In the younger days of the Republic, there lived in
the county of —, two men, who were admitted on
all hands to be the very best men in the county—which,
in the Georgia vocabulary, means they could flog any
other two men in the county. Each, through many a
hard fought battle, had acquired the mastery of his own
battalion; but they lived on opposite sides of the Court
House, and in different battalions: consequently they
were but seldom thrown together. When they met, however,
they were always very friendly; indeed, at their
first interview, they seemed to conceive a wonderful

[figure description] Page 054.[end figure description]

attachment to each other, which rather increased than diminished,
as they became better acquainted; so that, but
for the circumstance which I am about to mention, the
question which had been a thousand times asked “Which
is the best man, Billy Stallions, (Stallings,) or Bob Durham?”
would probably never have been answered.

Billy ruled the upper battalion, and Bob the lower.
The former measured six feet and an inch, in his stockings,
and without a single pound of cumbrous flesh about
him weighed a hundred and eighty. The latter, was an
inch shorter than his rival, and ten pounds lighter; but
he was much the most active of the two. In running
and jumping, he had but few equals in the county; and
in wrestling, not one. In other respects they were nearly
equal. Both were admirable specimens of human nature
in its finest form. Billy's victories had generally been
achieved by the tremendous power of his blows; one of
which had often proved decisive of his battles; Bob's,
by his adroitness in bringing his adversary to the ground.
This advantage he had never failed to gain, at the onset,
and when gained, he never failed to improve it to the
defeat of his adversary. These points of difference,
have involved the reader in a doubt, as to the probable
issue of a contest between them. It was not so, however,
with the two battalions. Neither had the least
difficulty in determining the point by the most natural
and irresistible deductions a priori: and though, by the
same course of reasoning, they arrived at directly opposite
conclusions, neither felt its confidence in the least
shaken by this circumstance. The upper battalion
swore “that Billy only wanted one lick at him to knock
his heart, liver and lights out of him; and if he got two
at him, he'd knock him into a cocked hat.” The lower
battalion retorted, “that he would'nt have time to double
his fist, before Bob would put his head where his feet

[figure description] Page 055.[end figure description]

ought to be; and that, by the time he hit the ground, the
meat would fly off his face so quick, that people would
think it was shook off by the fall.” These disputes
often lead to the argumentum ad hominem; but with
such equality of success on both sides, as to leave the
main question just where they found it. They usually
ended, however, in the common way, with a bet; and
many a quart of old Jamaica, (whiskey had not then
supplanted rum,) were staked upon the issue. Still,
greatly to the annoyance of the curious, Billy and Bob
continued to be good friends.

Now there happened to reside in the county, just alluded
to, a little fellow, by the name of Ransy Sniffle: a
sprout of Richmond, who, in his earlier days, had fed
copiously upon red clay and blackberries. This diet had
given to Ransy a complexion that a corpse would have
disdained to own, and an abdominal rotundity that was
quite unprepossessing. Long spells of the fever and
ague, too, in Ransy's youth, had conspired with clay and
blackberries, to throw him quite out of the order of nature.
His shoulders were fleshless and elevated; his
head large and flat; his neck slim and translucent; and
his arms, hands, fingers and feet, were lengthened out of
all proportion to the rest of his frame. His joints were
large, and his limbs small; and as for flesh, he could
not with propriety be said to have any. Those parts
which nature usually supplies with the most of this article—
the calves of the legs for example—presented in him
the appearance of so many well drawn blisters. His
height was just five feet nothing; and his average weight
in blackberry season, ninety-five. I have been thus
particular in describing him, for the purpose of showing
what a great matter a little fire sometimes kindleth.
There was nothing on this earth which delighted Ransy
so much as a fight. He never seemed fairly alive,

[figure description] Page 056.[end figure description]

except when he was witnessing, fomenting, or talking about
a fight. Then, indeed, his deep sunken grey eye, assumed
something of a living fire; and his tongue acquired
a volubility that bordered upon eloquence. Ransy
had been kept for more than a year in the most torturing
suspense, as to the comparative manhood of Billy
Stallings and Bob Durham. He had resorted to all his
usual expedients to bring them in collision, and had entirely
failed. He had faithfully reported to Bob all that
had been said by the people in the upper battalion “agin
him,” and “he was sure Billy Stallings started it. He
heard Bill say himself, to Jim Brown, that he could whip
him, or any other man in his battalion;” and this he told
to Bob—adding, “Dod durn his soul, if he was a little
bigger, if he'd let any man put upon his battalion in
such a way.” Bob replied, “If he, (Stallings) thought
so, he'd better come and try it.” This Ransy carried
to Billy, and delivered it with a spirit becoming his own
dignity, and the character of his battalion, and with a
coloring well calculated to give it effect. These, and
many other schemes which Ransy laid, for the gratification
of his curiosity, entirely failed of their object.
Billy and Bob continued friends, and Ransy had began
to lapse into the most tantalizing and hopeless despair,
when a circumstance occurred, which led to a settlement
of the long disputed question.

It is said that a hundred game cocks will live in perfect
harmony together, if you will not put a hen with
them: and so it would have been with Billy and Bob,
had there been no women in the world. But there were
women in the world, and from them, each of our heroes
had taken to himself a wife. The good ladies were no
strangers to the prowess of their husbands, and strange
as it may seem, they presumed a little upon it.

The two battalions had met at the Court House, upon

[figure description] Page 057.[end figure description]

a regimental parade. The two champions were there,
and their wives had accompanied them. Neither knew
the other's lady, nor were the ladies known to each
other. The exercises of the day were just over, when
Mrs. Stallings and Mrs. Durham stept simultaneously
into the store of Zepheniah Atwater, from “down east.”

“Have you any Turkey-red?” said Mrs. S.

“Have you any curtain calico?” said Mrs. D. at the
same moment.

“Yes, ladies,” said Mr. Atwater, “I have both.”

“Then help me first,” said Mrs. D., “for l'm in a
hurry.”

“I'm in as great a hurry as she is,” said Mrs. S., “and
I'll thank you to help me first.”

“And pray, who are you, madam!” continued the
other.

“Your betters, madam,” was the reply.

At this moment Billy Stallings stept in. “Come,”
said he, “Nancy, lets be going; it's getting late.”

“I'd o' been gone half an hour ago,” she replied, “if
it had'nt o' been for that impudent huzzy.”

“Who do you call an impudent huzzy? you nasty,
good-for-nothing, snaggle-toothed gaub of fat, you,”
returned Mrs. D.

