CHAPTER VII. SORELLA AND THE GYPSY JOCKEY.

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The horses entered were but four in number. These
were, our Mississippian, “Graystreak,” “Crazy Kate,”
the “Fair Geraldine,” and “Sorella.” The former was
now decidedly the favorite of the field, and odds were
given in her behalf. Numerous bets were offered and
taken, and the excitement on the turf was great, and
momently increasing. The “Fair Geraldine” had her
backers, and so had “Crazy Kate” and “Sorella.” But
the latter was little known among the regular jockeys,
and, though a symmetrical and well-shaped animal, there
were none of those salient characteristics in her appearance
which are apt to take the spectator. It was seen
that she was fleet; and that she was rather bony, seemed
to promise something for her hardihood. Ned Ramsey
noticed her with some anxiety; and the watchful Lazy
Jake Owens observed that he had a whisper en passant
for the gentlemanly stranger who had so freely taken the
offers of Jones Barry. But neither Ramsey nor the
stranger declined any banters against “Graystreak;”
their confidence in that favorite creature being in no
respect impaired by the presence of the new competitor.
Of course, we do not pretend to follow and describe the
varieties of feeling and interest shown by the spectators.
How they perilled their money, in what amount, and
upon what horses, noways concerns our narrative. We
may mention, however, that Miles Henderson had a
couple of hundred and a few odd fives invested in the
credit of his mare; while our friend Tom Nettles was
pretty safe in taking the field against the “Fair

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Geraldine” and “Crazy Kate,” to the tune of two or three
hundred more.

The examination of the horses showed them off to
great advantage. “Graystreak” looked sleek, quiet,
and confident, as before. “Sorella” was a meek animal
also, with just such a twinkle of the eye as shows that
there is no lack of spirit, with all the meekness. But
the “Fair Geraldine” stripped to the survey with all the
consciousness of a proud and petted beauty. She was
restive and bright; a little too anxious and impatient,
and carried her head with a toss which was not unworthy
of her lovelier namesake. Her appearance compelled
the admiration of all; and many were tempted to bet
upon her beauty, who did not consider her heels. Her
rider now was Jones Barry himself. He was really
not satisfied that Sam Perkins had not done justice to
“Glaucus;” but, whether satisfied or not, nothing could
possibly have prevented him from doing as the Earl of
Toteham had been said to do at Doncaster.

“Your favorite is ready for the race, Miss Foster!
you see Mr. Barry takes the field in person;” and Hammond
pointed to the gaudy figure of that worthy, as the
impatient “Geraldine” wheeled and capered beneath
him.

“The white is `Graystreak,' and the blue—”

“Crazy Kate!”

“But where is Mr. Henderson's rider?”

“He mounts now—that strange-looking urchin with
a yellow-spotted bandanna, wound, gypsy fashion, around
his head, without a jacket, with his shirt-sleeves bared
to the elbow, and his suspenders wrapped around his
waist.”

“What a strange-looking creature! Who is he?”

“One Logan Whitesides; a knowing lad among
horses, who is particularly well acquainted with `Sorella.
' He was her only rider when she was under training,
and his whisper will do more with her than any
other person's whip.”

“Was it that he might get this boy that you

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counselled Mr. Henderson not to ride himself?” asked
Geraldine, with some interest.

“Yes! I knew that `Sorella' would need every advantage
in a contest with the Mississippi filly, and that Miles
was quite too heavy to run her successfully himself.”

Unconsciously, the girl looked pleased. Hammond
saw the expression, and mused upon it; particularly as
a querulous exclamation, at that moment, dropped from
the hostile step-mother. But the proceedings of the
course drew all eyes thither. All were saddled, the word
was given, and away they went, like so many ambitious
heroes, into battle.

The start was a successful one. The four horses
seemed to jump off together, running side by side for
a while, as if delighting in the line and order of a platoon
charge. But soon the “Fair Geraldine” led off, taking
the track for a quarter of a mile; “Crazy Kate” laying
herself close behind, and “Graystreak” and “Sorella”
seeming to find their amusement in driving the two before
them. Before the mile was two-thirds traversed, however,
“Crazy Kate” showed symptoms of lagging, and
“Sorella” dropped her with a bound, making even play
between the “Mississippian” and the “Fair Geraldine.”
The latter continued well on, not needing any urgency
of her rider, until the clattering heels of “Sorella”
and “Graystreak,” just at her haunches, impelled her
to an effort. She bridled up at this forwardness, and a
slight smack of the whip shocked her into a still more
indignant determination to leave all vulgar companionship
behind. She went off with a rocket-like impulse,
but without obtaining her object. It was now evident
that the “Mississippian” was resolved to cut
her off from her triumph, and her rider was seen to
apply the thong smartly to her sides. She passed, accordingly,
between “Sorella” and the object of her ambition,
and the next moment found her, lock and lock, in
affectionate embrace with the high-spirited and aristocratic
beauty. Vainly did the latter try to shake her off.
All her efforts only served to keep the two in this position,

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when, to the surprise of both, a shrill whistle from the
rider of “Sorella” brought that mysterious creature with
a rush between them, and flinging the dust in both their
faces, she passed under the string, leaving her tail hidden
between the lifted heads of the two emulous competitors.
“Crazy Kate” darted into the allotted limits quite in
season to save her distance, having reserved her powers
for another brush.

The race was a beautiful one. The several merits of
the first three horses were now fully displayed, though
the extent of their powers of endurance could only be
conjectured. They had evidently been ridden with a
due regard to their qualities; and the competition was
such as to maintain the excitement of the multitude, and
to keep them in suspense till the very last moment. A
shawl might have lapped them at several points in the
race; and an ell of ribbon might have circled them as
they darted beneath the string. It was clear that judgments
were to be revised. “Sorella” had been undervalued.
“Crazy Kate” looked better than ever, and
her rider was known to be a first-rate jockey; and “Graystreak”
was under the teaching of the very Machiavel of
the Georgia turf. The “Fair Geraldine” had behaved too
handsomely to have lost any of her supporters; and,
whether “Graystreak” had yielded the heat through
policy, or actually lost it in spite of all his efforts, was a
very doubtful question, even among the knowing ones.
There was a whisper that she seemed to complain in one
of her pins; but Tom Nettles, who examined her closely,
made no such discovery. Ned Ramsey showed anxiety,
however, and this was seen by “Lazy Jake Owens,” as
well as Nettles. His personal care of his horse was exemplary,
and his efforts to enable her to recover and cool
off, without effort, were so many studies for the youthful
jockeys who were crowding about and emulous of his renown.
Jones Barry was by no means dissatisfied with
the doings of his mare. She did not seem uneasy or
distressed; cooled off naturally and soon, and was ready
for the second trial in the shortest possible space. But,

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to have seen the affectionate care of “Sorella,” which
was taken by her gypsy rider—how, in addition to the
usual strippings and rubbings, he wound his arms about
her neck, kissed her as if she had been a sweetheart, and
whispered all sorts of pleasant nonsense in her ears; and
how the filly turned to him with a knowing gesture; and
how, when he stooped to rub her legs, her nose rested upon
his shoulders with a sort of human interest, which drew
crowds about the two in unaffected admiration! It realized,
in some degree, the stories that we hear of the
Arabian and his favorite steed. Logan Whitesides had
first had his ambition lifted by his employment in the
training of “Sorella.” She was a first-love to him, and
it would have come nigh to break his heart had he not
achieved the victory.

“And so `Sorella' has really won the victory?” said
Geraldine to Hammond, as he returned to the carriage
after a brief interview with Miles Henderson.

“The heat only—a third of the victory, Miss Foster.
They are now preparing for the second trial.”

“You are a witch in horses, Mr. Hammond. But
pray what did you say in that short whisper which I saw
you give to Mr. Henderson and his gypsy boy?”

Hammond laughed as he replied:—

“I simply instructed him that his policy was to lose
the next heat.”

“I don't understand you—lose!”

“That is, not attempt to win, but suffer it to be taken
by the `Mississippian.'”

“And why, pray?”

“That her strength in the third heat should not be
perilled by an undue effort in the second; when, as most
of the other horses will put forth their best ability, she
might probably peril herself for nothing.”

“I see, I see! But why lose to the `Mississippian?'
You say nothing of my namesake!”

“Your namesake has done her best already.”

“You don't flatter, Mr. Hammond,” said the

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step-mother; “I do believe you have a spite against that animal.”

“O no, Mrs. Foster! I'm sure you believe no such
thing. She is a sweet and beautiful creature, who will
do all that is in her power. It is her misfortune that
her powers are overtasked. Mr. Barry expects too much
from her. He does not overrate her fleetness, but he
overrates her endurance; and he will distress, and probably
injure her, before the race is over. So far from a
spite against her, I sympathize with her, and if I could,
would gladly save her from the hard work which is before
her.”

“Well, I'll never believe but you have a spite against
her. You believe in any horse on the ground but her.
I'd like to see you run your own; but I suppose it would
require something more than a woman's entreaties to
persuade you to that.”

There was something in the tone with which these
words were spoken, not less than the words themselves,
which grated offensively on the ears of the person addressed;
but he remained silent, and in a few moments
the preparations for the second heat enabled him to
divert the conversation to another channel. At the signal
given by the drum, Geraldine again stood upon the
seat of the carriage, an eager spectator of the issue. The
word was given, and the start was again beautiful; the
four steeds seeming to lap each other, whirling away for
a while, in a sort of linked movement, which showed
them all as if locked together in mutual relationship.
“Crazy Kate” and “Geraldine” were soon again in the
lead, as if by mutual consent between “Sorella” and
“Graystreak;” swinging forward by the groups of spectators,
the wagons and the tables, east and west, as if
waltzing with wings at both feet and shoulders. Merrily
did they glide away, leaving a space of thirty feet or
more between their competitors, who appeared perfectly
content to jog on together at a pace which inconvenienced
neither, yet enabled them to keep always within speaking
distance of the lively things in front. Thus trailing for

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the first mile and better, they suffered the game to be
played by other bands, only piping moderately to the music.
But soon the “Mississippian” began to grow restive
under restraint, and to put forth a much more ambitious
leg than he had hitherto shown. He lifted away from
“Sorella,” and was soon upon the heels of the two ahead.
A few bounds enabled him to separate the links between
them, and to throw himself towards the back stretch of
the second mile, between “Crazy Kate” and her fair
competitor. “Sorella” made a similar push forward,
and soon overcame the space which kept her from the
embrace of “Crazy Kate;” but whether it was that the
latter was less tempting than the beauty with the beautiful
name, she did not prolong the tête-a-tête with her,
but hurried forward to a more select meeting with the
“Fair Geraldine;” perhaps it was a feeling of sympathy,
which, at this moment, prompted the latter to forego her
exertions, and loiter for the coming up of one who sought
her so closely. Meanwhile, the ambitious maid of Mississippi
darted ahead of all opponents, and, with so few
tokens of civility, as to provoke the emulous efforts of
the two nearest riders. Jones Barry was seen to apply
the whip with unkind severity of hand, to the tender
flanks of his favorite; while the gypsy boy who rode
“Sorella” appeared to urge her forward with the utmost
seeming anxiety, but without the use of any weapon. It
was now perceived that the “Fair Geraldine,” as if under
a feeling of degradation, no longer lifted a hopeful and
exulting head, nor tossed pridefully her luxuriant mane.
That she began to droop was evident to the spectators,
while the repeated strokes of the lash, from her rider,
betrayed his own consciousness of a fact which he was
quite unwilling to believe. These exertions still gave
her headway for awhile, but it was at the expense of her
heels. She gradually relaxed after these efforts, and
soon had the mortification to find “Sorella” quietly working
ahead, as they both stretched through the first quarter
of the third mile. Hammond saw with satisfaction,
that, while the boy who rode “Sorella” appeared to

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labor anxiously, he used no whip, or only appeared to do
so, while the beast lifted her legs freely, and set them
down as if on velvet. The crowd, who knew nothing of
his game, now looked upon it that she shared the exhaustion
of “Geraldine,” and were quite deceived by the
arts of her rider. Even Ramsey himself counted upon
him as a horse “done brown;” and whispered to Lazy
Jake Owens that the race was won. But Lazy Jake was
no slouch at an opinion either, in the matter of horseflesh;
and he answered, in the common proverb of warring
in the South: “Don't whoop before you're out of
the wood.” But this heat was decided. The “Mississippian”
had shown the cleanest heels, taking the track from
all. It was observed that “Sorella,” after once or twice
yielding the lead to the “Fair Geraldine,” now changed
the figure entirely, and hastened forward so as to throw
herself within a few decent bounds of “Graystreak,” as
the latter passed in under the string, the final victor of
the heat. The native spirit of “Geraldine” did not suffer
her to fall behind very far, though it was evident to all
good judges that the game with her was up for the day;
while “Crazy Kate” enjoyed to herself the Irishman's
fun of driving all the rogues before her. Of the three
winning horses, “Sorella” was the only one who had been
economized, and the excellence of her jockey enabled
her to keep this important fact a secret. A couple of
lengths between her and “Graystreak, and twice the
number between her and “Geraldine,” left the minds of
the multitude still in that condition of doubt in regard
to the future which makes equally the interest of race
and story. The betting parties were still hopeful; for,
even where their favorites had not won, they came so
near it, with the exception of “Crazy Kate,” as to leave
nothing certain in the chapter of coming events.

