales the negro slaves were in the habit of telling them nightly by the shuddering light of the kitchen fire. At the end of nearly a week of travel, the party went into camp near a shabby village which was caving, house by house, into the hungry Mississippi. The river astonished the children beyond measure. Its mile-breadth of water seemed an ocean to them, in the shadowy twilight, and the vague riband of trees on the further shore, the verge of a continent which surely none but they had ever seen before. "Uncle Dan'l" (colored,) aged 40; his wife, "aunt Jinny," aged 30, "Young Miss" Emily Hawkins, "Young Mars" Washington Hawkins and "Young Mars" Clay, the new member of the family, ranged themselves on a log, after supper, and contemplated the marvellous river and discussed it. The moon rose and sailed aloft through a maze of shredded cloud-wreaths; the sombre river just perceptibly brightened under the veiled light; a deep silence pervaded the air and was emphasized, at intervals, rather than broken, by the hooting of an owl, the baying of a dog, or the muffled crash of a caving bank in the distance. The little company assembled on the log were all children, (at least in simplicity and broad and compre、 hensive ignorance,) and the remarks they made about the river were in keeping with their character; and so awed were they by the grandeur and the solemnity of the scene before them, and by their belief that the air was filled with invisible spirits and that the faint zephyrs were caused by their passing wings, that all their talk took to itself a tinge of the supernatural, and their voices were subdued to a low and reverent tone. Suddenly Uncle Dan'l exclaimed: "Chil'en, dah's sumfin a comin'!" All crowded close together and every heart beat faster. Uncle Dan'l pointed down the river with his bony finger. A deep coughing sound troubled the stillness, way toward a wooded cape that jutted into the stream a mile distant. All in an instant a fierce eye of fire shot out from behind the cape and sent a long brilliant pathway quivering athwart the dusky water. The coughing grew louder and louder, the glaring eye grew larger and still larger, glared wilder and still wilder. A huge shape developed itself out of the gloom, and from its tall duplicate horns dense volumes of smoke, starred and spangled with sparks, poured out and went tumbling away into the farther darkness. Nearer and nearer the thing came, till its long sides began to glow with spots of light which mirrored themselves in the river and attended the monster like a torchlight procession. "What is it? Oh! what is it, Uncle Dan'l?" With deep solemnity the answer came: "It's de Almighty! Git down on yo' knees!" It was not necessary to say it twice. They were all kneeling in a moment. And then while the mysterious coughing rose stronger and stronger and the threatening glare reached farther and wider, the negro's voice lifted up its supplications: "O Lord, we's ben mighty wicked, an' we knows dat we 'zerve to go to de bad place, but good Lord, deah Lord, we aint ready yit, we aint ready-let dese po' chil'en hab one mo' chance, jes' one mo' chance. Take de ole niggah if you's got to hab somebody.-Good Lord, good deah Lord, we don't know whah you's a gwine to, we don't know who you's got yo' eye on, but we knows by de way you's a comin', we knows by de way you's a tiltin' along in yo' charyot o' fiah dat some po' sinner's a gwine to ketch it. But good Lord, dese chil'en don't 'blong heah, dey's f'm Obedstown whah dey don't know nuffin, an' you knows, yo' own sef, dat dey aint 'sponsible. An' deah Lord, good Lord, it aint like yo' mercy, it aint like yo' pity, it aint like yo' long-sufferin' lovin'-kindness for to take dis kind o' 'vantage o' sich little chil'en as dese is when dey's so many ornery grown folks chuck full o' cussedness dat wants roastin' down dah. O Lord, spah de little chil'en, don't tar de little chil'en away f'm dey frens, jes' let 'em off jes' dis once, and take it out'n de ole niggah. HEAH I IS, LORD, HEAH I IS! De ole niggah's ready, Lord, de ole—” The flaming and churning steamer was right abreast the party, and not twenty steps away. The awful thunder of a mud-valve suddenly burst forth, drowning the prayer, and as suddenly Uncle Dan'l snatched a child under each arm and scoured into the woods with the rest of the pack at his heels. And then, ashamed of himself, he halted in the deep darkness and shouted, (but rather feebly :) 'Heah I is, Lord, heah I is!" There was a moment of throbbing suspense, and then, to the surprise and comfort of the party, it was plain. that the august presence had gone by, for its dreadful noises were receding. Uncle Dan'l headed a cautious reconnoissance in the direction of the log. Sure enough "The Lord" was just turning a point a short distance up the river, and while they looked, the lights winked out and the coughing diminished by degrees and presently ceased altogether. "H'wsh! Well now dey's some folks says dey aint no 'ficiency in prah. Dis chile would like to know whah we'd a ben now if it warn't fo' dat prah? Dat's it. Dat's it!" "Uncle Dan'l, do you reckon it was the prayer that saved us?" said Clay. "Does I reckon? Don't I know it! Whah was yo' eyes? Warn't de Lord jes' a comin' chow! chow! CHOW! an' a goin' on turrible-an' do de Lord carry on dat way 'dout dey's sumfin don't suit him? An' warn't he a lookin' right at dis gang heah, an' warn't he jes' a reachin'. for 'em'? An' d' you spec' he gwine to let 'em off 'dout somebody ast him to do it? No indeedy! "Do you reckon he saw us, Uncle Dan’l?” "De law sakes, chile, didn't I see him a lookin' at us?” "Did you feel scared, Uncle Dan'l?" "No sah! When a man is 'gaged in prah, he aint 'fraid o' nuffin-dey can't nuffin tetch him." "Well what did you run for?" "Well, I—I—Mars Clay, when a man is under de influence ob de sperit, he do-no what he's 'bout-no sah ; dat man do-no what he's 'bout. You mout take an' tah de head off'n dat man an' he wouldn't scasely fine it out. Dah's de Hebrew chil'en dat went frough de fiah; dey was burnt considable—ob coase dey was; but dey didn't know nuffin 'bout it-heal right up agin; if dey'd ben gals dey'd missed dey long haah, maybe, but dey would n't felt de burn." "I don't know but what they were girls. I think they were." "Now, Mars Clay, you knows better'n dat. Sometimes a body can't tell whedder you's a sayin' what you means or whedder you's a sayin' what you don't mean, 'case you says 'em bofe de same way." 66 But how should I know whether they were boys or girls?" Goodness sakes, Mars Clay, don't de good book say? 'Sides, don't it call 'em de He-brew chil'en? If dey was gals wouldn't dey be de she-brew chil'en? Some people dat kin read don't 'pear to take no notice when dey do read." |