“Look here woman,” said Billy, “have you got a
husband here? If you have, I'll lick him till he learns
to teach you better manners, you sassy heifer you.”
At this moment something was seen to rush out of the
store, as if ten thousand hornets were stinging it; crying
“Take care—let me go—don't hold me—where's Bob
Durham?” It was Ransy Sniffle, who had been listening
in breathless delight, to all that had passed.

“Yonder's Bob, setting on the Court-house steps,”
cried one. “What's the matter?”

“Don't talk to me!” said Ransy. “Bob Durham,

[figure description] Page 058.[end figure description]

you'd better go long yonder, and take care of your
wife. They're playing h—l with her there, in Zeph.
Atwater's store. Dod deternally durn my soul, if
any man was to talk to my wife as Bill Stallions
is talking to yours, if I did'nt drive blue blazes through
him in less than no time.”

Bob sprang to the store in a minute, followed by a
hundred friends; for the bully of a county never wants
friends.

“Bill Stallions,” said Bob, as he entered, “what have
you been saying to my wife?”

“Is that your wife?” inquired Billy, obviously much
surprised, and a little disconcerted.

“Yes, she is, and no man shall abuse her, I don't care
who he is.”

“Well,” rejoined Billy, “it an't worth while to go
over it—I've said enough for a fight: and if you'll step
out, we'll settle it!”

“Billy,” said Bob, “are you for a fair fight?”

“I am,” said Billy. “I've heard much of your manhood,
and I believe I'm a better man than you are. If
you will go into a ring with me, we can soon settle the
dispute.”

“Choose your friends,” said Bob; “make your ring,
and I'll be in it with mine, as soon as you will.”

They both stept out, and began to strip very deliberately;
each battalion gathering round its champion—
except Ransy, who kept himself busy, in a most honest
endeavor to hear and see all that transpired in both
groups, at the same time. He ran from one to the other,
in quick succession—peeped here, and listened there—
talked to this one—then to that one—and then to himself—
squatted under one's legs, and another's arms;
and in the short interval between stripping and stepping
into the ring, managed to get himself trod on by half of

[figure description] Page 059.[end figure description]

both battalions. But Ransy was not the only one interested
upon this occasion:—the most intense interest prevailed
every where. Many were the conjectures,
doubts, oaths and imprecations uttered, while the parties
were preparing for the combat. All the knowing
ones were consulted as to the issue; and they all
agreed to a man, in one of two opinions: either that
Bob would flog Billy, or Billy would flog Bob. We
must be permitted, however, to dwell for a moment upon
the opinion of 'Squire Thomas Loggins; a man, who it
was said, had never failed to predict the issue of a fight, in
all his life. Indeed, so unerring had he always proved,
in this regard, that it would have been counted the most
obstinate infidelity, to doubt for a moment, after he had
delivered himself. 'Squire Loggins was a man who
said but little; but that little was always delivered with
the most imposing solemnity of look and cadence. He
always wore the aspect of profound thought, and you
could not look at him without coming to the conclusion,
that he was elaborating truth from its most intricate
combinations.

“Uncle Tommy,” said Sam Reynolds, “you can tell
us all about it, if you will—how will the fight go?”

The question immediately drew an anxious group
around the 'Squire. He raised his teeth slowly from
the head of his walking cane, on which they had been
resting—pressed his lips closely and thoughtfully together—
threw down his eye brows—dropped his chin—
raised his eyes to an angle of twenty three degrees—
paused about half a minute, and replied: “Sammy,
watch Robert Durham close in the beginning of the fight—
take care of William Stallions in the middle of it—
and see who has the wind at the end.” As he
uttered the last member of the sentence, he looked slily
at Bob's friends, and winked very significantly;

[figure description] Page 060.[end figure description]

whereupon they rushed, with one accord, to tell Bob what
uncle Tommy had said. As they retired, the 'Squire
turned to Billy's friends, and said, with a smile: “Them
boys think I mean that Bob will whip.”

Here the other party kindled into joy, and hastened
to inform Billy how Bob's friends had deceived themselves
as to Uncle Tommy's opinion. In the meantime,
the principals and seconds, were busily employed in preparing
themselves for the combat. The plan of attack
and defence, the manner of improving the various turns
of the conflict, “the best mode of saving wind,” &c. &c.
were all discussed and settled. At length, Billy announced
himself ready, and his crowd were seen moving
to the centre of the Court House Square; he and
his five seconds in the rear. At the same time, Bob's
party moved to the same point, and in the same order.
The ring was now formed, and for a moment the silence
of death reigned through both battalions. It was soon
interrupted, however, by the cry of “clear the way!”
from Billy's seconds; when the ring opened in the centre
of the upper battalion, (for the order of march had arranged
the centre of the two battalions on opposite sides
of the circle,) and Billy stept into the ring from the east,
followed by his friends. He was stript to the trowsers,
and exhibited an arm, breast and shoulders, of the most
tremendous portent. His step was firm, daring and
martial; and as he bore his fine form a little in advance
of his friends, an involuntary burst of triumph broke
from his side of the ring; and at the same moment, an
uncontrollable thrill of awe, ran along the whole curve
of the lower battalion.

“Look at him!” was heard from his friends—“just
look at him.”

“Ben, how much you ask to stand before that man
two seconds?”

[figure description] Page 061.[end figure description]

“Pshaw, don't talk about it! Just thinkin' about it 's
broke three o' my ribs a'ready!”

“What's Bob Durham going to do, when Billy let's
that arm loose upon him?”

“God bless your soul, he'll think thunder and lightning
a mint julip to it.”

“Oh, look here men, go take Bill Stallions out o' that
ring, and bring in Phil Johnson's stud horse, so that Durham
may have some chance! I don't want to see the
man killed right away.”

These and many other like expressions, interspersed
thickly with oaths of the most modern coinage, were
coming from all points of the upper battalion, while Bob
was adjusting the girth of his pantaloons, which walking
had discovered, not to be exactly right. It was just
fixed to his mind, his foes becoming a little noisy, and
his friends a little uneasy at his delay, when Billy called
out, with a smile of some meaning, “Where's the bully
of the lower battalion? I'm getting tired of waiting.”

“Here he is,” said Bob, lighting, as it seemed from
the clouds in the ring, for he had actually bounded clear
of the head of Ransy Sniffle, into the circle. His descent
was quite as imposing as Billy's entry, and excited
the same feelings, but in opposite bosoms.

Voices of exultation now rose on his side.

“Where did he come from?”