Well rubbed and groomed, three horses showed themselves
for the third time upon the track. “Crazy Kate”
has withdrawn in dudgeon, in consequence of the manifest
neglect with which her companions have treated her
performances. Her backers have sullenly yielded up

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their tin to the numerous friends of the “Mississippian;”
while Ramsey, and the unknown gentleman, have been
reminding numerous persons of certain fives, tens, twenties,
and hundreds—including our friend Jones Barry—
which they unwisely perilled on the heels of a feminine
creature avowedly non compos. This pleasant little
episode greatly relieved the otherwise tedious interval
between the second and the last heat. The “Fair Geraldine”
seemed to have recovered her former spirits, as she
came once more upon the turf; and, with the word “Go,”
she led off, “solitary and alone,” as she had been
ambitious to do on all previous occasions. But, after
the first half mile, both the “Mississippian” and “Sorella”
seemed disposed to make play, and to show that both
had heels of wing and steam when the exigency was
at hand. It was clear, however, that the two latter
waited for each other. They knew the real adversary,
and knew exactly when to terminate that deference for
the beauty who now led them which, it was evident, they
had yielded rather through policy than admiration. As
the first mile was overcome, they gradually swallowed
space, taking the wind completely out of the sails of
“Geraldine,” passing on each side of her, and closing
up, as if anxious for the track. Barry at once put on
steam with a heavy hand, but no application to the
flanks, in the case of one so tender, could possibly furnish
the legs with the proper facility for flight. The
beauty wanted age for endurance. “Send me no more
boys,” said Napoleon to the government at home: “they
only fill the hospitals.” The tender years of “Geraldine,”
her delicate training, were adverse to her soldiership.
Famous at a charge, she could not stand the
campaign. The two veterans, better fortified by muscle
and training, of better bottom and not less speed, soon
forged ahead, and left her painfully to struggle up the
hill alone. “Graystreak” was evidently girdling up
her loins for the last great effort. She felt the necessity
of putting all her soul into her heels, as she felt that she
had a sterling customer beside her, one who took a deep

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shot, and loved long reckonings. There were bone, and
muscle, and speed, to be overcome, and she had a pride
and reputation at stake, to say nothing of the hundreds
which our friend Jones Barry no doubt found cool enough
by this time. There was evident mischief in the “Mississippian.”
Her rider glared round, in his white uniform,
at the queer little gypsy rogue who kept tenaciously
with him, neck and neck, as if measuring their mutual
strength for the last great struggle. It was neck or
nothing with them both. Both were resolute to do, or
die. The gypsy rogue seemed to crouch, at moments,
in his saddle, as if to take the leap of a cougar on the
fox, and his heels would sink slightly into the sides of
his creature, as if embracing her with a love which found
all its pleasures in hers. Side and side they rode, until,
in the eyes of the distant spectators, they seemed to
resolve themselves into a single man and horse. The
struggle was desperately close. It was your purse or
mine, as they darted eagerly towards the last quarter
stretch, leaving the wind behind them, and seeming to
whiz along through air, as a bullet from the cannon.
“The bravest held his breath for a time.” The multitude
pressed forward along the track. Mouths were
open wide with expectation; eyes dilating beyond their
orbs, with delight and anxiety.

“How beautiful!” exclaimed Geraldine Foster, as she
grasped the arm of Hammond.

“Beautiful!” said Hammond, naturally enough, as
he gazed into her eyes. We dare not look with him while
the struggle is thus at its height. The jockey on “Graystreak”
now made tremendous efforts; his eye fixed on
the stubborn little gypsy, as if to note the opening for
an advantage. Neck and neck they still clung together,
and but a few more bounds were necessary to the final
achievement. “Whitejacket” gathered himself up for the
last issue, and, rising in his stirrups, with the whip keenly
and rapidly administered, he raised the head of
“Graystreak” for the final bound beneath the line.
But “Nojacket,” our little gypsy, knew his moment also.

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He gave no whip; he rose not in the saddle; but crouching,
rather, and clinging upon her neck, he whispered a
word, a single word, in the ear of “Sorella,” and the
noble Arabian went out of the lock in a way to make
an arrow wonder. By a single head, she passed ahead
of her resolute competitor; and, as her triumph was beheld,
the big, swollen heart of the multitude relieved
itself by a shout that shook the field. Then our gypsyjockey
dropped from his creature, and seized her about
the neck, kissing her once more as passionately as the
lover, for the first time successful. He felt the triumph
as much more precious than he did the “cool hundred,”
one of the several that had been transferred on this occasion
from the pockets of the wealthy Jones Barry to
those of other people, with which Miles Henderson
rewarded him for his riding. Then might the multitude
be seen following the horses—horse and rider—with exultation
and admiration. Our gypsy was, next to his
horse, the wonder of the field. The boys scampered
after him as their hero, while the negroes, everywhere
exclaiming as he came, pointed him out to their grinning
companions, as “Dat little Login Whitesides; da's a
debble hese'f, for ride!” Glory is a thing of various
complexions; and our little friend Logan was quite as
well satisfied, no doubt, with the negro form of compliment,
as with that which issued in rounded periods from
more polished lips. Let us now look to other parties.

CHAPTER VIII. THE GANDER TOURNAMENT.

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The excellent lady, Mrs. Foster, was quite dissatisfied
at the result of the race. Perhaps she might have been
still more so, had the victory been obtained by “Ferraunt,”
instead of “Sorella;” by the horse of Hammond
in place of that of his friend. She did not conceal her
mortification, which vented itself in expressions of strong
sympathy with Jones Barry, even in the presence of his
conqueror. He, however, either was, or affected to be,
wholly indifferent to the result. He had various excuses
for the defeat, which he could ascribe to any and everything,
always excepting his mare's ability and his own
riding.

“I'll go you a thousand any day, Miles Henderson,
on `Geraldine,' against `Sorella.' I know what my
mare can do. But she wasn't groomed properly. That
little rascal Sam Perkins would give her water, though
I told him not; and he girt her in so tightly, that the
poor thing could hardly draw a decent breath.”

“And you're a little too heavy for your mare, Barry,”
added Nettles; who, having pocketed a clever share of
the money of the other, could afford to do the amiable.

“There's something in that,” was the admission of
Barry. “But, Tom, didn't I ride her beautiful?”

“You can ride,” was the liberal acknowledgment of
the other, with just the sort of emphasis and look, in
the right place, to render the admission satisfactory.

Meanwhile, Henderson and Hammond had both been
conversing with the ladies; though the latter could not
but perceive that Geraldine manifested, in his case,
a more than usual degree of reserve and distance. He

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was not long at a loss to what influence to ascribe this
deportment, since Mrs. Foster, though outwardly civil,
was yet not altogether capable of suppressing all shows
of that spirit by which she was secretly animated towards
him. True, however, to his maxim, he betrayed
no particular concern, but was only the more studious
to overlook none of the formal and becoming courtesies
which society had established as proper from the one sex
to the other. He was not only scrupulously polite and
attentive, but particularly graceful and spirited. His
conversation rose in force and animation with the consciousness
of his equivocal position; and the vivacity
and freedom of his dialogue and manner were only restrained
by an overruling resolution to permit to himself
no such liberties as might incur censure or provoke
offence. He played the diplomate with a rare excellence;
and Mrs. Foster leaned back in the carriage, heartily
vexed with a person whom she longed to wound, yet who
gave her no advantage; and who, in spite of all her
malice, still contrived, seemingly without exertion, to
win the ears, and compel the sympathies of her protégé.
The carriage, meanwhile, was got in readiness; the
horses were geared in, and the lady proceeded to invite
the gentlemen to return with her to dinner. Hammond
and Henderson declared their pleasure in escorting the
ladies home; while Jones Barry and Nettles excused
themselves by alleging that, with them, the business of
the day was very far from being over. There were
several races yet to be run. “Glaucus” was again to
try his heels against some other nags, which were yet
to be brought forward; and there was to be a “scrub”
race for sweepstakes, in which more than twenty horses
had been already entered. The interest of Nettles in
these events, though he ran no horse himself, was not
less great than that of Jones Barry, while his profits
were likely to be much greater.

“Besides,” says Barry; “there's the circus, Mrs.
Foster, the circus;” and he rubbed his hands. “And
I never saw the circus in my life. I'm told they do all

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sorts of things. There's a man there that jumps through
the eye of a needle!”

“Oh, Mr. Barry, how can you believe such nonsense?”

“It's true, by the pipers! here's the advertisement;
here's the picture itself; the man and the needle.”

“As large as life!” said Nettles.

And Barry pulled out of his pocket one of those enormous
bills of the circus, which one sees at times, in the
South and West, covering the sides of a court-house.
As he held it up, it fairly covered him from head to foot.

“I don't see why he shouldn't jump through the eye
of such a needle, Mr. Barry; the needle seems a great
deal larger than the man.”

“So it does,” said Barry.

“Oh! but that's only to show it to the people, Miss
Geraldine; that's only the picture; for I saw the needle,
the real needle itself; and I assure you that it's not
much larger than those you ladies work with. It isn't
exactly a cambric needle, I grant you; but then again,
it's nothing near like a bagging-needle.”

“You saw it, Tom?” asked Barry.

“To be sure I did!” was the reply.

“And you believe, Mr. Barry, that any man could
go through such a needle?” queried Mrs. Foster.

“I don't see how he can,” said the other, gravely;
“it would break out the eye.”

A roar of laughter from Henderson followed this oracular
opinion, of which Miss Geraldine herself indulged
in a moderate imitation. Mrs. Foster lay back in the
carriage, frowning and mortified. Nettles continued:—

“But that's not all; the clown who goes through the
needle uncorks a bottle with his eye, sets fire to a wheelrocket
with his whiskers, and afterwards swallows his
own head.”

“Ah! Tom,” says Barry, “that won't do! Nobody
can make me believe that. It may be that he
could draw a cork with his eye; and, as for setting off
wheelrockets with his whiskers, that, I suppose, isn't

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altogether impossible; but I'll be d—d if I believe a
word about swallowing his own head. Swallowing his
own head! Why, who the deuce could ever think of doing
such a thing? Oh no, Tom Nettles; that cock
won't fight! It's likely he may make a show of doing
something of the kind, by sleight of hand.”

“Of mouth, rather.”

“Well, mouth then; but I know it's all make b'lieve—
don't you think so, Mrs. Foster?”

“I don't think about it, Mr. Barry. It's all trick
and humbug. Circuses are all vulgar places. I have
no interest in them.”

“Vulgar! why, Lord bless you, Mrs. Foster, the
whole country's to be there. Don't you see the carriages
coming in already? There'll be a matter of three
hundred ladies, I reckon.”

“Ladies, indeed!” said the lady. “Perhaps so, sir.
We sha'n't be among them, however. Scipio,” to the
driver, “are you ready?”

“All ready, ma'am.”

“Well, Mr. Barry, we leave you. Mr. Nettles, we
shall always be glad to see you at the lodge. Gentlemen,”
to Hammond and Henderson, “do you still keep
your purpose of riding with us, or have the charms of
the clown, as we have heard them described, persuaded
you to think better of it, and stay for the circus?”

“If one could be sure that the clown would act honestly,
and really make a gulp of his own head,” mused
Hammond, with gravity.

