Some years ago, I was called by business to one of
the frontier counties, then but recently settled. It became
necessary for me, while there, to enlist the services of
Thomas Gibson, Esq., one of the magistrates of the
county, who resided about a mile and a half from my
lodgings; and to this circumstance was I indebted for
my introduction to him. I had made the intended disposition
of my business, and was on the eve of my departure
to the city of my residence, when I was induced to remain
a day longer, by an invitation from the Squire, to attend
a dance at his house on the following day. Having learned
from my landlord that I would probably “be expected
at the frolick” about the hour of 10 in the forenoon,
and being desirous of seeing all that passed upon the
occasion, I went over about an hour before the time.

The Squire's dwelling consisted of but one room;
which answered the three-fold purpose, of dining room,

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bed room, and kitchen. The house was constructed of
logs, and the floor was of puncheons—a term, which in
Georgia, means split logs, with their faces a little smothed
with the axe or hatchet. To gratify his daughters, Polly
and Silvy, the old gentleman and his lady, had consented
to camp out for a day, and to surrender the habitation to
the girls and their young friends.

When I reached there, I found all things in readiness
for the promised amusement. The girls, as the old gentleman
informed me, had compelled the family to breakfast
under the trees, for they had completely stript the house
of its furniture before the sun rose. They were already
attired for the dance, in neat, but plain habiliments, of
their own manufacture. “What!” says some weakly,
sickly, delicate, useless, affected, “charming creature,”
of the city, “dressed for a Ball at 9 in the morning!”
Even so, my delectable Miss Octavia Matilda Juliana
Claudia Ipecacuanha: and what have you to say against
it? If people must dance, is it not much more rational,
to employ the hour allotted to exercise in that amusement,
than the hours sacred to repose and meditation? And
which is entitled to the most credit; the young lady who
rises with the dawn, and puts herself and whole house
in order for a Ball, four hours before it begins; or the
one who requires a fortnight to get herself dressed for it?

The Squire and I employed the interval in conversation
about the first settlement of the country; in the course
of which, I picked up some useful, and much interesting
information. We were at length interrupted, however,
by the sound of a violin, which proceeded from a thick
wood at my left. The performer soon after made his
appearance, and proved to be no other than Billy Porter,
a negro fellow of much harmless wit and humor, who
was well known throughout the State. Poor Billy! “his

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harp is now hung upon the willow”—and I would not
blush to offer a tear to his memory, for his name is associated
with some of the happiest scenes of my life, and
he sleeps with many a dear friend, who used to join me in
provoking his wit, and in laughing at his excentricities—
but I am leading my reader to the grave, instead of the
dance, which I promised. If, however, his memory
reaches twelve years back, he will excuse this short
tribute of respect to Billy Porter.

Billy, to give his own account of himself, “had been
taking a turn with the brethren, (the Bar); and hearing
the ladies wanted to see pretty Billy, had come to give
them a benefit.” The Squire had not seen him before;
and it is no disrespect to his understanding or politeness,
to say, that he found it impossible to give me his attention
for half an hour after Billy arrived. I had nothing to
do, therefore, while the young people were assembling,
but to improve my knowledge of Billy's character, to
the Squire's amusement. I had been thus engaged about
thirty minutes, when I saw several fine, bouncing, ruddy
cheeked girls, descending a hill, about the eighth of a
mile off. They, too, were attired in manufactures of
their own hands. The refinements of the present day
in female dress, had not even reached our republican
cities at this time; and of course, the country girls were
wholly ignorant of them. They carried no more cloth
upon their arms, or straw upon their heads, than was
necessary to cover them. They used no artificial means
of spreading their frock tails, to an interesting extent
from their ankles. They had no boards laced to their
breasts, nor any corsets laced to their sides; consequently,
they looked, for all the world, like human beings,
and could be distinctly recognized as such, at the distance
of two hundred paces. Their movements were as free
and active, as nature would permit them to be. Let me

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not be understood, as interposing the least objection, to
any lady in this land of liberty, dressing just as she
pleases. If she choose to lay her neck and shoulders
bare, what right have I to look at them? much less to
find fault with them. If she choose to put three yards
of muslin in a frock sleeve; what right have I to ask,
why a little strip of it, was not put in the body? If she
like the pattern of a hoisted umbrella for a frock, and
the shape of a cheese-cask for her body; what is all
that to me? But to return.

The girls were met by Polly and Silvy Gibson, at
some distance from the house; who welcomed them—
“with a kiss, of course”—Oh, no; but with something
much less equivocal: a hearty shake of the hand and
smiling countenances, which had some meaning.

[Note.—The custom of kissing, as practised in these
days by the amiables, is borrowed from the French;
and by them from Judas.]

The young ladies had generally collected before any
of the young men appeared. It was not long, however,
before a large number of both sexes were assembled;
and they adjourned to the Ball room.