“Why,” said one of his seconds, (all having just entered,)
“we were girting him up, about a hundred yards
out yonder, when he heard Billy ask for the bully; and
he fetched a leap over the Court House, and went out of
sight; but I told them to come on, they'd find him here.”

Here the lower battalion burst into a peal of laughter,
mingled with a look of admiration, which seemed to denote
their entire belief of what they had heard.

[figure description] Page 062.[end figure description]

“Boys widen the ring, so as to give him room to
jump.”

“Oh, my little flying wild cat, hold him if you can!
and when you get him fast, hold lightning next.”

“Ned what you think he's made of?”

“Steel-springs and chicken-hawk, God bless you!”

“Gentlemen,” said one of Bob's seconds, “I understand
it is to be a fair fight; catch as catch can, rough
and tumble:—no man touch 'till one or the other hollos.”

“That's the rule,” was the reply from the other
side.

“Are you ready?”

“We are ready.”

“Then blaze away my game cocks!”

At the word, Bob dashed at his antagonist at full speed;
and Bill squared himself to receive him with one of his
most fatal blows. Making his calculation from Bob's
velocity, of the time when he would come within striking
distance, he let drive with tremendous force. But Bob's
onset was obviously planned to avoid this blow; for contrary
to all expectations, he stopt short just out of arms
reach; and before Billy could recover his balance—
Bob had him “all under-hold.” The next second, sure
enough, “found Billy's head where his feet ought to be.”
How it was done, no one could tell; but as if by supernatural
power, both Billy's feet were thrown full half
his own height in the air, and he came down with a force
that seemed to shake the earth. As he struck the
ground, commingled shouts, screams and yells burst
from the lower battalion, loud enough to be heard for
miles. “Hurra my little hornet!”—“Save him!”—
“Feed him!—Give him the Durham physic till his stomach
turns!” Billy was no sooner down than Bob was
on him, and lending him awful blows about the face and
breast. Billy made two efforts to rise by main strength,

[figure description] Page 063.[end figure description]

but failed. “Lord bless you man, don't try to get up!—
Lay still and take it!—you bleege to have it.”

Billy now turned his face suddenly to the ground, and
rose upon his hands and knees. Bob jerked up both his
hands and threw him on his face. He again recovered
his late position, of which Bob endeavored to deprive
him as before; but missing one arm, he failed, and
Billy rose. But he had scarcely resumed his feet before
they flew up as before, and he came again to the
ground. “No fight gentlemen!” cried Bob's friends,
“the man can't stand up!—Bouncing feet are bad things
to fight in.” His fall, however, was this time comparatively
light; for having thrown his right arm round Bob's
neck, he carried his head down with him. This grasp,
which was obstinately maintained, prevented Bob from
getting on him, and they lay head to head, seeming, for
a time, to do nothing. Presently they rose, as if by mutual
consent; and as they rose, a shout broke from both
battalions. “Oh, my lark!” cried the east, “has he
foxed you? Do you begin to feel him! He's only beginning
to fight—He ain't got warm yet.”

“Look yonder!” cried the west—“did'nt I tell you
so! He hit the ground so hard, it jarred his nose off.
Now ain't he a pretty man as he stands? He shall
have my sister Sall just for his pretty looks. I want to
get in the breed of them sort o' men, to drive ugly out
of my kin folks.”

I looked and saw that Bob had entirely lost his left
ear, and a large piece from his left cheek. His right
eye was a little discolored, and the blood flowed profusely
from his wounds.

Bill presented a hideous spectacle. About a third of
his nose, at the lower extremity, was bit off, and his face
so swelled and bruised, that it was difficult to discover

[figure description] Page 064.[end figure description]

in it any thing of the human visage—much more the fine
features which he carried into the ring.

They were up only long enough for me to make the
foregoing discoveries, when down they went again, precisely
as before. They no sooner touched the ground
than Bill relinquished his hold upon Bob's neck. In this,
he seemed to all, to have forfeited the only advantage
which put him upon an equality with his adversary.
But the movement was soon explained. Bill wanted this
arm for other purposes than defence; and he had made
arrangements whereby he knew that he could make it
answer these purposes; for when they rose again, he
had the middle finger of Bob's left hand in his mouth.
He was now secure from Bob's annoying trips; and he
began to lend his adversary most tremendous blows,
every one of which was hailed by a shout from his
friends. “Bullets!—Hoss kicking!—Thunder!”—
“That'll do for the face—now feel his short ribs, Billy!”

I now considered the contest settled. I deemed it impossible
for any human being to withstand for five
seconds, the loss of blood which issued from Bob's ear,
cheek, nose and finger, accompanied with such blows as
he was receiving. Still he maintained the conflict, and
gave blow for blow with considerable effect. But the
blows of each became slower and weaker, after the first
three or four; and it became obvious, that Bill wanted
the room, which Bob's finger occupied, for breathing.
He would therefore, probably, in a short time, have let it
go, had not Bob anticipated his politeness, by jerking
away his hand, and making him a present of the finger.
He now seized Bill again, and brought him to his knees—
but he recovered. He again brought him to his knees;
and he again recovered. A third effort, however,
brought him down, and Bob on top of him. These efforts
seemed to exhaust the little remaining strength of

[figure description] Page 065.[end figure description]

both; and they lay, Bill undermost, and Bob across his
breast, motionless, and panting for breath. After a short
pause, Bob gathered his hand full of dirt and sand, and
was in the act of grinding it in his adversary's eyes,
when Bill cried “Enough!”—Language cannot describe
the scene which followed—the shouts, oaths, frantic jestures,
taunts, replies and little fights; and therefore I
shall not attempt it. The champions were borne off
by their seconds, and washed: when many a bleeding
wound, and ugly bruise, was discovered on each, which
no eye had seen before.

Many had gathered round Bob, and were in various
ways congratulating and applauding him, when a voice
from the centre of the circle cried out: “Boys, hush
and listen to me!” It proceeded from Squire Loggins,
who had made his way to Bob's side, and had gathered
his face up into one of its most flattering and intelligible
expressions. All were obedient to the Squire's command.
“Gentlemen, continued he, with a most knowing
smile, “is—Sammy—Reynold—in—this—company—
of—gentlemen.” “Yes,” said Sam, “here I am.”
“Sammy,” said the Squire, winking to the company,
and drawing the head of his cane to his mouth with an
arch smile, as he closed, “I—wish—you—to tell—cousin—
Bobby—and—these—gentlemen here present—
what—your—uncle—Tommy—said—before—the—
fight—began?” “Oh! get away, uncle Tom,” says
Sam, smiling, (the Squire winked,) “you don't know
nothing about fighting.” (The 'Squire winked again.)
“All you know about it, is how it 'll begin; how it 'll go
on; how it 'll end; that's all. Cousin Bob, when you
going to fight again, just go to the old man, and let him
tell you all about it. If he can't, don't ask nobody else
nothing about it, I tell you.” The Squire's foresight
was complimented in many ways by the by-standers;

[figure description] Page 066.[end figure description]

and he retired, advising “the boys to be at peace, as
fighting was a bad business.”