Barry looked up bewildered, his mouth wide open, as
Nettles proceeded to assert that the thing was really
done in a most lifelike and natural manner; though, as
the clown reappeared always the next day with his head
on, looking quite as well as usual, he concluded, with
his friend Barry, that it was only “make b'lieve,” mere
sleight of hand or mouth, the clever trick of a clever
juggler—“though,” added the speaker, with admirable
gravity, “it certainly takes in everybody—everybody
believes it.”

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“Drive on, Scipio,” said the lady, imperiously, as if
anxious to escape from the confiding, yet dubious gaze
of Barry.

The carriage whirled away, Hammond and Henderson
taking opposite sides, the former beside the window
near which Geraldine sat, while his friend was the particular
escort of the mother. We will leave them on
their homeward progress, and return to our companions,
Jones Barry and Tom Nettles.

These two worthies at once proceeded with proper
diligence to business. Under the counsel of the latter,
Barry employed, as the rider of “Glaucus,” the little
gypsy, who had lifted “Sorella” so handsomely over
the track; and the result was an improvement in the
events of the contest. But it is not our purpose to
pursue the history of the turf at Hillabee. Ours is not
a racing calendar, and we must leave such histories to
those who are more perfect in the history of the stud.
It is enough that we say that the day continued one of
great excitement to the close. Some small winnings, at
the winding up, served somewhat to console Barry for
his heavier losses; and he was rendered particularly
happy, as Tom Nettles introduced him to a couple
of the chief men of the circus, by whom he was invited
into the hippodrome itself, and permitted, while
yet the day lasted, to behold the vacant scene upon
which such wonders were so soon to be enacted. He
was particularly anxious to get a sight of the clown,
but did not express his desire; as he felt that one who
was destined so shortly to swallow his own head might
very naturally desire to have all the interval to himself,
that he might prepare himself for the impending catastrophe.
Here, a table being spread extempore, some
cold baked meats were brought forth from a curtained
interior; and, with the help of a ham and a loaf, which
Nettles gathered from the booths of one of his acquaintance,
and a stout quart-decanter of French brandy,
which the equestrians had brought with them, Jones
Barry was very soon reconciled to the absence of the

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ladies. The decanter was soon emptied and replenished,
and this in time disappearing, the place was occupied
by a couple of bottles of tolerable wine. Nettles was
fond of strong drink, but he had one of those indurated
heads which could bear any degree of soaking without
betraying their owners. Jones Barry was much less of
a veteran, though he loved good liquors, after a gentlemanly
fashion. Enough, however, that, before he left
the table, he had become captious and somewhat unruly;
and it was only by adroit management that Nettles
could conduct him out of the tabernacle, so as to afford
to the manager an opportunity for preparing for the
performance of the night. In the open air, Barry was
more manageable, though it required an additional supply
of stimulus to keep his stomach from entire subjugation
to the hostile power which he had thrown into
the territory. Nettles was not unwilling to indulge
him. He was a fellow of fun, and found his capital in
this excellent subject. He had set out to enjoy a spree,
and he was resolved to make a night of it. An hour's
wandering about the encampment, for such had the race-course
at Hillabee become for the occasion, and there
were a thousand ways for getting up and letting off
steam, to employ the slang phraseology of the region.
Wagons were to be upset, drunken men stripped, the tails
and manes of horses cropped; these, with other practices,
in which the humorists were quite as “rough as ready,”
served to beguile the interval between the close of the
race and the opening of the circus. But it was the
fortune of Jones Barry to make himself conspicuous
in a more important enterprise. The wanderings of our
companions in search of adventures led them, with a
crowd of others, to an amphitheatre, about three hundred
yards from the race-course, where they witnessed
a sport in progress, to which it seemed that all they
had hitherto beheld was mere child's-play, tame and
spiritless. This was a “Gander-pulling!”

Reader, do you know what a gander-pulling is? If
you do not, it is quite as well that you should form some

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idea of the sources of pleasure to the purely vulgar and
uncultivated nature. Man is undoubtedly a beast, unless
you contrive some process for making him a gentleman;
and there is no question but that, as he has a
natural appetite for recreation and pleasure, if you do
not contrive for him such as will not be unacceptable to
the Deity, the devil will more liberally provide with
such as will make the man acceptable only to himself.
Gander-pulling, accordingly, is one of those sports
which a cunning devil has contrived to gratify a human
beast. It appeals to his skill, his agility, and strength;
and is therefore in some degree grateful to his pride:
but, as it exercises these qualities at the expense of his
humanity, it is only a medium by which his better qualities
are employed as agents for his worser nature.
Gander-pulling has been described as a sort of tournament
on horseback; the only difference is that the
knight has a goose for his opponent, instead of a person
like himself. The man is mounted on horseback,
while the goose is mounted upon poles. These poles,
or saplings, are thrust firmly into the ground, some
twelve feet apart; but they are united by a cord at the
top, which hangs loosely, while, pendent from the extremity,
the living gander is fastened by the legs.
Here he swings his head, hanging downwards just above
the path, between the two saplings, and just high
enough to be within reach of the man on horseback.
The achievement of the rider is to run his horse, at full
speed, at the bird, and, grasping him by the neck, to
wring his head off as he passes on. This is not so easy
a performance. The neck of the gander has been previously
stripped of all its feathers, and has then been
thickly coated with grease or oil. Nothing can be made
more slippery; and, shining and warming in the sun,
the glittering neck of the unhappy bird looks like that
of a young boa, for the first time practising from the
bough, under which he expects the rabbit or the rat to
glide. To increase the difficulty of the exploit, and to
prevent any unfair delay in the approach of the

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assailant, four men are stationed, armed with flails of hickory,
on each side of the track, and at proper intervals.
These, as the horse approaches, lay their hickories upon
his flanks; and so unmercifully, as not only to make him
go headlong forward, but frequently to make him bolt
the track in order to escape such unfriendly treatment.
The course is laid out on the exterior of a circle some
two hundred feet in diameter; which circuit the rider
must necessarily make before reaching the goose, starting
from a post which is properly watched by judges.
He is not expected to go at full speed except when within
twenty yards of the game. Thus guarded, the victim
is not so easily decapitated. It is only the experienced
horseman, and the experienced sportsman, who
can possibly succeed in the endeavor. Young beginners,
who look on the achievement as rather easy, are constantly
baffled; many find it impossible to keep the
track; many lose the saddle, and, even where they succeed
in passing beneath the saplings without disaster,
they either fail altogether in grasping the goose, which
keeps a constant fluttering and screaming; or, they find
it impossible to retain their grasp, at full speed, upon
the greasy and eel-like neck and head which they have
seized. Meantime, their failure is by no means sauce
for the gander. The tug, from which he at length
escapes, makes him feel excessively uncomfortable while
it lasts. The oil without does not protect him from severe
sore-throat within. His voice becomes hoarse with
screaming; and, long before his head is fairly off, he
has lost those nicer sensibilities which teach him exactly
how the event took place. The beating and bolting of
the horses, the emptying of the saddles, the failures of
the “pullers,” the screams, and wild wing-flapping of
the bird—these constitute the glory of the entertainment;
every point in the tilting being watched with
eager anxiety, and announced with screams and yells
from the multitude, which form no bad echoes to the
cries of the goose.

So much for the sport in general. It had been some

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time in progress, when Nettles and Jones Barry drew
nigh. The moment the latter beheld the scene, he at
once declared himself the man to take the gander's head.
Nettles was very far from discouraging him from an adventure
which promised fun; the more particularly as
his companion, if not absolutely drunk, was, as they
phrase it in Mississippi, “in a state of betweenity,” i. e.
neither drunk nor sober. A dozen had already tried
their hands without success; but, evidently, to the perfect
disquiet of the gander. There he swung aloft; his
wings flapping furiously at intervals, and, every now
and then, his throat pouring forth a sharp sudden scream,
the moment he became conscious of a horse in motion.
Barry fixed his eyes upon the shining neck, and shook
his hands at the bird, the fingers spreading out, like
claws, as he cried to the victim: “Here's the claws
that'll have you off, my beauty! You're shining there
for me! Who goes a V against Jones Barry? Who, I
say? Let him show himself, and be —!”

It is to the credit of Nettles that, though willing to
see the fun, he would not suffer his companion to be
fleeced. He interposed, that his bets should be trifles
only, though, in this friendly interposition, he incurred
the denunciations of the person whom he saved. Already
had he paid for his “matriculation,” and little
Logan Whitesides was dispatched for “Glaucus;” for,
though fuddled, Barry was not prepared to employ the
“Fair Geraldine,” his favorite, for such ignoble purposes.

“Hurrah for Jones Barry,” said Ben Burg; “He
ain't too proud to jine in the pleasures of the poor
man!”

“He's jest drunk enough for any sort of pleasure,
poor or rich,” was the comment of Lazy Jake Owens.

“I'll lay you a quarter, Jake,” said Burg, “that
he'll take the gander.”

“That'll be because he's near kin to him, then.”

“If he does,” said a third, “it'll be owing to his
liquor. He couldn't do it sober.”

[figure description] Page 117.[end figure description]

“Shall we go a quarter on him?” said Burg; a conscientious
feeling prompting him to vindicate, to this
extent, the ability of a person from whom he had contrived
to borrow a couple of half eagles but a few hours
before.

“Make it a half, Burg.”

“D-o-n-e!” said the latter, rather slowly.

The vulgar look with respect, even while they sneer,
at the doings of those above them in fortune or position.
It was the fortune of Jones Barry to provoke a sensation
always among this class of people. They watched
and waited his movements. The gander obtained a
brief respite, while the boy went for “Glaucus”—
settled down into a drooping quiet, and hushed for a
period his screams. Our sprightly little gypsy was
not long before appearing with the horse. He was
ready saddled and bridled for the heat, and it was with
more ambition than agility that our hero contrived to
vault into the seat. Then it was that the uproar grew.

“Hurrah for Barry!” cried Nettles, at the top of his
voice.

“Who goes a picayune against Barry?”

“Done, with you, 'Squire Nettles.”

“And here's another! He's no more the chap to take
off a gander's head than I am to put it on.”

“Hurrah for the captain!” cried Burg.

“You may hurrah till your throat aches, but that
goose will never catch that gander,” was the unseemly
echo of Lazy Jake Owens.

A hundred voices joined in the shouting. The boys
rolled, and roared, and tumbled, throwing the dust up
fifty feet in air, as the knight of the goose prepared
to make his passage at arms. The men with the flails
did not need to use their hickories. Barry came on at
full speed, and, amidst shouts of congratulation, he kept
his horse steadfast along the track, and through the saplings,
from whose united tops the gander was suspended.
The bird flounced and shrieked, flapping his wings with
immense violence. Barry, dropping his bridle in his

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excitement, threw up both hands, and grasped, not the
goose, but the rope by which it was suspended. The
horse passed instantly from under him, and, for a moment,
he hung in air, the wings of the gander playing
the devil's tattoo rather rapidly upon his face, breast,
and shoulders. It was but for an instant, however. The
cord, calculated to sustain one goose only, broke under
double weight, and down came the pair together, the
gander uppermost. Never had such a scene been witnessed
before, in the whole annals of gander-pulling,
even from the first dawn of its discovery among our European
ancestors. The field rang with shouts of merriment;
a most royal delirium seized upon the republican.
Some rolled on the earth in convulsions; some clapped
their hands and shouted; while the boys shot off their
guns, to the great confusion and disorder of horseflesh.

Barry rose half-stunned and thoroughly bewildered.
The gander had revenged himself on our luckless
adventurer for all the assaults he had himself sustained.
His wings had been busy, from the first moment of their
encounter and fall, to that when the parties were separated,
and chiefly upon the face of our hero. His cheeks
were scraped rather than scratched; his nose and mouth
were bleeding. His shirt bosom was equally torn and
soiled, and his hair was lifted in as much disorder as
was Job's when he beheld the vision of the night.
Nettles came to his relief, and had his face washed,
while little Logan Whitesides ran after and recovered
the horse “Glaucus.” Ludicrous as had been the
scene, and much beyond any that the multitude had
expected, they were still, now that the first burst of
merriment was over, in no mood to lose their usual fun.
The gander was re-hoisted, newly greased, and set
aloft, screaming with new disquiet as he rose in air.
There were twenty gallant youngsters all ready to undertake
the feat at which Jones Barry had so ingloriously
failed; but a proper courtesy required that he
should be permitted to recover his laurels. But when
the thing was proposed to him, he shook his head. He

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had not quite recovered from the unavoidable confusion
of ideas which resulted from the twofold influence of
the cognac and the concussion.