But for the snapping of a fiddle string, the young
people would have been engaged in the amusement of
the day, in less than three minutes from the time they
entered the house. Here, were no formal introductions
to be given, no drawing for places or partners, no parade
of managers, no ceremonies. It was perfectly understood
that all were invited to dance, and that none were
invited who were unworthy to be danced with; consequently,
no gentleman hesitated to ask any lady present
to dance with him, and no lady refused to dance with a
gentleman, merely because she had not been made acquainted
with him.

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In a short time the string was repaired, and off went
the party to a good old republican six reel. I had been
thrown among fashionables so long, that I had almost
forgotten my native dance. But it revived rapidly as
they wheeled through its mazes; and with it returned,
many long forgotten, pleasing recollections. Not only
did the reel return to me, but the very persons who used
to figure in it with me, in the hey-day of youth.

Here was my old sweet-heart, Polly Jackson, identically
personified in Polly Gibson; and here was Jim
Johnson's, in Silvy; and Bill Martin's, in Nancy Ware.
Polly Gibson had my old flame's very steps as well as
her looks. “Ah!” said I, “Squire, this puts me in
mind of old times. I have not seen a six reel for five
and twenty years. It recalls to my mind many a happy
hour, and many a jovial friend, who used to enliven it
with me. Your Polly, looks so much like my old sweetheart,
Polly Jackson, that were I young again, I certainly
should fall in love with her.” “That was the name of
her mother,” said the Squire. “Where did you marry
her?” enquired I. “In Wilkes,” said he—“she was
the daughter of old Nathan Jackson of that county.”
“It is n't possible!” returned I. Then it is the very
girl of whom I am speaking. “Where is she?” “She's
out,” said the Squire, “preparing dinner for the young
people; but she'll be in towards the close of the day.
But come along, and I'll make you acquainted with her
at once, if you'll promise not to run away with her, for
I tell you what it is, she's the likeliest gal in all these
parts, yet.” “Well,” said I, “I'll promise not to run
away with her, but you must not let her know who I am.
I wish to make myself known to her; and for fear of
the worst, you shall witness the introduction. But don't
get jealous, Squire, if she seems a little too glad to see
me; for I assure you, we had a strong notion of each

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other, when we were young.” “No danger,” replied
the Squire, “she had n't seen me then, or she never
could have loved such a hard favored man as you are.”

In the mean time the dance went on, and I employed
myself in selecting from the party, the best examples of
the dancers of my day and Mrs. Gibson's, for her entertainment.
In this, I had not the least difficulty; for the
dancers before me, and those of my day, were in all respects
identical.

Jim Johnson kept up the double shuffle from the
beginning to the end of the reel: and here was Jim over
again in Sammy Tant. Bill Martin always set to his
partner with the same step—and a very curious step it
was.—He brought his right foot close behind his left, and
with it performed precisely the motion of the thumb in
cracking that insect which Burns has immortalized; then
moved his right back, threw his weight upon it, brought
his left behind it, and cracked with that as before; and
so on alternately. Just so did Bill Kemp, to a nail.
Bob Simons danced for all the world like a “Suple
Jack,” (or as we commonly call it, a “Suple Sawney,”)
when the string is pulled with varied force, at intervals
of seconds: and so did Jake Slack. Davy Moore, went
like a suit of clothes upon a clothing line on a windy
day: and here was his antitype in Ned Clarke. Rhoda
Nobles swam through the reel like a cork on wavy
waters; always giving two or three pretty little perchbite
diddles, as she rose from a coupee—Nancy Ware
was her very self. Becky Lewis made a business of
dancing; she disposed of her part as quick as possible,
stopt dead short as soon as she got through, and looked
as sober as a Judge all the time—Even so did Chloe
Dawson. I used to tell Polly Jackson, that Becky's
countenance, when she closed a dance, always seemed

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to say, “now if you want any more dancing, you may
do it yourself.”

The dance grew merrier as it progressed; the young
people became more easy in each other's company, and
often enlivened the scene with most humorous remarks.
Occasionally some sharp cuts passed between the boys;
such as would have produced a half dozen duels at a
city ball; but here they were taken as they were meant,
in good humor. Jim Johnson being a little tardy in
meeting his partner at a turn of the reel, “I ax pardon
Miss Chloe,” said he, “Jake Slack went to make a crosshop
just now, and 'tied his legs in a hard knot, and I
stop't to help him untie them.” A little after, Jake hung
his toe in a crack of the floor, and nearly fell; “Ding
my buttons,” said he, “if I did'nt know I should stumble
over Jim Johnson's foot at last; Jim, draw your foot
up to your own end of the reel.” (Jim was at the other
end of the reel, and had in truth a prodigious foot.)