Durham and Stallings kept their beds for several
weeks, and did not meet again for two months. When
they met, Billy stepped up to Bob and offered his hand,
saying: “Bobby you've licked me a fair fight; but you
would'nt have done it, if I had'nt been in the wrong. I
ought'nt to have treated your wife as I did; and I felt so
through the whole fight; and it sort o' cowed me.”

Well Billy,” said Bob, let's be friends. Once in the fight,
when you had my finger in your mouth, and was pealing
me in the face and breast, I was going to hollo; but I
thought of Betsy, and knew the house would be too hot
for me, if I got whipt, when fighting for her, after always
whipping when I fought for myself.”

“Now, that's what I always love to see,” said a by-stander:
“It's true, I brought about the fight; but I
would'nt have done it, if it had'nt o' been on account of
Miss, (Mrs.) Durham. But dod deternally durn my
soul, if I ever could stand by and see any woman put
upon—much less Miss Durham. If Bobby had'nt been
there, I'd o' took it up myself, be durned if I would'nt,
even if I'd o' got whipt for it—But we're all friends
now.” The reader need hardly be told, this was Ransy
Sniffle.

Thanks to the Christian religion, to schools, colleges,
and benevolent associations, such scenes of barbarism
and cruelty, as that which I have been just describing,
are now of rare occurrence: though they may still be
occasionally met with in some of the new counties.
Wherever they prevail, they are a disgrace to that community.
The peace officers who countenance them,
deserve a place in the Penitentiary.

HALL.

THE SONG.

[figure description] Page 067.[end figure description]

It is not to avoid the malediction of Shakspeare, upon
such “as have not music in themselves—and are not
charmed with the concord of sweet sounds,” that I profess
to be fond of music; but because I am, in truth,
extravagantly fond of it. But I am not fond of French
music; and as for the Italian, I think that any one who
will dare to inflict it upon an American ear, ought to be
sent to the Penitentiary, without a trial. It is true that
some of the simple, national French airs, are very fine;
but there is not one in one thousand Italian tunes, simple
or compound, which is not manslaughter. The German
compositions are decidedly the best from the continent of
Europe; but even these are, of late, partaking so much
of the vices of France and Italy, that they have become
scarcely sufferable. As yet, however, they may be
safely admitted into a land of liberty and sense. Scotland
has escaped the corruptions which have crept into
the empire of music, and consequently her music recommends
itself, with irresistible charms, to every ear which
is not vitiated by the senseless rattle of the continent.
Ireland is a little more contaminated; but still her compositions
retain enough of their primitive simplicity and
sweetness, to entitle them to the patronage of all who
would cultivate a correct taste in this interesting department
of the fine arts. I would not be understood as
speaking here without any limitations or restrictions;
but I do maintain, that with some few exceptions, all of
the soul of music, which is now left in the world, is to
be found in Scotland or Ireland.

[figure description] Page 068.[end figure description]

But Germans, Frenchmen and Italians, are decidedly
the best,—that is, the most expert performers in the
world. They perform all over the world, and in order
to exhibit themselves to the best advantage, they select
the most difficult and complicated pieces. The people
at large, presume that the best performers must be the
best judges of music, and must make the best selections;
they therefore forego the trouble of forming an opinion
of their own, and pin their faith upon the decisions—or
rather the practice, of the amateurs. It was somehow
in this way, I presume, that the fashionable music of the
day, first obtained currency. Having become prevalent,
it has become tolerable; just as has the use of tobacco
or ardent spirits. And while upon this head, I
would earnestly recommend to the friends of reform in
our favored country, to establish an “Anti-mad-music
Society,” in order to suppress, if possible, the cruelties of
our modern musical entertainments.

If the instrumental music of France and Italy be bad,
their vocal music is, if possible, a thousand times worse.
Neither the English, nor the Georgia language, furnishes
me with a term expressive of the horrors of a French
or Italian song, as it is agonized forth by one of their
professed singers. The law should make it justifiable
homicide in any man, to kill an Italian in the very act of
inflicting an il penseroso upon a refined American ear.

And yet with all the other European abominations
which have crept into our highly favoured country, the
French and Italian style of singing and playing, has
made its way hither; and it is not uncommon to hear
our boarding-school Misses piping away, not merely in
the style, but in the very language of these nations.—
This I can bear very well, if there happen to be a
Frenchman or Italian present, because I know that he
suffers more from the words, than I do from the music;

[figure description] Page 069.[end figure description]

for I confess, that upon such occasions, I feel something
of the savage malignity, which visits the sins of a nation
upon any of its citizens. But it most frequently happens
that I am put to the tortures of which I have been speaking,
without this mitigation. It was thus with me a few
evenings ago, at Mrs. B—'s party.

Tea had been disposed of, and the nonsensical chit-chat
of such occasions had begun to flag, when I invited
Miss Mary Williams to the piano. She rose promptly
at my request, without any affected airs, and with no
other apology, than that “she felt some diffidence at
playing in the presence of Miss Crump.” The piano
was an admirable one; and its tones were exquisitely
fine. Mary seated herself at it, and after a short, but
beautiful prelude, she commenced one of Burns' plaintive
songs, to a tune which was new to me, but which
was obviously from the poet's own land, and by one who
felt the inspiration of his verse. The composer and the
poet were both honored by the performer. Mary's voice
was inimitably fine. Her enunciation was clear and
distinct, with just emphasis enough to give the verse its
appropriate expression, without interrupting the melody
of the music; and her modulations were perfect.