“No, I think not,” said he. “Goose, eh! Nettles;
we've had dinner.” Such was the seemingly inconsequential
reply; in which, however, Nettles detected the
latent meaning.

“Yes,” said he, “and ate very heartily, both of us;
why should we want the goose?”

“Shall we go, Tom?” asked Barry, sobering by degrees,
and feeling rather sham-faced.

“No!” said the other; “here's Meredith's wagon.
He keeps good liquor; we'll take a consoler.” And they
went aside together to the wagon, where they both obtained
an apple-toddy, the saccharine property being
derived from the best mountain honey, while the applebrandy
was as good as ever filled up the corn-rows at
election time. Barry felt better after the beverage,
and the two returned to the gander-tournament together.
The game was already resumed and in full blast. Three
or four assailants had been baffled. But they usually
came up a second and a third time to the scratch. The
only discouraging circumstance which finally arrested
their efforts being the repeated charges for new entries.
The gander was one of fortunate fates; his owner was
delighted to perceive that the instincts of the bird
enabled him to anticipate the moment of danger, and to
exercise his most rapid movements, just as the grasp
was made upon his neck. He eluded several fingers;
but some clutched him, and the “scrag” paid severely
from the jerk which followed, even though it finally
slipped from the gripe of the enemy. But his voice
was suffering, and his action was greatly diminished.
It was then that Nettles found himself plucked by the
sleeve, and drawn aside by our gypsy boy, Logan Whitesides.

“Well! what now, Logan?”

“Why, Squire, ef you'll only ax the capper to let me

[figure description] Page 120.[end figure description]

ride `Gloccus' at the gander, I'm a thinking I can ease
off that head thar, ef 'twas never done afore.”

Nettles found it no difficult matter to persuade Barry,
and almost the next assailant of the goose was our
urchin. He certainly looked less like one to “ease off
the head” than those who had preceded him. He
was the smallest of all the adventurers; rode squat, with
a stoop, doubling up like a frog or monkey on the leap.
But if he lacked in size, he was possessed of rare agility.
He was all wire and spring; and, a fact not generally
known, he had been trained to the sport in another
county, and when much younger. His ability in riding
we have already seen. Nettles was a judge of boys as
well as horses.

“Who covers an X against little Logan Whitesides.”

“I'll do that same,” cried Lazy Jake Owens, and
there were other customers for similar amounts. Nettles
soon found that he had nearly a hundred upon the
fate of the gander. It was not long in suspense.

“Go ahead, Logan!” was the cry of Nettles.

The boy obeyed him. The boys rushed after their
hero with a shout. He himself shouted, and the descending
flails of the men of hickory scarcely grazed
the haunches of the fleetly-hurrying “Glaucus.” In a
moment, he had reached the foot of the scaffolding from
the top of which hung the victim. The bird uttered
tremendous screams, and flapped his wings wide and
heavily. Then could the gypsy boy be seen to crouch,
then to shoot upwards like an arrow, and the next moment
he was through the saplings, bearing aloft the
head, windpipe, and all of the gander but his body;—
the segregated throat continuing to pour scream upon
scream, convulsively, as the urchin waved the head of
the bird in triumph over his own. The field shook with
the uproar of rejoicing, and little Logan Whitesides promised
to become the hero of the county. He won not
a little in more solid coin than praises. He too had his
bets abroad, and was calling in his fips and picayunes,
his bits and quarters, from a considerable space around

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him, while Nettles, with equal satisfaction, was reminding
sundry of his neighbors of a certain handsome letter
of the alphabet whose name was X. Barry, too, was
in a high state of exultation, for was it not his “Glaucus”
by whom the victory was won?

CHAPTER IX. HOW THE HERO OF THE CIRCUS MAY SWALLOW HIS OWN OR HIS NEIGHBOR'S HEAD.

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Altogether, the events of the day had not tended
to soothe the humors nor satisfy the self-esteem of Mr.
Jones Barry. The first excitement over, by which
even the defeated may be temporarily sustained, he
began to reflect upon his losses. His favorite mare had
been discredited; and though “Glaucus” had retrieved in
the sweepstakes the honor which he might have been
supposed to have forfeited in the first races, yet this
could in no respect compensate for the defeat of the
“Fair Geraldine,” coupled as was this defeat with the
loss of several “cool hundreds.” It was in due degree
with the increasing soberness of Barry, that he began
thus moodily to meditate events. The conflict with the
gander, which had left him with a head and neck quite
as sore as his moral feelings, had somewhat subdued his
vanity; and he really began to think, as people had
long since begun to say, behind his back, that he had
been making a great fool of himself. Reflections such as
these, were they allowed to continue, would probably
almost always result in the improvement of the individual.
But, in the case of weak persons, who have been
accustomed to avoid and escape such reflections, and
whom fortune and circumstances enable to do so, it is
scarcely possible for such a mood of mind to continue long.
There are always some good-natured friends in every
fool's circle, to assist in keeping him a fool; and, by
interposing at moments when self-esteem is beginning
to be rightly humbled, they succeed in silencing the
officious monitor, either by well-sugared falsehoods and

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specious flatteries, or by doing what our excellent sportsman,
Tom Nettles, conceived it proper for him to do on
the present occasion. He saw, as the effects of the apple-toddy
subsided, that Jones Barry was about to sink into
sullenness, which he regarded as a sort of stupidity; and
he knew but one specific in all such cases, and that
was to repeat the dose which had been found already
so effectual; they stopped, accordingly, at a wagon on
which they saw conspicuous a pine sapling above a
barrel, and were soon gratified with the beverage they
sought. The spirits of Barry rose with the draught.
The effect was so pleasant that another was called for,
and, by the time that the two had reached the entrance
of the hippodrome, our brave gander-puller avowed
himself as expert a rider on double horses as any fellow
in the circus.

“It's true I've never seen 'em, Tom,” said he, “but
I've heard of them often enough. Joe Smith used to
tell me of what he'd seen in Savannah and Augusta.
Now, Joe used to say of my riding, I was fit to be in
the circus. For a cool hundred now, I'd ride against
the crack fellow of this company, who, I suppose, is no
great shakes, and by —, if they give me a chance
to-night, I'll challenge the whole kit and boiling of
'em.”

“Oh, you be k—d, Barry,” said the other, irreverently:
“you are the greatest brag I ever heard. Let
yourself alone, and don't be trying to be everything.
You're quite enough as you are. You are a good-looking
little fellow.”

“Little!” exclaimed Barry: “By gracious, Nettles,
I'm as good a man as you are, any day.”

“So you are, but not as big!”

“Little! But I don't suppose you meant any insult,
Nettles, for you said `good-looking too.'”

“So I did! I say, you're a devilish good-looking
little fellow; you're rich, and have everything you
want. You can ride, though you're quite too heavy
for `Geraldine.'”

[figure description] Page 124.[end figure description]

“Yet you say I'm little.”

“Yes, little and not light. You see, you're a sort
of chunk of a fellow, with more girth than legs, and a
leetle too ambitious for your weight, Jones.”

“You're mighty plain spoken, Tom.”

“Why yes; friends have a privilege, you know.”

“O yes—to be sure; but look you, Tom, I feel monstrous
like licking the best friend in the world, when he
calls me little.”

“Well, you don't lick me, for two reasons; the first is,
that I won't let you, and the next is, that you won't let
yourself. But look you, Jones, this is dry talking, and
I see you're in bad spirits; let's look after some good ones.
There's a wagon there; I reckon we'll find something.
Let's take another drink, and we'll be fresh for the
circus.”

“Agreed,” said the other; and, as they rolled over
to the opposite side of the road, amid a confused assemblage
of carts, carriages, and wagons, the unsteady
gait of Barry showed but too certainly that the apple-toddy
had been already too potent for his perpendicular.

“Ride!” said he. “By gracious, Tom, I could straddle
a barrel of peach, and make it streak away as fast
as them circus fellows make their horses.”

“Humph! If you go on at this rate, your swallow
will be as good as the clown's, who means to take in his
own head, you know.”

“And you, Tom, you a fellow of sense, to believe
that cock-and-a-bull story!”

“Believe what you please, but here's the liquor.
Ho! there, Gerdts—that you?”

Nettles knew the whole country.

“What's left of me, 'Squire. But what'll you have?
Here's mountain-peach, and here's apple.”

“The apple, then, with a bed of honey for it to dream
upon. I stick to the apple, Jones; I never mix my
liquors if I can help it.”

“What!” cried the other, with a grin; “afraid!

[figure description] Page 125.[end figure description]

Tom Nettles; afraid of two liquors! Halloo! there, old
Gerdts, you don't know me; never mind; give me both;
peach and apple; who's afraid? Equal parts, old still,
and no slow charcoal dropping. Ease my eye, quickly;
it's strained by the heavy sunshine.”

Barry was becoming pleasantly perverse, and was
in the very humor for all sorts of cross purposes.
When conducted with some difficulty by his friend,
they entered the amphitheatre where they had taken
their dinner that day. The scene was now changed as
if by magic. The place was thoroughly lighted, a perfect
blaze of splendor, which showed, conspicuously
clear, the remotest parts of the pavilion. The seats,
which encircled three-fourths of the area, were occupied
almost entirely. Our two friends were compelled to
take places on the lowest bench, and within a foot of
the small rim of earth which had been heaped up around
the ring, rather as a mark than a barrier. There was
no fence to keep the spectators from the track, and to
check the erring vaultings of a vicious horse and an
inferior rider. The seats were divided into two great
and equal sections, one assigned to the whites and the
other to the blacks. They were raised (a rude scaffolding
of plank) to the very eves of the tent, and the heads of
the visitors were in close neighborhood with the shaking
canvas. Hundreds of showy damsels, with ribbons
and feathers flying, might be seen, all impatience and
sunny smiles, their several gallants being eager in describing
what they knew, and what they anticipated.
Many of these had come a great distance to the sports
of Hillabee; as, in ancient times, they flocked to the
amusements of the tournament; and for the same reason,
the equal desire for recreation and novelty, and
the want of great cities, which afford these habitually.
The dress circle was eminently well filled. The girls
and boys had crowded in from all parts of the country.
Ancient ladies, who had heard vague tidings of the circus,
or had probably had glimpses of such a vision in
their youthful days, came hither to revive old memories,

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or to gratify long-cherished desires. The old gentlemen
necessarily accompanied their wives and kindred.
The farmer was curious to see the reality of those spectacles
of which great pictures had already been made
to adorn his hamlet, and jockeys naturally came wherever
the heroism of horseflesh could be made to tell.
The negroes were not less curious. Hundreds were in
attendance, from all quarters. They had trudged or
trotted on foot, on mule, in wagon, for ten or fifteen
miles the night before, to see sights and wonders. Each
was in his best. Bright calicoes flamed on every side,
to the very summit of their circumscribed domain;
and all was hope and expectation, as Jones Barry and
Tom Nettles made their appearance, and scrambled to
a seat.

They were not kept in waiting long. The spectacle
soon began. Horses, pied and spotted, and of all
colors, made their appearance. Children rode, women
rode, the clown rode, and it was all sorts of riding. Of
course, we shall not pretend to describe a spectacle with
which everybody is more or less familiar. Journeys to
Brentford, Gilpin's race, and several other pieces were
enacted. The equestrians had their share of applause;
but, after all, the glory of the spectacle was in that
comical fellow, the clown. Buried in a grotesque and
monstrous Egyptian mask, his face thoroughly concealed,
and so artfully that its location could not exactly be determined,
his voice seemed to come from some vaulted
and hollow apartment below the ground. His antics
were indescribable. His jugglery alone must demand
our attention, as it somewhat involved one of our acquaintance.
It happened that the scene required our clown
to take wine with an African magician. He was momently
expecting him, and he was proceeding to show
the audience how he should bamboozle the magician, and
finally “swallow his soul.”

“Swallow his soul!” exclaimed Barry, in horror, to
Nettles.

[figure description] Page 127.[end figure description]

“He'll do it!” said the other, gravely. “You'll
see.”

