University of Virginia Library

24. CHAPTER XXIV.
MERRIMENT AND SOBRIETY.

It was at a late dinner hour that our party returned
to Swallow Barn, from the expedition of the
boundary line. The absence of Mr. Tracy and his
champion Swansdown, caused some anxious solicitude
in the family, which, together with the curiosity
of the ladies to hear all the particulars of the day's
adventure, gave rise to a multitude of inquiries that
served to produce much animation at the dinner table.
Ned and Harvey detailed what they called the
facts, with exorbitant amplification, and with an assumed
earnestness, that baffled all attempts to arrive
at the truth. A great deal, they affirmed, was to be
said on both sides. And then they gave a piteous
account of Swansdown's misfortunes; praising his
calm and dignified composure, notwithstanding he
was so torn by brambles, and so disfigured with
mud, and so frightened with snakes—”

“He was not attacked by these reptiles!” cried
Prudence, with a marked concern.

“They did not absolutely strike their fangs into
him,” said Harvey; “but they reared up their grizzly
heads at his feet, and hissed hideously at him.”

“And then he was so drenched to the very skin!”
said Ned.

“Poor gentleman!” exclaimed Harvey, “an he
'scape a cold or an ague, his friends should be thankful.
Heaven knows what would become of the
boundary line, if any thing were to happen to him
at this critical juncture!”

“And he looked so forlorn!” continued Ned.

“And so interesting!” said Harvey, “with the
black mud up to his knees, and his white pocket-handkerchief
up to his face, wiping away the blood
where the briars had made free with his chin.”

“Don't you believe them, aunt Pru!” cried Rip.
“Mr. Swansdown was laughing all the time,—for
we had a most an elegant fox-hunt, only it was all
in the swamp, and the bushes would not let us see
any thing!”

“After all then, cousin Harvey,” said Catharine,
“tell us seriously how this famous arbitration has
ended.”

“Most appropriately,” said Harvey. “About forty
years ago, the law-suit began with the quest of a
wild goose, and, having exercised the ingenuity of all
the low-country lawyers in succession, during all
this time, it has now turned into a fox-chace, and
ended by earthing a poor little harmless quadruped,
precisely at the place of beginning.”

“That's true,” said Philly Wart, laughing, “the
hole was as nearly as possible at the commencement
of the first line laid off in the survey of the mill-dam.
But, Miss Tracy,” he continued, “you must not suppose

that there was any design on our part in putting
up the fox this morning. This is not the time of the
year for such sport, because these animals have all
young families to take care of, and it is deemed cruel
to disturb them: but my dogs happened to fall upon
the trail of madam, as she was looking out for her
breakfast. And so, off they went, Miss Catharine,
making excellent music. It was a cunning thing
for the little animal, too, to take right up the swamp;
for, besides the wind being in that direction,—which
you know would carry the scent away from the dogs,
—she had the water to wash away the foot-prints;
and, in addition to this, she was leading them off,
as fast as she could, from her den, which is a motherly
trick these creatures have. But, you see,
Miss Tracy, the more she ran the warmer she got;
and so, she left her scent upon the bushes and brambles.
If you could have seen the dogs you would
have found them with their noses up, as unconcerned
as if they had had her in view all the time. Presently,
she got the foot of them so far, that she found
she could get back to her nest before they could come
up; and so, she doubled beautifully down the swamp
again, and straight to her hole, as fast as her legs
could carry her. I knew what her trick was from
the first; and was, therefore, on the lookout, which
enabled me to reach her just as she entered it; and
there I defended her gallantly against the invasion
of her enemies.”

“For which you deserve the thanks of all mothers,
Mr Wart,” said my cousin Lucretia.

“And of all sportsmen too,” said Harvey Riggs.

Philly Wart had become exceedingly animated in
the course of the recital above detailed, and notwithstanding
it was ludicrously out of place, considering
the person to whom it was addressed, Philly was too
full of his subject to let it drop. His description was
accompanied by a vivacious and expressive gesticulation,
that prevented him from eating his dinner;
and Catharine had become so much amused with his
manner, that she listened with a marked approbation,
and encouraged him to proceed, by frequent
nods of her head.