She had closed, and was in the act of rising, before I
awoke from the delightful reverie into which she had
lulled me. I arrested her, however, and insisted upon
her proceeding; when she gave me one of Allan Ramsey's
best, to measure equally appropriate. This she
followed with Tannahill's “Gloomy Winter's now awa,”
and was again retiring, when my friend Hall observed—
“See Miss Mary, you've brought a tear to Mr. Baldwin's
eye, and you must not cease until you chase it away
with some lively air.” My friend was right—The
touching pathos of Mary's voice, conspiring with a train
of reflections, which the song inspired, had really brought

[figure description] Page 070.[end figure description]

me to tears. I thought of poor Tannahill's fate. He
was the victim of a Book-seller's stupidity. With men
of taste and letters, his fugitive pieces, particularly his
lyrics, had gained him a well-deserved reputation; but
he was not exempt from the common lot of authors. He
was attacked by the ignorant and the invidious; and
with the hopeless design of silencing these, he prepared
a volume or more of his poems, with great care, and
sent them to a Book-seller for publication. After the
lapse of several weeks, they were returned without a
compliment, or an offer for them. The mortification and
disappointment were too severe for his reason. It deserted
him, and soon after, he was found dead in a tunnel
of the burn, which had been the scene of one of his
earliest songs. Unfortunately, in his madness, he destroyed
his favorite works.

Such was the train of reflection, from which Mary
was kind enough, at the request of my friend, to relieve
me, by a lively Irish air. Had it not been admirably
selected, I could hardly have borne the transition. But
there was enough of softening melody, mingled with
the sprightliness of the air, to lead me gently to a gayer
mood;—in which she left me.

In the meantime, most of the young ladies and gentlemen
had formed a circle round Miss Aurelia Emma
Theodosia Augusta Crump, and were earnestly engaged
in pressing her to play. One young lady even went so
far as to drop on her knees before her, and in this posture
to beseech “her dear Augusta, just to play the delightful
overture of—,” something that sounded to me like
“Blaze in the frets.” This petition was urged
with such a melting sweetness of voice, such a
bewitching leer at the gentlemen, and such a
theatric heave of the bosom, that it threw the young gentlemen
into transports. Hall was rude enough to

[figure description] Page 071.[end figure description]

whisper in mine ear, “that he thought it indelicate to expose
an unmantled bosom to a perpendicular view of a large
company;” and he muttered something about “republican
simplicity,” I knew not exactly what. But I assured
him, the fair petitioner was so overcome by her
solicitude for the overture, that she thought of nothing
else, and was wholly unconscious that there was a gentleman
in the room. As to his insinuation about “points
of view,” I convinced him by an easy argument that it
was wholly unfounded; for that this was the very point
of view in which an exposed neck must always be seen,
while men continue taller than women; and that, as the
young lady must have been apprised of this, she would
hardly take so much trouble for nothing. But to return.

Miss Crump was inexorable—She declared that she
was entirely out of practice. “She scarcely ever touched
the piano”—“Mamma was always scolding her for
giving so much of her time to French and Italian, and
neglecting her music and painting; but she told mamma
the other day, that it really was so irksome to her to quit
Racine and Dante, and go to thrumming upon the piano,
that but for the obligations of filial obedience, she did not
think she should ever touch it again.”

Here Mrs. Crump was kind enough by the merest
accident in the world, to interpose, and to relieve the
company from further anxiety.

“Augusta, my dear,” said she, “go and play a tune or
two; the company will excuse your hoarseness.”

Miss Crump rose immediately, at her mother's bidding,
and moved to the piano, accompanied by a large
group of smiling faces.

“Poor child,” said Mrs. Crump as she went forward,
“she is frightened to death. I wish Augusta could
overcome her diffidence.”

Miss Crump was educated at Philadelphia; she had

[figure description] Page 072.[end figure description]

been taught to sing by Madam Piggisqueaki, who was a
pupil of Ma'm'selle Crokifroggietta, who had sung with
Madam Catalani; and she had taken lessons on the
piano, from Seignor Buzzifussi, who had played with
Paganini.

She seated herself at the piano, rocked to the right,
then to the left—leaned forward, then backward, and
began. She placed her right hand about midway the keys,
and her left about two octaves below it. She now put
off the right in a brisk canter up the treble notes, and
the left after it. The left then led the way back, and the
right pursued it in like manner. The right turned, and
repeated its first movement; but the left outran it this
time, hopt over it, and flung it entirely off the track.
It came in again, however, behind the left on its return,
and passed it in the same style. They now became
highly incensed at each other, and met furiously on the
middle ground. Here a most awful conflict ensued, for
about the space of ten seconds, when the right whipped
off all of a sudden, as I thought, fairly vanquished.
But I was in the error against which Jack Randolph
cautions us—“It had only fallen back to a stronger position.”
It mounted upon two black keys, and commenced
the note of a rattle-snake. This had a wonderful
effect upon the left, and placed the doctrine of “snake
charming” beyond dispute. The left rushed furiously
towards it repeatedly, but seemed invariably panicstruck,
when it came within six keys of it; and as invariably
retired with a tremendous roaring down the bass
keys. It continued its assaults, sometimes by the way
of the naturals, sometimes by the way of the sharps, and
sometimes by a zigzag, through both; but all its attempts
to dislodge the right from its strong hold, proving ineffectual,
it came close up to its adversary, and expired.

[figure description] Page 073.[end figure description]

Any one, or rather no one, can imagine what kind of
noises the Piano gave forth, during the conflict. Certain
it is, no one can describe them, and therefore I shall not
attempt it.

The battle ended—Miss Augusta moved as though
she would have arisen, but this was protested against by
a number of voices at once: “One song, my dear Aurelia,”
said Miss Small; “you must sing that sweet little
French air you used to sing in Philadelphia, and which
Madam Piggisqueaki was so fond of.”

Miss Augusta looked pitifully at her mama; and her
mama looked “sing” at Miss Augusta: accordingly
she squared herself for a song.

She brought her hands to the campus this time in fine
style, and they seemed now to be perfectly reconciled to
each other. They commenced a kind of colloquy; the
right whispering treble very softly, and the left responding
bass very loudly. The conference had been kept
up until I began to desire a change of the subject, when
my ear caught, indistinctly, some very curious sounds,
which appeared to proceed from the lips of Miss Augusta—
they seemed to be compounded of a dry cough, a
grunt, a hiccup and a whisper; and they were introduced,
it appeared to me, as interpreters between the right
and left. Things progressed in this way for about the
space of fifteen seconds, when I happened to direct my
attention to Mr. Jenkins, from Philadelphia. His eyes
were closed, his head rolled gracefully from side to side;
a beam of heavenly complacency rested upon his countenance;
and his whole man gave irresistible demonstration
that Miss Crump's music made him feel good all
over. I had just turned from the contemplation of Mr.
Jenkins' transports, to see whether I could extract from
the performance any thing intelligible, when Miss Crump
made a fly-catching grab at a half dozen keys in a row,

[figure description] Page 074.[end figure description]

and at the same instant she fetched a long dunghill-cock
crow, at the conclusion of which she grabbed as many
keys with the left. This came over Jenkins like a warm
bath; and over me, like a rake of bamboo briers.