“Here, now,” exclaimed the clown, “is a brandy-cocktail
in which I've buried Mumbo-Jumbo's soul.
It's the most beautiful drink in the world; perhaps you'd
like to try it?” said he, and he very courteously presented
it to our two friends. Barry saw, as he fancied,
some of the fine cognac of which he had partaken freely
in that very place, on that very day; and, being exceedingly
thirsty, he innocently and incontinently exclaimed—

“I don't care if I do—thank you!” Speaking thus,
he rose and put forth his hand; but, by an adroit movement,
throwing the long bunch of streamers from his
fool's cap full in the face of our hero, the clown gulped
down the beverage himself, exclaiming—

“Perhaps you'll wait till you can get it!”

The audience roared with delight. Furious at his
disappointment, and the ridiculous figure which he cut,
Barry at once mounted the clown; and, at the first
grasp, tore away what seemed to be the entire head and
neck of the unfortunate jester. With this terrible evidence
in his clutches, he looked around him aghast,
scarcely daring to guess the extent of his achievement.
The clown, meanwhile, had retreated at the first assault,
and before Barry could recover his wits and equilibrium,
for he could not well anticipate a renewal of the conflict
from one whose entire caput he carried in his hand, the
mountebank, squatting low, darted between the legs of
our hero; who had, in some measure, straddled the little
circuit of earth by which the ring was circumscribed.
The face of Barry was to the audience, and the assault
of the clown surprised him. He was lifted from his feet
before he apprehended danger; and his assailant, rising
under his burden, which he did not seem to feel, trotted
with him quite across the arena. Barry was thus carried
forward horizontally, his head addressing the white,
and his heels the negro portion, of the assembly.

“Tom Nettles—Tom!” was all that the poor fellow

[figure description] Page 128.[end figure description]

could articulate, but he screamed and kicked tremendously.
His efforts were wasted on the air. The clown
had only attained his great flexibility by exercises which
had imparted the most wonderful power to his muscles,
and Barry was but a child in his grasp. His struggle
only increased the fun. The audience shrieked and
howled with delight, in proportion to the futile efforts of
the captive; and when they beheld the captor hurry
with his prey to the negro side of the house, and saw
him pitch the unfortunate gentleman headlong into the
arms of a great fat negro wench, one of the most enormous
in the assembly, who sat trickling with oleaginous
sweat, on the third tier, one would have thought the
whole pavilion would have come down with the delirious
shouts of the multitude.

“Here's an abolitionist for you, mother Possum-fat!”
cried the clown, as he plumped poor Barry into her
embrace.

“I no want 'em!” cried the woman, shuffling herself
free from the burden. Barry, rolling out of her lap, continued
to roll down the successive tiers, until he came
plump into the soft bed of sand and sawdust, which had
been prepared for a very different animal. Furious with
rage, he rose to his feet, and, seizing a pole with which
one of the equestrians had been balancing, he darted
headlong at the offending clown.

“Hurrah, red-jacket! Hurrah, clown!” were the
several cries of the audience. “Hurrah, Captain!”
was the more cordial shout of recognition and encouragement
from those who personally knew our hero:
“that's being into him with a long pole, indeed!”

But the clown had no idea of meeting such an enemy,
armed in such a fashion; and, eluding the tremendous
blow and thrust with which Barry addressed his ribs,
he vaulted clear over the shoulder of the latter and disappeared
behind the screen which sheltered the actor
from the audience. His enemy thus out of sight, the
furious champion proceeded to wreak his vengeance upon
the inanimate objects around him. The scene in which

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the clown was to have tricked the African magician
out of his soul was a most exquisite garden of Bagdad.
There were stands of beautiful flowers, vases of great
magnitude, statues, and several rich things by way of
ornament and decoration, which, seen through the medium
of distance, or by the aid of flickering lights,
looked to be very precious. There was also a sort of
close bower, a framework draped with silk, in which
the cunning clown had placed a sleeping beauty. She
was not the smallest part of the temptations with which
the soul of the magician was to be entrapped. Barry,
with his pole, had already thrown down one or two of the
wooden flower-vases, with their precious contents, and
his pole now descended upon the bower, which a single
stroke served to precipitate to the ground. To the surprise
of the assailant, not less than the assembly, up
sprang from the ruins a most beautifully dressed damsel;
young, pretty, and habited like a Sultana. It was fortunate,
indeed, that the weight of the pole had not
fallen upon her. But it has grazed sufficiently close to
arouse all her fury; not waiting an instant, she darted
upon our hero, and, drawing the little stiletto which she
wore as a part of her Oriental costume, he might have
been made to pay seriously for his frolic; for the rage
of the woman was apparent in her closely set teeth and
her fire-gleaming eyes. But Barry seized her arm, as
she struck, and dropping his pole stood only on the defensive.
The farce began to look greatly like tragedy.
The enraged woman now shrieked and struggled. Her
husband rushed out from the interior, armed with an
axe. The clown again made his appearance, followed
by the whole troupe, each seizing whatever weapon offered
as he came. There were sailors, and Turks, and magicians,
and even little Cupid's urchins, two feet high,
whom papa and mamma were thus assiduously training
in the way they should not go. These all confronted
our unlucky jockey with the most uncompromising fury
in their looks. He had spoiled the proceedings, thrown
the assembly into the most admired disorder, and it was

[figure description] Page 130.[end figure description]

justice only that doomed him to a condign punishment.
But, if they were formidable, Barry now no longer
stood alone. Tom Nettles was by his side, and the
long pole which Barry had discarded was in his grasp.

“Hillabee boys,” he cried aloud, “bring out your
hickories!”

Twenty vigorous youngsters sprang out at the summons,
and ranged themselves on the side of the amateurs.
Great clubs of knotted hickories were already
flourishing high; and, forgetting his late danger, Jones
Barry already felt that he was a hero. He still maintained
his grasp upon the Sultana, and seemed disposed
to carry her off as the captive to his bow and spear,
when the cool voice of Nettles commanded him to let
her go. He did so; and the sleeping beauty, now wide
awake, darted into the arms of the magician, who was
her husband, upon whose bosom she sobbed convulsively,
as at a providential escape from a great danger. Thus
the parties stood, confronting each other; both looking
firm and fierce enough, and threatening trouble. Not
only did the whole troupe of equestrians range themselves
for battle under the leadership of the clown, but
one of the horses coolly marched in, covered with
panoply, and, thrusting his head over that worthy's
shoulder, seemed to promise him sufficient backing, and
in truth looked very formidable. It was a scene; the
clown, as a matter of course, opposed himself to Barry,
who, armed with a pole, looked aghast at the twofold
conflict before him, in the threatening aspect of both
horse and rider. But Nettles fortunately knew the head
men of the company. He said—

“My friends, this is altogether a mistake, which I
can easily explain, and, I trust, easily reconcile. There's
no fun in fighting, though we're by no means afraid, as
you may see, to meet any number of men or horses.
But there's no real cause of quarrel between us; and
if you're agreed, we'll separate our forces. The boys
of Hillabee will retire to their seats, keeping their
hickories warm, lest we should want them again; and

[figure description] Page 131.[end figure description]

the gentlemen of the circus will go on with their exercises
as before. In the mean time, Mr. Barry and myself
will retire with the manager here, and we'll adjust
the difficulty in private together.” A suggestion so
politic was acceptable to all parties, though, once on the
ground, the Hillabee boys did not relish the idea of returning
without having done something glorious by way
of showing how well their destructive faculties had been
developed. Barry was a little scrupulous about entering
the mysterious sanctum to which the clown and the Sultana
had retired, but, having great confidence in Nettles,
and being assured by the great coolness and confidence
of the latter, he followed him and the manager into the
place of retreat. Here he found himself amidst a motley
group. Horses were staring them in the face on all
hands. Some of the equestrians were already mounted.
Here in one corner was a trunk and box; there a table
and chair; and there a chest; and there a bundle; and
there the uniform of a giant; and there the dozen
masks and jackets of the clown. There, too, recovered
from the dust and danger of the arena, was
the unlucky colossal mask and headdress which our
hero had torn off from his enemy at the first encounter.
Nettles walked in with the air of a man perfectly at
home.

“And now,” said he, “Diavolo,” addressing the
clown, “let us begin the work of peace, as you begun
the war. Prepare us one of those excellent brandy
cocktails with which you tempted my friend to desperation.
Had you known the diabolical thirst that's
been troubling both of us the last three hours, you'd
have known 'twas quite as much as your head was
worth to mock us with anything half so delightful.
Quick, now; and let there be peace between us!”

The arrangement promised to be satisfactory to all
parties. The cocktails were speedily prepared; prepared
in a nice-looking, brass-bound bucket, of dimensions
to guarantee a sufficient taste of the beverage for
all the troupe. The bowls were filled; hands were

[figure description] Page 132.[end figure description]

shaken; eyes glistened; and, with the consent of the
magician, his lovely Sultana freely bestowed the kiss of
peace upon our hero. The example was gratuitously
followed by the clown, whose embrace and salutation
were distinctly stamped upon the front of Barry, in
unequal decorations of vermilion and burnt cork. Their
embraces seemed to affect the dextrous Tom Nettles
with a serious delight.

“How beautiful,” said he, “is it to behold brethren
thus dwelling in amity together! What a spectacle!
It is necessary that the audience should see it; that
they should see that this is no mockery; but that the
foes have freely exchanged forgiveness. Another
draught from the bucket, gentlemen,” said he, addressing
Barry and the clown, “and then go forth that the
people may witness those beautiful embraces.”

Barry had no scruples about the dram, but he rather
hung back at the proposal for the embrace in public.
His reluctance disappeared with the draught. He
swore that Diavolo was the best fellow in the world,
and made the finest cocktails; and, with an arm about
each other's waist, each bearing a cocktail in hand, they
emerged from the canopy into the area, and drank to
each other, and the audience. If war exulted in the
previous scene, philanthropy was proportionally happy
now. The audience were ravished. The old ladies
wept. The old men thought it just as well; and the
negroes were perfectly well satisfied; wondering only a
little to behold a man drinking with such a capacious
swallow, who had so recently been deprived of his head.
All seemed perfectly well satisfied but young Hillabee,
from whom some discordant hisses were heard to rise,
while the unemployed hickories were made to clatter
against the sides of the benches.

“There's a drop yet in the bucket,” whispered the
clown to his new comrade. The hint was not lost upon
Barry. He returned to the sanctum, where he found
his friend Tom Nettles. There they remained till the
performances were over, and the crowd departed; when

[figure description] Page 133.[end figure description]

they were invited to a hot supper with the troupe, in
the great area of the pavilion. The invitation was not
to be disregarded. The equestrians lived well; and
Barry and his friend were both hungry. But, were it
not so, the wishes of the latter would scarcely have had
any weight upon our delighted hero. He had been the
hero of the night, though after a somewhat doubtful
fashion, it is true; but he had been conspicuous, and
had come out of the scene with applause. Of course,
he could not doubt that it was his appearance which
was so warmly welcomed when he had come forth in
the embraces of the clown. The clapping and shouting
seemed to him the most grateful sounds to which he
had ever listened; and the brandy cocktails were the
most delicious of mortal beverages. It was a night of glorification.
The supper-table was spread. His friend was
placed on one side of the manager; he occupied the
other. Beside him, sat the lovely wife of the magician,
whose graciousness never even provoked the frowns of
her mysterious lord. At first, Jones Barry felt a little
squeamish on this subject. When she gazed so tenderly
in his eyes, and suffered her finger to rest so impressively
on his wrist, he felt a dubiousness, and looked
his doubts at the husband. But he knew not the indifference
of professional magic to those mortal subjects.
The latter saw everything without discomposure; and,
after a little turn of hesitation and doubt, our hero delivered
himself up, soul and body, to all the intoxication
of a conviction that he had won the heart of this
most beautiful of all the creatures of Faery. They
drank together, and whispered together. The hours
waxed late. Barry sang a comic song, at the instance
of Nettles, and, at the conclusion, was more delighted
than astounded, as his Sultana, throwing her arms
about his neck, and seating herself in his lap, in the
face of all the assembly, called him the finest little fellow
in the world. He did not know how he should recompense
such devotion, but by forcing a great ring from
his upon her finger. She coyly suffered him, in a

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moment after, to transfer the diamond breastpin from his
to her bosom. He put it there himself; and all this
the magician saw without seeming to regard it as in any
wise improper. The next morning, Barry found himself
where he had supped, sleeping upon one of the
benches, with a bundle of straw under his head, and
one of the horse-cloths, green and scarlet, spread above
his body. Tom Nettles, as he opened his eyes, was to
be seen standing with the manager at a little distance,
and mixing a couple of rosy anti-fogmatics.