“It is quite lawful and customary, Miss Tracy,”
continued the counsellor, “to hunt young foxes at
this season, at moonlight; and it is a fine sport, I assure
you! If you were to get on your horse to-night,
about twelve,—for we shall have a bright moon by
that hour,—and ride over to the old mill-dam, and
take my two dogs with you, you would be sure to
get two or three of the cubs on foot almost immediately,
and the mother besides; and then you might
take a seat upon the rider of a fence, with your great
coat well wrapped about you, and your hands in
your pockets, and see a fine run. For, at this time
of year, they (especially the young ones,) won't run
far from the nest; but they are apt to play in circles
round it, which gives you a chance, in a clear moonlight,
to see them twenty times in an hour. And

then, when they get tired, Miss Tracy, they have
only to pop into the nest, and there they are as snug
as you could wish them!”

“I have read,” said Catharine, “of ladies indulging
in the sports of the chace; but it would be a
great novelty, Mr. Wart, to find one of our sex pursuing
such a pastime alone, on the borders of a desolate
marsh, at midnight, and seated, as you propose,
on the top-rail of a fence, with her hands in her
pockets!”

Here followed a general laugh from the company.

“To make the picture complete,” said Harvey
Riggs, “cousin Kate, you should have a scant mantle
of scarlet, and a pipe in your mouth.”

“And a broom-stick, I suppose you would say,
cousin Harvey, instead of a pony,” added Catharine.

“When I said you, Miss Tracy,” said the counsellor,
smiling, “I meant Ned Hazard here and his
friends, who profess to be fond of manly exercises.”

“I profess,” said Ned, “a sovereign aversion to
agues, and an especial proclivity to the comforts of
a warm bed.”—

Towards the hour of sunset the ladies from the
Brakes were preparing to return home, and, as the
arrangements for the following day contemplated a
meeting at Mr. Tracy's we promised to assemble
there at an early hour. Prudence had yielded to
the entreaties of Catharine and Bel to accompany

them that evening, and a horse was accordingly
brought to the door for her. Our guests, with this
addition, soon afterwards left Swallow Barn.

When we had concluded our evening repast,—
that substantial country meal which it would be altogether
inadequate to call by the feeble, but customary
name of tea—the pleasant change wrought
upon the atmosphere by the dew, which in the
low-country, at this season, falls heavily after night,
had, as usual, brought the inmates of the house
to the doors. Mr. Wart and Frank Meriwether
had taken their seats in the porch; and here, dismissing
the tone of levity with which the events
of the day had been conducted, they fell into a
grave conference upon sundry matters of public
concern. The rest of us sat quietly listening to the
conversation, which became interesting from the sensible
and shrewd character of the interlocutors.
Philly Wart, notwithstanding the mixture of jest
and almost frivolity, that, during the day, had shown
itself in his demeanor, now exhibited the thought
and reflection of one versed in the secrets of his
nature, and that keen insight into the merits of men
and their actions, that can only be gained by extensive
intercourse with the world. His remarks had
a strong flavour of originality, and although now and
then brought to the verge of the ludicrous by a rash
and unsuccessful attempt to be figurative, they were,
nevertheless, pithy and forcibly illustrative of his subject.
Meriwether, with less pretensions to a knowledge
of men, was calm, philosophical and benevolent;

his character principally manifesting itself in
certain kindly prejudices, and in a tone of observation,
which, in reference to political conclusions, might be
said to be even desponding. Frank has never found
the actions of those who administer our government
squaring with that lofty virtue which the excellence
of his own principles has taught him to exact from
all men who aspire to control the interests of society.
In fact, he speaks like an ancient stoic, removed from
all ambition to figure on the theatre of life, and
quietly observing the tumult of affairs from a position
too distant to be reached by the sordid passions
that sway the multitude; or, in other words, he discourses
like an easy and cultivated country-gentleman.

It was in summing up a train of reflections, in this
temper, upon the general aspect of the great political
movements of the day, that he concluded—as
we broke up our party—

“Well, Mr. Wart, you think better of these things
than I do; but, to my mind, there is no satisfaction
in this survey. Look which way I may, to the one
side or to the other, to me it seems all equally vile
and contemptible; and so, good night!”