My nerves had not recovered from this shock, before
Miss Augusta repeated the movement, and accompanied
it with the squall of a pinched cat. This threw me into
an ague fit, but from respect to the performer, I maintained
my position. She now made a third grasp with the
right, boxed the faces of six keys in a row with the left,
and at the same time raised one of the most unearthly
howls that ever issued from the throat of a human
being. This seemed the signal for universal uproar
and destruction. She now threw away all reserve, and
charged the piano with her whole force.—She boxed it,
she clawed it, she raked it, she scraped it. Her neckvein
swelled, her chin flew up, her face flushed, her eye
glared, her bosom heaved—She screamed, she howled,
she yelled, cackled, and was in the act of dwelling upon
the note of a screech owl, when I took the St. Vitus'
dance, and rushed out of the room. “Good Lord,”
said a by-stander, “if this be her singing, what must
her crying be!” As I reached the door, I heard a voice
exclaim, “By heavens! she's the most enchanting performer
I ever heard in my life!” I turned to see who
was the author of this ill-timed compliment; and who
should it be but Nick Truck, from Lincoln, who seven
years before, was dancing “Possum up the Gum Tree,”
in the chimney corner of his father's kitchen. Nick
had entered the counting-room of a merchant in Charleston
some five or six years before; had been sent out as
supercargo of a vessel to Bordeaux, and while the vessel
was delivering one cargo, and taking in another, had
contracted a wonderful relish for French music.

[figure description] Page 075.[end figure description]

As for myself, I went home in convulsions, took sixty
drops of laudanum, and fell asleep. I dreamt that I
was in a beautiful city, the streets of which intersected
each other at right angles-That the birds of the air, and
the beasts of the forest had gathered there for battle;
the former, led on by a Frenchman, the latter by an
Italian-That I was looking on their movements towards
each other, when I heard the cry of “Hecate is coming!”
I turned my eye to the north east, and saw a female
flying through the air towards the city, and distinctly
recognized in her, the features of Miss Crump. I took
the alarm, and was making my escape, when she gave
command for the beasts and birds to fall on me.—They
did so, and with all the noises of the animal world, were
in the act of tearing me to pieces, when I was waked by
the stepping of Hall, my room-mate into bed.

“Oh, my dear sir,” exclaimed I, “you have waked
me from a horrible dream. What o'clock is it?”

“Ten minutes after twelve,” said he.

“And where have you been to this late hour?”

“I have just returned from the party.”

“And what kept you so late?”

“Why, I disliked to retire while Miss Crump was
playing.”

“In mercy's name!” said I, “is she playing yet?”

“Yes,” said he, “I had to leave her playing at last.”

“And where was Jenkins?”

“He was there, still in ecstasies, and urging her to
play on.”

“And where was Truck?”

“He was asleep.”

“And what was she playing?”

“An Italian—.”

Here I swooned, and heard no more.

BALDWIN.

THE TURN OUT.

[figure description] Page 076.[end figure description]

In the good old days of fescues, abisslefas, and anpersants,
[3] terms which used to be familiar in this country
during the Revolutionary war, and which lingered
in some of our county schools for a few years afterwards,
I visited my friend, Captain Griffin, who resided
about seven miles to the eastward of Wrightsborough,
then in Richmond, but now in Columbia county. I
reached the Captain's hospitable dome on Easter, and
was received by him and his good lady, with a Georgia
welcome of 1790. It was warm from the heart, and
taught me in a moment, that all the obligations of the
visit were upon their side, not mine. Such receptions
were not peculiar, at that time, to the Captain and his
family; they were common throughout the State.
Where are they now! and where the generous hospitalities
which invariably foilowed them! I see them occasionally
at the contented farmer's door, and at his festive
board, but when they shall have taken leave of these,
Georgia will know them no more.

The day was consumed in the interchange of news
between the Captain and myself, (though I confess it

[figure description] Page 077.[end figure description]

might have been better employed,) and the night found
us seated round a temporary fire, which the Captain's
sons had kindled up for the purpose of dying eggs. It
was a common custom of those days with boys, to dye and
peck eggs on Easter Sunday, and for a few days afterwards.
They were colored according to the fancy of
the dyer; some yellow, some green, some purple, and
some with a variety of colors, borrowed from a piece
of calico. They were not unfrequently beautified with
a taste and skill which would have extorted a compliment
from Hezekiah Niles, if he had seen them a year
ago, in the hands of the “young operatives,” in some of
the northern manufactories. No sooner was the work
of dying finished, than our “young operatives” sallied
forth to stake the whole proceeds of their “domestic
industry” upon a peck. Egg was struck against egg,
point to point, and the egg which was broken was given
up as lost to the owner of the one which came whole
from the shock.

While the boys were busily employed in the manner
just mentioned, the Captain's youngest son, George,
gave us an anecdote highly descriptive of the Yankee
and Georgia character, even in their buddings, and at
this early date. “What you think, pa,” said he, “Zeph.
Pettibone went and got his Uncle Zach. to turn him a
wooden egg; and he won a whole hat full o' eggs from
all us boys 'fore we found it out—but when we found it
out, may be John Brown did'nt smoke him for it, and
took away all his eggs, and give 'em back to us boys;—
and you think he did'nt go then and git a guinea-egg,
and win most as many more, and John Brown would o'
give it to him agin, if all we boys had'nt said we thought
it was fair. I never see such a boy as that Zeph. Pettibone,
in all my life. He don't mind whipping no more
'an nothing at all, if he can win eggs.”

[figure description] Page 078.[end figure description]

This anecdote, however, only fell in by accident, for
there was an all-absorbing subject which occupied the
minds of the boys, during the whole evening, of which
I could occasionally catch distant hints, in under tones
and whispers, but of which I could make nothing, until
they were afterwards explained by the Captain himself.
Such as “I'll be bound Peet Jones and Bill Smith
stretches him”—“By Jockey, soon as they seize him,
you'll see me down upon him like a duck upon a Junebug.”
“By the time he touches the ground, he'll think
he's got into a hornet's nest,” &c.