CHAPTER X. THE HUMORS OF THE CIRCUS.

[figure description] Page 135.[end figure description]

Barry was not the man to suffer from headaches;
but his stomach was one that needed to be fortified by
tonics. The sight of his friend, when he discovered the
occupation in which he was engaged, fully aroused him.
He was on his feet in an instant, jerking up his trousers,
and approaching Nettles with the haste of a person who
fears that he may come too late. But there were some
particulars in which Nettles never abandoned his companion.
He was emphatically what young people call
“a good fellow,” and good fellowship implies the necessity
of assisting your friend and facilitating his ready
attainment of all desirable indulgences. In making an
anti-fogmatic for himself, he had not forgotten his comrade.
There was a huge vessel before him, where the
beverage stood in waiting, and Tom, Jones Barry, and
the manager of the amphitheatre, were soon engaged in
a hob-a-nobbing match that didn't stop at a single stoop.
Barry declared himself quite happy. He had enjoyed
a pleasant dream of the magician's wife, and he naturally
inquired after her.

“Look in,” said Tom Nettles, with a smirk to the
manager which Barry did not perceive, while he pointed
the latter to the sanctum where the reconciliation
had taken place the night before. Without a moment's
hesitation, our little hero followed the finger, and found
himself in the lady's dressing-room, her toilet only begun,
and she, in the most loose undress in the world,
employed before the broken mirror which hung from one
of the uprights of the tent. Barry was astounded,
and would have started back; but she saw him in the

[figure description] Page 136.[end figure description]

glass, and, wheeling round, at once summoned him,
though in the very sweetest accents, to approach.

“You are just in time,” said she; “I wanted somebody
to lace my jackets.”

“Jackets!” exclaimed Barry, aghast.

“Yes, to be sure! Come now, you're a nice little
fellow, I know. Let me see—you have small fingers.
Show yourself diligent, and help me to fix myself.
That man of mine never gives me any assistance.
There he sleeps. Look at him. He will snore till noon,
and never fairly wakens till it's time to dress for the
performance.”

She pointed to the end of a wagon that appeared
under a corner of the tent, from which, sure enough,
the ears of Barry detected a very decided snore. But
this did not encourage him. He was utterly astounded
at the new duty required at his hands. In all his experience,
he had never before laced a woman's corsets—
or unlaced them; and he scarcely knew how to understand
the Sultana. But seeing his hesitation, Sultanalike,
she stamped her little foot, and repeated her orders.
She did not leave him long doubtful that she was in
earnest.

“Come,” said she, “what do you wait for? Is it
because you're bashful? Well! at your age! But you
needn't be, here! We know a thing or two! we've no false
modesty here, I assure you. A leg's a leg, with us. We
talk plainly, and are not the worse for it. We don't
make a fuss about shadows as long as we keep the substance;
and indeed, it's only those who have lost the substance
that do. Come, stir yourself, and there's a kiss
to begin with, by way of recompense.”

A few moments found our hero awkwardly busy with
the waist of the Sultana. While thus engaged, the
manager and Tom Nettles came in.

“That woman,” said the manager aloud, “has tired
out every member of the troupe in lacing her. She
will have her waist brought within the narrowest compass,
and she breaks her cords daily in trying to make it

[figure description] Page 137.[end figure description]

smaller. There's not a hand among us that she has
not made sore in the abominable work, and now she
takes to our visitors.”

“And why not?” said the Sultana, with the air of the
orient. “Is he not rewarded? It is not often he is
permitted to study a good model.”

“A little too round, madame,” said the manager.

“Too round!” screamed the Sultana.

“Not a bit,” said Tom Nettles, coolly interposing to
span the waist. “An exquisite union of symmetry and
strength.”

“Strength!” demanded madame.

“Yes, to be sure; strength is necessary to grace, even
in a woman. It's the mistake of too many of the sex
that an air of feebleness is supposed to imply delicacy.
It is rather the reverse. I wish to see vigor with grace;
and a woman ought to seem as capable of a fine wrestle
as of a fine sentiment.”

“I've a great mind to trip your heels for that,” said
the Sultana, pertly.

“And if I am to take a fall, I should wish for no
worse embrace than yours. But I leave Barry to the
danger. He's a better wrestler than myself, and it
strikes me that his lacing begins to look much more like
hugging. Beware, Jones, or I'll tell your sweetheart.”

Barry blushed to the roots of his hair.

“Has he a sweetheart? Is he in love?” demanded
the Sultana.

“The danger is that he is in love with more than he
can manage. Yesterday he loved but one woman.
What lessons you have taught him, since that time, may
be guessed from the way he performs the present operation.
His lacing is very like embracing; and, if he
goes on at this rate, he'll be for a wrestle in earnest.”

“And if he is,” said the magician, suddenly thrusting
his head upward from the tail of the wagon, “I'll engage
that Nell can throw him, or any man in company.”

“Nell! Oh, you wretch!” cried the Sultana.
“Nell!” She was Madame Zerlina, in the bill of the

[figure description] Page 138.[end figure description]

performance. “Was ever such a monster! How he
takes a woman's name in vain! Do some of you give
him his dram, his phlegm-cutter, his antifogmatic, or
whatever else he calls it, that he may sober himself to a
civil way of speaking.”

“Ay, Nell, bring it yourself.”

The wife seized a tumbler that stood on a chest beside
her, and held it to Nettles, who filled it from the flagon
which had been brought in by the manager. She darted
away the next moment to her magician, without seeming
to remember that Barry, who, in his clumsiness, was
still busy at the strings of her bodice, was compelled
to follow after her, or lose the ends of the cord which
had been confided to his care.

“There, you!” she cried, thrusting the drink into his
clutches.

“Isn't she a beauty?” said the magician, with a leer
to Barry, as he took the liquor. Barry could only
smile and simper, and look silly.

“Beauty!” said she; “too much of a beauty for you.
That's the way he flatters a woman, with Beauty! Beauty!
on his lips, said half-asleep, and his mouth opening on
the quart-pot, which alone made him waken up. You
don't talk of my beauties now, but you feel them.”

“Yes, indeed,” said Nettles, “and he'll stay feeling
them all day if you'll let him.”

“Oh, Tom!” murmured Barry with a grin.

“Don't you mind him,” said the Sultana. “Have
you done now. There!” she exclaimed, wheeling about
and grasping the unsuspecting Barry in her arms, giving
him an embrace, before releasing him, that half took
away his breath. “There, that's your reward. It isn't
often a fine woman bestows a squeeze upon her sweetheart,
and I only do it now to show you what your friend
means, when he says that the beauty of a woman means
vigor as well as grace. If you'd like to try the wrestle
after the squeeze, say the word, and I'm ready for you.”

“And I'll go a hundred on Nell against the field,”
cried the husband, from the wagon.

[figure description] Page 139.[end figure description]

“Oh, beast there, with your Nell,” cried the heroine,
indignantly. “I've done everything, I've even thrashed
him, to teach him good manners, but it's so much love
and labor thrown away.”

“But how about the wrestle? Who takes me up?”
demanded the husband. The Sultana herself looked
about her with the eye of a challenger. She was still
only dressed in part, and her fine bust and figure afforded
not a bad idea of Cleopatra. Her breasts seemed
breaking through the very partial restraints upon them,
and her arms, partly bare, were admirably white and
rounded, revealing that equal union of muscular and
flesh development which crowns the person with
strength, without lessening its beauty. By this time,
however, the admiration of Jones Barry had in some
degree given way to misgivings and apprehension. His
sense of the beauty of the woman was somewhat impaired
by his disquiet at her boldness. The privileges
to which he had been admitted had certainly shown no
warmth or feeling on her part, and, in fact, she had
treated him rather like a boy than a man. He was
awed and abashed by her manners, rather than delighted
with her charms; and the single squeeze which
she had so gratuitously bestowed upon him was quite
sufficient to satisfy him, without desiring the wrestle.
He accordingly said nothing, while Nettles, with exemplary
coolness, quietly remarked that “he, perhaps,
should have no serious objection to the trial, could he
be sure of fair play, but as he had never found that
from a woman yet, he was not disposed to incur any unnecessary
risk.”

By this time one of the subordinates made his appearance,
announcing breakfast in the amphitheatre.
Nettles gallantly assisted the lady in completing her
toilet, and this affair adjusted, he gave her his arm,
and conducted her into the temple. He was followed
by Barry, who felt nothing but envy at the ease and
readiness with which his friend performed the duties of
the courtier. The equestrians played the part of hosts

[figure description] Page 140.[end figure description]

with great liberality and good-humor, and the meal lingered
for more than an hour, in which, while the cates
were various and ample, they constituted but a minor
portion of the attraction. The coolness, readiness,
great resource, experience, and anecdote of these performers
furnished an unfailing subject of wonder to
Barry. They seemed to know everything about the
world, and some of them seemed quite at home on the
subject of books. Zerlina, our Sultana, or “Nell,” as
the magician, her husband, persisted in calling her,
was quite a dabbler in literature. She was read in the
dramatic poets, and had an ambition for the stage,
which some mysterious influence prevented her from
seeking to gratify. She made frequent exhibitions, at
the entreaty of Nettles, of her powers, while reading
favorite passages, and thus increased the degree of awe
and admiration which Barry already entertained for
her. Her civilities were somewhat less free than they
had been the night before, but they were still such as
a matron might readily bestow upon a moderately grown
boy. Poor Barry, though pleased with much of this
sort of petting, was yet humbled by it! and it was with
something of a feeling of relief that he received a hint
from Nettles that it was time to depart. The troupe
were to exhibit another night at Hillabee, as the multitude,
though diminished, was still sufficiently large to
compensate the performance. There were extemporary
races throughout the day, but generally with common
horses. To these neither Barry nor Nettles greatly
inclined, and their separation from their hosts of the hippodrome
was pretty much a leave-taking of the field.
Nettles had known the manager, the magician, and the
fair Zerlina, some time before, and they parted as old
friends. The Sultana squeezed Barry's hands with a
frank earnestness, as she bade him good-by, telling him
he was a nice fellow, and she should always remember
him by his gifts, pointing to his ring and breastpin.
It was with a twinge that our hero heard this speech.
He thought sulkily of the half-maudlin tenderness of

[figure description] Page 141.[end figure description]

the night before, in which he had been beguiled of
jewels that he would prefer to see on very different
fingers. The thoughts of Nettles, in some degree, took
the same direction with his own. As they rode together
homeward, and when they had fairly emerged from contact
with the multitude, the former, with a quizzical
smile, said to Barry—

“I say, Jones, what the d—l would your sweetheart,
the fair Geraldine, have said, could she have seen
you sitting in the lap of our Nelly, eh?”

“I didn't sit in her lap, Tom; she sat in mine.”

“So much the better for the sight! What would
she have said, or what could you have said, had she
suddenly plumped in upon you when Nelly was in your
lap, her arm about your neck, and giving you that smack
of the lips, which seemed to you like wine from heaven?
You got drunk almost instantly after it. You hugged
her like a hero, until she couldn't stand it any longer,
and broke away, as if she feared some harm from her
magician husband.”

“Oh! I didn't, Tom. Now don't you be telling that
nonsense about.”

“How can I help it, Jones, my good fellow? The
joke is quite too good to be lost. For the one smack,
the moment you had tasted it, you gave her a dozen,
till she gave in and cried `'nough! 'nough!' as fervently
as the fellow whose sockets are filling fast with sand
from his enemy's fingers; and such a squeeze about the
body that she fairly heaved again, though pretty well
used to tight bracing.”

“Never, Tom; never!”

“But it's a true bill, Jones. Then, you sung a comic
song; and, in trying to get on the table for a Virginny
reel, you slipped over into the sawdust, and lay
there with a gurgle in your throat, as if you were trying
to drink and sing at the same moment. You don't
know, I suppose, who laid you out upon the benches?”

“No, Tom, I don't.”

“Who, but Nell and myself? She took your arms,

[figure description] Page 142.[end figure description]

and I your feet, and we swung you up, saying, all the
while—


`Warn ye once, warn ye twice,
Warn ye thrice, and away,
And away, and away, ye go!'
She brought the horse-cloth and spread over you, and
the clown delivered a sermon over you, in which he
said that, though a small man, your skin and stomach
were capable of stretching to a brandy cocktail as
readily and extensively as those of any man he ever
saw; and not one of us said a word against it. You
were treated gloriously, Jones, and you were glorious;
but what would the fair Geraldine say to it all?”