Towards the middle of the day, many of the neighboring
farmers dropped in, and joined the Squire and
myself in talking of old times. At length dinner was
announced. It consisted of plain fare, but there was a
profusion of it. Rough planks, supported by stakes
driven in the ground, served for a table; at which the
old and young of both sexes seated themselves at the
same time. I soon recognized Mrs. Gibson from all the
matrons present. Thirty years had wrought great changes
in her appearance; but they had left some of her features
entirely unimpaired. Her eye beamed with all its
youthful fire; and to my astonishment, her mouth was
still beautified with a full set of teeth, unblemished by
time. The rose on 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

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it, all the grace of her movements. Pleasing, but melancholy
reflections occupied my mind, as I gazed on her,
dispensing her cheerful hospitalities. I thought of the
sad history of many of her companions and mine, who
used to carry light hearts through the merry dance. I
compared my after life with the cloudless days of my
attachment to Polly. Then, I was light hearted, gay,
contented and happy. I aspired to nothing but a good
name, a good wife, and an easy competency. The first
and last were mine already; and Polly had given me too
many little tokens of her favor, 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
employed in the drudgeries of a farm, and I more foolishly
believed it. I forsook the pleasures which I had
tried and proved, and went in pursuit of those imaginary
joys, which seemed to encircle the seat of Fame. From
that moment to the present, my life had been little else
than one unbroken 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 reflections
was, however, lighted in a measure, by the
promises of the coming 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 entered, accompanied by a goodly
number of matrons of her own age. This accession to
the company produced its usual effects. It raised the
tone of conversation a full octave, and gave it a tripple

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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 upon 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 assembly.
I therefore readily assented 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 try if we can't
out dance these young people.”

“Dear me, Sir,” said she, “I haven't danced a step
these 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 dancing,” said she.

“Well,” continued I, (raising my voice to a pretty
high pitch, on purpose to be heard, while my countenance
kindled with exultation at the astonishment and delight
which I was about to produce,) “you surely will dance
with an old friend and sweet-heart, who used to dance
with you when a girl.”

At this disclosure, her features assumed a vast variety
of expressions; but none of them responded precisely to
my expectation: indeed, some of them were of such
an equivocal and alarming character, that I deemed it
advisable not to prolong her suspense. I therefore proceeded.

“Have you forgot your old sweet-heart, Abram Baldwin?”
“What!” said she, looking more astonished

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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 yes,” said she, “mighty well;” her 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—
I didn't know who. “Well,” thought I, as I moved to
my place, “the Squire is pretty secure from jealousy;
but Polly will soon remember me when she sees my steps
in the reel. I will dance precisely 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
cros-shop.” It was performed by rising and crossing the
legs twice or thrice before lighting, and I used to carry
it to the third cross with considerable ease. It was a
step solely adapted to setting or ballancing, 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 however as I reached my place, Mrs. Gibson's
youngest son, a boy about eight years old, ran in and

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cried out, “Mammy, old Boler's jumpt upon the planks
and dragg'd off a great hunk o' meat as big as your
head, and broke a dish and two plates all to durn smashes!”
Away went Mrs. Gibson, and at the same instant,
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 reflection, that it had thrown me at the
foot of the reel.

The first and second couples had nearly completed
their performances, and Polly had not returned. I began
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 deemed it advisable to give
myself up wholly to the double cross hop; so that if
Polly should return in time to see any step, it should be
this; though I was already nearly exhausted. Accordingly
I made the attempt to introduce it in the turns of the
reel; but the first experiment convinced me of three
things at once—1st. 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 partner who seemed determined to confirm
her husband's report of her, evinced no disposition to
wait upon experiments; but fetching me a jirk while I

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was up, and my legs crossed, had well nigh 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 myself
that Polly might be even now catching the first glimpse
of the favorite 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-e-e-t you gone!” Matters out
doors were now clearly explained. There had been
a struggle to get the meat from Boler—Boler had triumphed,
and retreated to the woods with his booty, and
Mrs. Gibson was heaping 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 humor; for she possessed a lovely disposition,
which even marriage could not spoil. As soon as I
could collect breath enough for regular conversation
(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 myself known to her, if possible.

“How much” said I, “your Polly looks, and dances
like you used to, at her age.”

“I've told my old man so a hundred 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.”

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“Well, law me! Now I know I must have 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 use to see me?”

“At your father's, and old Mr. Dawson's, and at Mrs.
Barnes', and at Squire Nobles', and many other places.”

“Well goodness me! its mighty strange I can't call
you to mind.”

I now began to get petulent, and thought it best to
leave her.

The dance wound up with the old merry jig; and
the company dispersed.

The next day I set out for my residence. I had been
at home rather more than two months, when I received
the following letter from Squire Gibson.

“Dear Sir:—I send you the money collected on the
notes you left with me. Since you left here, Polly has
been thinking about old times, and she says, to save her
life she can't recollect you.”