“The boys,” said the Captain, as they retired, “are
going to turn out the school-master to-morrow, and you
can perceive they think of nothing else. We must go
over to the school-house, and witness the contest, in
order to prevent injury to preceptor or pupils; for though
the master is always upon such occasions, glad to be
turned out, and only struggles long enough to present
his patrons a fair apology for giving the children a holiday,
which he desires as much as they do, the boys
always conceive a holiday gained by a “turn out,” as
a sole achievement of their valor, and in their zeal to
distinguish themselves, upon such memorable occasions,
they sometimes become too rough, provoke the master
to wrath, and a very serious conflict ensues. To prevent
these consequences, to bear witness that the master
was forced to yield, before he would withhold a day of
his promised labor from his employers, and to act as a
mediator between him and the boys, in settling the articles
of peace, I always attend; and you must accompany
me to-morrow.” I cheerfully promised to do so.

The Captain and I rose before the sun, but the boys
had risen, and were off to the school-house, before the
dawn. After an early breakfast, hurried by Mrs. G.
for our accommodation, my host and myself took up

[figure description] Page 079.[end figure description]

our line of march towards the school-house. We reached
it about a half hour before the master arrived, but
not before the boys had completed its fortifications. It
was a simple log pen, about twenty feet square, with a
door-way cut out of the logs, to which was fitted a rude
door, made of clapboards, and swung on wooden hinges.
The roof was covered with clapboards also, and retained
in their places by heavy logs placed on them. The
chimney was built of logs, diminishing in size from the
ground to the top, and overspread inside and out with
red clay mortar. The classic hut occupied a lovely
spot, overshadowed by majestic hickorys, towering poplars,
and strong armed oaks. The little plain on which
it stood, was terminated at the distance of about fifty
paces from its door, by the brow of a hill, which descended
rather abruptly to a noble spring, that gushed
joyously forth from among the roots of a stately beach,
at its foot. The stream from this fountain scarcely
burst in view, before it hid itself beneath the dark shade
of a field of cane, which overspread the dale, through
which it flowed, and marked its windings, until it turned
from the sight, among vine-covered hills, at a distance
far beyond that to which the eye could have traced it,
without the help of its evergreen belt. A remark of
the Captain's, as we viewed the lovely country around
us, will give the reader my apology for the minuteness
of the foregoing description. “These lands,” said he,
“will never wear out. Where they lie level, they will
be as good fifty years hence as they are now.” Forty-two
years afterwards I visited the spot on which he stood,
when he made the remark. The sun poured his whole
strength upon the bald hill which once supported the sequestered
school-house—Many a deep-washed gully met
at a sickly bog, where gushed the limpid fountain—a
dying willow rose from the soil which nourished the

[figure description] Page 080.[end figure description]

venerable beach—flocks wandered among the dwarf
pines, and cropt a scanty meal from the vale, where the
rich cane bowed and rustled to every breeze—and all
around was barren, dreary and cheerless. But to return.

As I before remarked, the boys had strongly fortified
the school-house, of which they had taken possession.
The door was barricaded with logs, which I should have
supposed would have defied the combined powers of the
whole school. The chimney, too, was nearly filled with
logs of goodly size; and these were the only passways
to the interior. I concluded, if a turn-out was all that
was necessary to decide the contest in favor of the boys,
they had already gained the victory. They had, however,
not as much confidence in their outworks as I had,
and therefore had armed themselves with long sticks;
not for the purpose of using them upon the master, if the
battle should come to close quarters, for this was considered
unlawful warfare; but for the purpose of guarding
their works from his approaches, which it was considered
perfectly lawful to protect, by all manner of jobs and
punches through the cracks. From the early assembling
of the girls, it was very obvious that they had
been let into the conspiracy, though they took no part in
the active operations. They would, however, occasionally,
drop a word of encouragement to the boys, such as
“I would'nt turn out the master; but if I did turn him
out, I'd die before I'd give up.” These remarks doubtless
had an emboldening effect upon “the young free-borns,”
as Mrs. Trollope would call them; for I never
knew the Georgian of any age, who was indifferent to
the smiles and praises of the ladies—before his marriage.

At length, Mr. Michael St. John, the school-master,
made his appearance.—Though some of the girls had

[figure description] Page 081.[end figure description]

met him a quarter of a mile from the school-house, and
told him all that had happened; he gave signs of sudden
astonishment and indignation, when he advanced to
the door, and was assailed by a whole platoon of sticks
from the cracks: “Why, what does all this mean?”
said he, as he approached the Captain and myself, with
a countenance of two or three varying expressions.

“Why,” said the Captain, “the boys have turned you
out, because you have refused to give them an Easter
holiday.”

“Oh,” returned Michael, “that's it, is it? Well, I'll
see whether their parents are to pay me for letting their
children play when they please.” So saying, he advanced
to the school-house, and demanded, in a lofty tone,
of its inmates, an unconditional surrender.

“Well, give us holiday then,” said twenty little urchins
within, “and we'll let you in.”

Open the door of the Academy,” (Michael would allow
no body to call it a school-house)—“Open the door of
the Academy this instant,” said Michael, “or I'll break
it down.”

“Break it down,” said Peet Jones and Bill Smith, “and
we'll break you down.”

During this colloquy I took a peep into the fortress, to
see how the garrison were affected by the parley. The
little ones were obviously panic struck at the first words
of command; but their fears were all chased away by
the bold determined reply of Peet Jones and Bill Smith,
and they raised a whoop of defiance.

Michael now walked round the Academy three times,
examining all its weak points with great care. He then
paused, reflected for a moment, and wheeled off suddenly
towards the woods, as though a bright thought had just
struck him. He passed twenty things which I supposed
he might be in quest of, such as huge stones, fence-rails,

[figure description] Page 082.[end figure description]

portable logs, and the like, without bestowing the least
attention upon them. He went to one old log, searched
it thoroughly, then to another, then to a hollow stump,
peeped into it with great care, then to a hollow log, into
which he looked with equal caution, and so on.

“What is he after?” enquired I.

“I'm sure I don't know,” said the Captain, “but the
boys do. Dont you notice the breathless silence which
prevails in the school-house, and the intense anxiety with
which they are eying him through the cracks?”

At this moment Michael had reached a little excavation
at the root of a dog-wood, and was in the act of putting
his hand into it, when a voice from the garrison exclaimed,
with most touching pathos, “Lo'd o' messy, he's
found my eggs! boys let's give up.”

“I wont give up,” was the reply from many voices at
once.

“Rot your cowardly skin, Zeph. Pettibone, you
would'nt give a wooden egg for all the holidays in the
world.”