“By gracious, Tom, she musn't hear of it!”

“Had she only seen you lacing the jackets! Ha!
ha! ha!”

“Tom, my dear fellow. Tom Nettles”—

“Looking for all the world like a great boy, with his
big eyes spreading at the sight of an apple-tree filled
with fruit, yet trembling to think of the steel-trap lying
quiet in the grass below. Oh! Jones, Jones, if ever
a man looked at a woman greedily, it was you, this
morning.”

“Now, Tom! Tom! Don't! Never!”

“I'll swear it! You did! Jones, I'm afraid you're
a bad fellow among the women. You ought never to
think of Geraldine Foster. She, at least, ought never
to think of you. You don't deserve her. She's too
good for you. You'll make a bad husband. And I
can't think of suffering her to marry in the dark. She
must know—”

“Tom, my dear fellow. Honor bright! But, I see
you're only joking.”

“Joking, indeed! No! no! There's only one thing
that will prevent me from interfering, and that is—”
He paused.

“Eh! What?”

[figure description] Page 143.[end figure description]

“That there's no sort of use for it, as there's no sort
of danger that she'll ever marry you.”

“And why not, I wonder?”

“Why not! When you prefer to stay here at a
horserace, to seeing her home. When you let her go
off under the escort of your rivals, while you go a gander-pulling.
When the circus is more grateful to you
than her company; and when, not content with the
performances of other people, you take another man's
wife into your lap, and—”

“But, Tom, she don't know; she won't know—”

“These things are sure to leak out; and when it's
known that you gave this pretty woman your ring and
breastpin, and promised to remember her as long as you
lived—”

“No, I'll be k—d if I did.”

“And I'll be k—d if you didn't!” responded the
tormentor.

“Tom, by the blazes, you're no friend of mine, or
you wouldn't talk so. But, I know you of old. You
only do it to worry me. You won't blab.”

“Well, suppose I don't? What chance do you stand
with the fair Geraldine when you neglect her so, and
when you have such chaps as Ran. Hammond and Miles
Henderson against you?”

“I don't care a curse for Hammond. She shows him
less favor than all the rest. She's cross to him; and,
for that matter, it don't seem to me that he cares a
curse for her.”

“Don't you believe it!”

“Well! let him come. It costs nothing, and it comes
to nothing. She don't care for him.”

“I'm not so sure of that!”

“She don't show it, at least. She's more shy of
him, by far, than she is of me or Henderson.”

“The shyness is in his favor. Was Nelly shy of you?
No, indeed! She'd kiss you in sight of fifty people.
But, you only be saucy, more than she is prepared to
suffer, and she'd as soon dirk you as drink. This very

[figure description] Page 144.[end figure description]

shyness of Geraldine Foster shows a feeling that she
wants to hide. It's the same as saying, `This man is
something to me.' He has an effect upon her, and let
him but pursue—”

“But he don't pursue.”

“He don't! You don't know Ran. Hammond; and
I tell you, Jones Barry, that if any man of you three
ever marries that girl, it's Ran. Hammond. I know
something of him, and I know something of woman, and
if he isn't already as deep in her heart as you were in
your cups last night, though without getting drunk by
it, then I'm not one of the Nettles family.”

“Well! that's speaking sure; for you are one of the
Nettles family, and make yourself known wherever you
go for a real son of the bush, if it's only by the feeling
you produce. But you don't raise my skin, Tom; for,
between us, I feel pretty sure that the game is to be
mine.”

“Ah! Ha! well!”

“The mother promises me—”

“The mother! You're more likely to marry the
mother than the daughter. But it isn't the mother, exactly;
and Mrs. Foster has no such influence over her
husband's child as to say how that cat shall jump. If
ever there was a woman who had a will of her own,
it's that girl Geraldine Foster. I'm thinking that the
mother favors you; but I don't believe she can do much
for you, unless the daughter is a weaker vessel than I
think her.”

“Well! only you don't blab about this circus business,
Tom—”

“I don't know how I can keep in, Jones. It's too
good.”

“Oh, by gracious, Tom, you must! I'll be hanged
if I wouldn't fight my own brother, if he told upon
me.”

“Yes, but you'd hardly fight me, Jones, for you
know I'd kill you; and then you'd lose your fortune,
your sweetheart, and everything else. No! you won't

[figure description] Page 145.[end figure description]

fight me, Jones; and if you talk in that sort of way, I
shall have to come out with the story. I'll have to go
to Mrs. Foster. I'll have to say, I must see Miss Geraldine.
Then, I'll up and show her about the lap, and
the squeeze, and the kisses, and the lacing, and the—”

“Tom, stop! By gracious, you must stop. Here's
somebody coming after us!”

The conversation, thus interrupted, it is not our object
to pursue. Nettles had no other purpose in what
he said than to annoy his companion, though the opinions
which he expressed with regard to the superior
chances of Hammond in the pursuit of Geraldine Foster,
in comparison with the two competitors, were honestly
entertained. He dined that day with Barry, who kept
bachelor's hall, and who recurred to the subject after
dinner. Here again Nettles repeated his opinion. Barry
did not seem satisfied that he should do so; and, in
the course of the conversation, betrayed something of
a hostile feeling towards Hammond, which the other was
surprised that he should entertain.

“Somehow,” said he, “he crosses me at every step.
He bought that place of Wingard's, though he knew I
wanted it—”

“But didn't he want it too?”

“I suppose he did, but—”

“But you overslept yourself, having been drunk at my
house the night before, and didn't get to the sale in time.”

“Yes, true! and the fellow got it for half the money
I was willing to give.”

“More lucky for both of you, perhaps.”

“Then he gives Miles Henderson this bloody mare,
that takes `Geraldine' off her heels—”

“But you bought `Geraldine' after he had given
`Sorella' to Miles—”

“That's true; but he advises him to run her, and tells
him how to do it.”

“He did one and not the other, and did only what
any other might have done, and nobody have cause to

[figure description] Page 146.[end figure description]

be angry. The truth is, Jones, you are in too bad a
humor to do Ran. Hammond justice.”

“And if, as you say, he stands the only chance with
Geraldine Foster, sha'n't I have good cause to be in a
bad humor? Now, you see, though you prove to me
that all his influence upon my successes comes up naturally
enough, yet, somehow, when you find a man
always in your way—taking the start of you himself—
helping his friends to do so—crossing you at this, and
beating you at that—the worse from his not trying to
do so; it looks as if he were your born enemy. You
can't help feeling as if he was. But, I tell you, I'll not
stand much more crossing; and some of these days, if
things get worse, Ran. Hammond and Jones Barry will
have to ask the question, before witnesses, which is the
better man.”

“Pshaw! pshaw! You haven't drank quite enough,
Jones, for a sensible judgment in this matter. A few
glasses more will give you the right pitch for thinking.
Now, let me tell you, I won't have you make a judy of
yourself in this fashion. Hammond's a man whom
you'll do well to have no quarrel with. He's an ugly
customer. He'll be slow to take his gripe—won't do it,
as long as he can decently help it; but when he does,
he takes hold like a bulldog, and never lets go till his
teeth meet in the flesh. You're a fool, Barry. You
have fortune, and good liquors; enjoy yourself in all
sorts of ways; keep blooded horses and run races; a
fine parcel of gamebirds, and enjoy the cockpit like the
Napoleon of Mexico. You keep the best of wines, and
are not afraid to drink them; you can ride, run, and
fight, and enjoy yourself in all three ways, in one day—
now with a goose, and now with a clown; and have, besides,
a devilish keen eye for the women, so that you'll
be thinking of one seven miles off, while another's in
your lap.”

“No more of that, Tom; pass the bottle; and if you
say so, we'll send out for a few larks and make a night
of it.”

“Agreed; a night of it.”

CHAPTER XI. A MAIDEN'S VOW.

[figure description] Page 147.[end figure description]

Leaving our good companions to make a night of it,
let us follow the footsteps of the party from which we
turned to pursue the more devious progress of the pair
with whom we have so long loitered. We have seen that
the ladies were well attended in their departure from
the race-course. On this ride, our two gallants necessarily
did their utmost to make themselves agreeable.
Without being in anywise remarkable for his talent,
Miles Henderson was a very pleasing and amiable gentleman.
He could converse rationally and gracefully,
but without ever rising into those subjects, or those portions
of a subject, upon which, to converse well, most
persons must first have learned to think independently
for themselves. But, in the ordinary language of commonplace
and society, Henderson could always be respectable;
and, being an observing man, he had gathered
a sufficient supply of material for chitchat to enable
him, usually, to prove interesting to ordinary companions.
We have seen him taking that side of the
carriage upon which sat Mrs. Foster. This lady was
comparatively young. She had succeeded to the arms
and name of Mr. Foster at early womanhood, and when
he needed a nurse rather than a wife. She had survived
him, without altogether surviving her youth. A good
natural constitution, vulgar health, a lively temper, and
an exquisite feeling of satisfaction with herself, had
served to keep her in good bodily condition. She was,
in other words, a buxom widow, fair, fat, and forty;
who did not wholly forget herself in taking care of the
fortunes of her step-daughter. She was vain and giddy;

[figure description] Page 148.[end figure description]

and, though satisfied that the devotion of Miles Henderson,
not less than that of Randall Hammond, was wholly
given to Geraldine, she was not the less satisfied with the
external homage which she incidentally received in consequence.
Sometimes, indeed, she seemed to forget the
claims of her step-daughter wholly, and exhibited a degree
of satisfaction at these attentions of the suitors, and an
anxiety to monopolize them, which frequently occasioned
a smile among these parties. It was one of her causes
of dissatisfaction with Hammond, that he never suffered
her to misconstrue his attentions. Approaching her
always with profound civility, his address and style of
conversation, when directed to her, were never of a kind
to suffer her to be in any degree forgetful of the fact
that she had a daughter as well as Jephthah; and the
way to have won the heart of such a woman was to have
shared with her, in some degree, a portion of that devotion
which most women value beyond all other possessions,
even where they do not design to secure or keep
the worshipper. Hammond, perfectly aware of her
character, knew exactly what she wanted. But he was
too proud a person to make any sacrifices to her vulgarity
or vanity. He was one of those men who feel that the
course of true love not only does not usually, but that it
cannot, in the nature of things, often run smoothly; and
felt sure that a portion of his triumph must ensue from
the capacity of his future wife to rise, through affection,
superior to the discouragements of prejudice and domestic
opposition. He was, perhaps, not unwilling to be known
to Geraldine through the medium of doubts which nothing
but real affection would attempt to overcome; and
some knowledge of her character persuaded him, indeed,
that this was really the most politic course for the attainment
of his object. Accordingly, we have seen him
betraying what would seem a degree of indifference to
the game, which he did not feel. He showed no anxiety
to take or keep possession of the field; no feverish
desire to hold his ground in the presence of rivals; but,
on the contrary, a calm and courteous readiness to share

[figure description] Page 149.[end figure description]

all his opportunities with others; and, indeed, to forego
them wholly on occasion, giving way to the advances
of those who were notoriously his rivals. Mrs. Foster
was greatly at a loss, for a while, to understand the policy
of this seeming indifference; but her instincts enabled
her to discover the truth, which her reasoning faculties
never could have attained; the more particularly as she
found that Geraldine Foster, flattered by the constant
devotion of her suitors, was somewhat piqued by the
dignified refusal of Hammond to engage in the common
struggle. With a vulgar policy, the mother's object
now was to impress upon our heroine an idea of the
arrogance of Hammond; his pride, which refused the
ordinary civilities which all lovers are prepared to bestow;
and an insolent consciousness of superiority, which
made him always anxious to deny the service which gallantry,
and a sincere affection, would be only too happy
to perform. His refusal to run his horse at Hillabee,
as we have seen, was one of the instances which she
found to produce the desired impression upon the mind
of her protégé. To a certain extent she had succeeded
in producing this impression. The proud and haughty
spirit of Geraldine Foster, conscious of her charms, and
accustomed to the devotion of the other sex, and the
envy of her own, was mortified at the little seeming
power which she possessed over almost the only man
whom she had ever really desired to subdue. She felt
his strength, his superiority. Her attention, when he
spoke, acknowledged it; her anxiety for his coming declared
it, even to herself; and the growing feeling of
her dependence upon him made his apparent indifference
only the more offensive to her vanity and painful to her
heart. The step-mother had worked, not unsuccessfully,
upon these feelings; but Geraldine was so much a creature
of impulse that the work of months might be undone
in a moment. A happy accident might bring the lovers
together in explanation, and mutual sympathies, suddenly
rendered active, and seeing under the influence of
favoring circumstances, might render the determined

[figure description] Page 150.[end figure description]

will of Geraldine such an ally of her heart as to defeat
forever the subtle designs of the hostile mother. It was
the game of the latter, therefore, to provoke disgust in
the mind of the girl, to annoy her pride into resentment;
and, seizing upon some particular moment of mortification,
to force her into engagements which should be fatal
to the hopes of Hammond. Her labors to this point
had produced pique only, and not disgust in the
bosom of Geraldine; and this feeling, Mrs. Foster
had the sense to understand, was rather favorable than
otherwise to the hopes of the lover. It declared his possession
of a power, already, in the heart of the capricious
beauty, which felt his neglect rather as a loss and
a denial, than as provocation of scorn; and the step-mother
trembled as she saw that it was far easier for
Geraldine to feel the alleged neglect and indifference of
Hammond than to defy or to resent it.

If he was not altogether conscious of the sort of game
Mrs. Foster was disposed to play and was playing, his
own was one that tended greatly to overcome and baffle
it. His plan of operations has been already sufficiently
described. It consisted simply in the maintenance of
the most dignified civilities, and in foregoing no courtesies,
in performing them with a grace as perfect as possible,
and in studying how to interest the object of his
attentions, without seeming to be engaged in any such
study, or to possess any such interest. If the plan was
wisely conceived, it was as dextrously carried out.
Randall Hammond was no ordinary man. He was a
person, emphatically, of character; with a strong will
and fiery passions; but a stern, methodical, and well-ordered
judgment, which enabled him to subdue himself
at the required moment, and reject from his eyes all
the disguises of prejudice, and from his tongue all the
impetuous resolves of passion. He was never more fortunate
in his game than when escorting the ladies from
Hillabee. We have seen with what temper both of them
left the ground. Mrs. Foster, quite dissatisfied with the
results of the racing—as they not only left her favorite

[figure description] Page 151.[end figure description]

beaten, but proved the correct judgment of Hammond
in an exercise in which he did not himself indulge; and
Geraldine, piqued and offended at the perverted language
reported of Hammond, so conclusively confirming
the representations of Mrs. Foster, and so disrespectful,
seemingly, to Geraldine herself. Hammond soon discovered
that something was wrong, and having sufficient
clues to the character of Mrs. Foster, and perfectly
aware of her feeling for himself, he readily understood
that the mischief was in her. But there was no way
to make a direct issue, and he was not one of that
feverish race who refuse to leave anything to time.
He was content to pursue his own game as if nothing
had happened, and to make himself agreeable in spite
of his enemy. His resources were all accordingly put
in exercise, and even Henderson wondered at the exhibition
of conversational powers which he never dreamed
that his friend possessed. But friends are generally the
last to appreciate the powers of one another, since they
seldom recognize those feelings of mutual provocation by
which alone they can be made to develop themselves.
Gradually, Geraldine forgot her pique and disquiet, in the
delight which she experienced at the racy remark, the
keen point, the pleasant anecdote, contained in the conversation
of her companion; and it was with feelings of
vexation, at beholding a progress that she could not
prevent, that Mrs. Foster threw herself back in the
carriage, and surrendered herself to a protracted spell
of silence and bad humor, answering Henderson only
in monosyllables, and compelled, in spite of herself, to
listen to the dialogue which seemed equally to show the
indifference of both the parties to all her intrigues.

The cavalcade reached the residence of Mrs. Foster
in this manner: Geraldine, if not perfectly reconciled
to Hammond, forgetting for the moment all her causes
of complaint; Miles Henderson a little dulled by what
he saw of the success of his friend, but reconciled to
his own apparent decline of fortune by the conviction
that his fortunate rival was indeed his friend; while

[figure description] Page 152.[end figure description]

Mrs. Foster brooded over other schemes for fomenting
anew the displeasure of her step-daughter.

“Foster Lodge” was a place of considerable beauty.
The immediate approach to it was through a broad
avenue, nearly a mile in length, guarded and overshadowed
from each side by the stateliest elms and oaks.
The dwelling stood upon a gentle eminence, with a broad
and sweetly-sloping lawn of green on each side of the
avenue, extending nearly to the public road. The
house was half shaded by great trees, a modest dwelling
of two stories, with a piazza fronting the avenue,
the roof of which, concealed by a parapet, was sustained
by six great columns, that rose up majestically from the
basement to the upper story.

Dinner was in waiting when the parties arrived.
Ham and turkey smoked upon the board, and there
were birds and fowl, eggs and milk, and the usual variety
of vegetables, so certain to be found in all good
farmsteads. Mrs. Foster was an economist. She was
a farmer's daughter; a poor one too; and had been
early taught in lessons of thrift and painstaking. These
she had not forgotten in her improved fortunes. Indeed,
they were her virtues. Her estates thrived in
her hands; and, if not a good tutor for the daughter,
she was a very good nurse of her property. This was
ample, if not large. It was the misfortune of Mrs.
Foster that she did not esteem it ample. This was one
of her reasons for preferring Jones Barry to either of
her present guests. The fact of his greater wealth, and
that feebler character which made him subservient to
Mrs. Foster's humors, were the chief sources of that
favor which he had found in the good lady's sight.

Dinner passed off pleasantly. Hammond continued
in the same humor which had accompanied him from
the race-course. Even Mrs. Foster, herself, was sometimes
compelled to smile at his sallies; and when she
did not, it was only from the annoying conviction that
they were rapidly undoing all her work. It was night
before the party rose from table, and a short interval

[figure description] Page 153.[end figure description]

was afforded for promenading in the piazza before tea
was set. This was followed by music. Geraldine sang
and played like an angel; this, at least, was the open-mouthed
declaration of Jones Barry, in her own hearing;
and both Henderson and Hammond were endowed with
rich and tolerably well-trained voices. They accompanied
the lady; while, at intervals, they resumed the
conversation, either with herself or the step-mother.
It was eleven o'clock before any of the party seemed
to suspect the flight of Time, and then they were only
apprised of the fact by Hammond rising to take his
leave.

“But why not stay all night?” was the frank demand
of Geraldine. Mrs. Foster addressed the same
inquiry to Henderson. The latter looked to Hammond
entreatingly; but, true to his policy, he declared the
necessity for being at home early in the morning; and
he had promised his mother, who would sit up and expect
him, to return that night. He had five miles to
ride.

“But you, Miles,” said he to his friend, “you need
not ride. You can stay.”

This speech again worried both mother and daughter.
It seemed strange that one who really loved a lady
should encourage a rival to keep possession of her ear,
and should give him opportunities. But Henderson
felt ashamed of the weakness which prompted him to
take advantage of the permission; and, somewhat desperately,
declared his purpose to ride also. He had engagements
also which required his early rising; and, in
short, the gentlemen soon took their departure together;
the ladies, one of them at least, sinking down upon the
sofa with an air of sullen disappointment.

“A cold, haughty upstart!” was the exclamation of
Mrs. Foster.

“Who, mother! of whom do you speak?”

“Of whom? Why Hammond. He is not capable
of any feeling but pride. He is pride and ambition all
over. He love! He has no more heart than a

[figure description] Page 154.[end figure description]

mill-stone, and seems to look upon women only as so many
creatures made to wait upon man, and minister to his
wants and pleasures.”

“Well! I wonder how it is you can see things in this
light. Now, really, Mr. Hammond seems to me to be
equally a man of feeling and sense. He speaks like
one. He doesn't throw about him his sentiments, and
he wastes no professions on the air; but he gives to
every subject the proper sympathy that it seems to require;
and it can't be denied that he can discuss the
greatest variety of subjects, and in the most interesting
manner.”

“Oh! he has subtlety, and wit, and cunning!”—

“Cunning! Well, that is the very last word which
I should ever have used in speaking of Mr. Hammond.
I see no proof of it. He is too frank, too bold a man,
to be cunning; and is particularly free from it, I'm
sure, in dealing with ladies. Who ever hears him compliment
one's singing or playing, except, perhaps, by
his attention?”

“That's his cunning!”

“Well, I confess, I like it better than that silly artlessness
which, whether you play well or ill, rewards
you with the same undiscriminating flattery. But he
goes further. He has told me plainly, on more than
one occasion, where I made a false note, or sung with
false emphasis, or blundered in any respect; for his ear
is quite as good as his opinion is honest.”

“That's his cunning again! He sees that you dislike
the common talk, and he changes it to suit you.”

“Something more than that, mother. What did he
say to both of us last week about gentlemen proffering
themselves, as a matter of gallantry, to pick up a lady's
glove, or handkerchief, running across the floor to do
so, when it lies at her own feet, and she might pick it
up herself?”

“Well, and he is only a cub for his opinions.”

“On the contrary, mother, I think he is quite
right. I quite agree with him, that it is enfeebling,

[figure description] Page 155.[end figure description]

and so enslaving, women, to do for them those things
which it is proper for them, and easy, to do for themselves;
that it makes us improperly dependent upon
men, when we expect them to serve us in any besides
substantial and weighty labors, which it is inconsistent
with the nature of our sex to undertake; that it
impairs the dignity of the man, and, while putting
woman into a false position, renders him capricious,
and makes her, in the end, the victim of a tyranny.”

“All an artful notion to excuse his own cubbishness
and want of gallantry.”

“Well, now, mother, you certainly can reproach him
for no want of courtesy and civility throughout the
day. He has been with us, the only gentleman who
never left us during all the racing.”

“That's his policy. He stuck to you, as a matter
of course.”

“Yet, in the same breath, you describe him as lacking
in the usual devotion — as being too proud and
haughty, and—”

“I see, Miss Geraldine Foster, that your heart's set
upon this match. I see that you'll throw yourself into
his arms whether he will or no—”

“What you say, mother, let me tell you, is not likely
to prevent me. But there's no danger of that. I confess,
I think him a very superior man to any of my
other suitors. You can't deny his superiority.”

“By no means; he's a wit, and a colonel of militia,
and they talk of sending him to the legislature or Congress;
and, I suppose a young lady can't do better than
to fling herself headlong into the arms of so promising
a person. But I can tell you this, Miss Foster, that,
when I was of your age, the man who swore that he
knew no woman for whom he would run his horse, and
that, too, when the young lady he was courting was entreating
him to do so, would be courtesied out with a
`No, sir, I'm obliged to you, but beg to be excused.'”

“I don't know that Mr. Hammond is seeking me,
mother, and it's very certain he is not courting me; but

[figure description] Page 156.[end figure description]

this I can tell you, that, if ever he should do so, he shall
be made to swallow that speech. He certainly, before
he gets this hand, shall run a race for it—he shall!”

“Will you stick to that?” demanded the mother,
eagerly.

“Will I not! It's a vow; change it who can.” And
the elevated form, the flashing eye, and extended hand,
lifted upward as she uttered this rash resolution, to
which the keen cunning of the mother had goaded her
impulsive spirit, presented a fine subject for the dramatic
painter.

“Only stick to that, Geraldine, and you'll test his
passion! You'll see which he thinks of most; this lady
of his love, or his iron gray. I tell you, his soul is full
of mule-pride; he's as obstinate in what he says as if
the whole world was bound to give way to him.”

“I sha'n't give way to him! He'll find me as firm
and proud as himself. He shall run his horse; he shall
race whether he likes it or not, if he has any hope of
me. But he does not think of me, mother. I'm sure
you're mistaken.”

This was said with an air of despondency, as the
maiden threw herself upon the sofa and covered her
face with her hands.

“And what if he does not?” responded the mother;
“you surely are not so badly off for beaux that you
need care whether he cares or not. I don't think he
cares much for anybody but himself. I tell you, he's
too proud for love of any woman, as you may suppose,
when he openly declares that he will not run his horse
for all the favors of the sex. Only you stick to your
vow, and you'll see what his love will come to.”

“He shall do it, if he seeks heart or hand of mine.
He shall do it, he shall!” We may add that the excellent
mother did not suffer her to forget the vow.