“If these replies did not reconcile Zepheniah to his
apprehended loss, it at least silenced his complaints. In
the meantime, Michael was employed in relieving Zeph's
store-house of its provisions; and truly its contents told
well for Zeph's skill in egg-pecking. However, Michael
took out the eggs with great care, and brought
them within a few paces of the school-house, and laid
them down with equal care, in full view of the besieged.
He revisited the places which he had searched, and
to which he seemed to have been led by intuition; for
from nearly all of them did he draw eggs, in greater or
less numbers. These he treated as he had done Zeph's;
keeping each pile separate. Having arranged the eggs
in double files before the door, he marched between
them with an air of triumph, and once more demanded

[figure description] Page 083.[end figure description]

a surrender, under pain of an entire destruction of the
garrison's provisions.

“Break 'em just as quick as you please,” said George
Griffin, “our mothers 'll give us a plenty more, won't
they Pa?”

“I can answer for your's, my son,” said the Captain;
“she would rather give up every egg on the farm, than
see you play the coward or traitor, to save your property.”

Michael finding that he could make no impression
upon the fears or the avarice of the boys, determined to
carry their fortifications by storm. Accordingly, he
procured a heavy fence-rail, and commenced the assault
upon the door. It soon came to pieces, and the
upper logs fell out, leaving a space of about three feet
at the top. Michael boldly entered the breach when by
the articles of war, sticks were thrown aside, as no longer
lawful weapons. He was resolutely met on the half demolished
rampart by Peter Jones and William Smith, supported
by James Griffin. These were the three largest
boys in the school; the first about sixteen years of age,
the second about fifteen, and the third just eleven. Twice
was Michael repulsed by these young champions, but
the third effort carried him fairly into the fortress. Hostilities
now ceased for a while, and the Captain and I
having levelled the remaining logs at the door, followed
Michael into the house. A large three inch plank, (if
it deserve that name, for it was wrought from the half
of a tree's trunk, entirely with the axe,) attached to the
logs by means of wooden pins, served the whole school
for a writing desk. At a convenient distance
below it, and on a line with it, stretched a smooth log,
resting upon the logs of the house, which answered for
the writers' seat. Michael took his seat upon the desk,
placed his feet on the seat, and was sitting very compo

[figure description] Page 084.[end figure description]

sedly, when with a simultaneous movement, Peet and
Bill seized each a leg, and marched off with it in quick
time. The consequence is obvious—Michael's head first
took the desk, then the seat, and finally the ground, (for
the house was not floored,) with three sonorous thumps,
of most doleful portent. No sooner did he touch the
ground, than he was completely buried in boys. The
three elder, laid themselves across his head, neck and
breast, the rest arranging themselves ad libitum. Michael's
equanimity was considerably disturbed by the
first thump—became restive with the second, and took
flight with the third. His first effort was to disengage
his legs, for without them he could not rise, and to lie in
his present position, was extremely inconvenient and undignified.
Accordingly, he drew up his right, and kicked
at random. This movement laid out about six in various
directions upon the floor. Two rose crying—“Ding his
old red-headed skin,” said one of them, “to go and
kick me right in my sore belly, where I fell down and
raked it, running after that fellow that cried `schoolbutter.”
[4]

“Drot his old snaggle-tooth picture,” said the other,
“to go and hurt my sore toe, where I knocked the nail
off, going to the spring, to fetch a gourd of warter for
him, and not for myself n'other.”

[figure description] Page 085.[end figure description]

“Hut!” said Capt. Griffin, “young Washingtons
mind these trifles! At him again.”

The name of Washington cured their wounds, and
dried up their tears in an instant, and they legged him
de novo. The left leg treated six more as unceremoniously
as the right had those just mentioned—but the
talismanic name, had just fallen upon their ears before
the kick, so they were invulnerable. They therefore
returned to the attack without loss of time. The struggle
seemed to wax hotter and hotter, for a short time
after Michael came to the ground, and he threw the
children about in all directions and postures, giving some
of them thumps which would have placed the ruffle-shirted
little darlings of the present day, under the discipline
of paregoric and opodeldoc for a week; but these hardy
sons of the forest, seemed not to feel them. As Michael's
head grew easy, his limbs, by a natural sympathy became
more quiet, and he now sued for peace, offering
one day's holiday as the price. The boys demanded a
week; but here the Captain interposed, and after the
common, but often unjust custom of arbitrators, split the
difference. In this instance the terms were equitable
enough, and were immediately acceded to by both parties.
Michael rose in a good humor, and the boys were
of course. Loud was their talking of their deeds of
valor, as they retired. One little fellow, about seven
years old, and about three feet and a half high, jumped
up, cracked his feet together, and exclaimed, “by gingo,
Peet Jones, Bill Smith and me can hold any Sinjin that
ever trod Georgy grit.” By the way, the name of St.
John, was always pronounced “Sinjin,” by the common
people of that day; and so it must have been by
Lord Bolingbroke himself, else his friend Pope would
never have addressed him in a line so unmusical as


“Awake my St. John, leave all meaner things.”

[figure description] Page 086.[end figure description]

Nor would Swift, the friend and companion of both,
have written

HALL.

eaf262.n3

[3] The fescue was a sharpened wire, or other instrument, used by
the preceptor, to point out the letters to the children.

Abisselfa is a contraction of the words “a, by itself, a.” It was
usual, when either of the vowels constituted a syllable of a word, to
pronounce it and denote its independent character, by the words just
mentioned, thus: “a by itself, a-c-o-r-n corn, acorn.”—“e by itself,
e-v-i-l, evil, &c.

The character which stands for the word “and” (&) was probably
pronounced by the same accompaniment, but in terms borrowed from
the Latin language, thus: “& per se (by itself) &. Hence, “anpersant.”

eaf262.n4

[4] I have never been able to satisfy myself clearly, as to the literal
meaning of these terms. They were considered an unpardonable insult
to a country school, and always justified an attack by the whole
fraternity, upon the person who used them in their hearing. I have
known the scholars pursue a traveller two miles to be revenged of the
insult. Probably they are a corruption of “The School's better.”
“Better,” was the term commonly used of old, to denote a superior,
as it sometimes is in our day—“Wait till your betters are served,” for
example. I conjecture therefore, the expression just alluded to, was
one of challenge, contempt and defiance, by which the person who used
it, avowed himself the superior in all respects, of the whole school,
from the preceptor down. If any one can give a better account of it,
I shall be pleased to receive it.