Ezzy, as the servants called him, was a brother to Little Billy, almost as smart, but in character as unlike as Jacob and Esau were in appearance, for Billy had very little character and Ezzy a great deal. He was short of stature, well figured, good featured, perfect teeth, and though 60 years old, was full of life, gracious and light-hearted. He doted on a horse race, could cut the pigeon wing and was as fond of a fox hunt as Squire Weston. As much as he loved to eat, he would leave a steaming breakfast of hominy and sparerib if he heard a pack in full cry.

He had a most remarkable memory; for instance, he knew the mothers of all the calves and lambs, the names of all the oyster pungies, schooners and canoes in the river. I suppose in Bolingbrook District there were a hundred foxhounds; he knew all of their names, and when they passed him in full cry would exclaim, “Da goes Chimes, Jerry-Myah, Boxer, Juno, Jew-Drap, Sweet-lips, Heatherbell, Sweetheart,” etc. He sang, played the banjo and was a decided beau. Indeed, he was a born sport, and like his brother, Little Billy, not fond of hard work. He was an exceptionally good horseman, had good hands and good judgment; in Queen Anne’s County had ridden and won two races for his Marster; could break a yoke of oxen in a week; schooled the hunters, broke the colts, rode them bare-back, and, as he would say, “Dey jes’ drapped into his ways.”

Ezra had his faults, however, and annoyed the overseers with his shortcomings. For example, he doted on coon hunting, and when he had been coon hunting all night, would go to sleep for hours next day husking corn and not husk enough to pay for his bacon. If a fox was run through the estate, Ezra would pack in and forget his work. When the overseers would call him to account he would say, “I cudn’ help gittin’ ’stracted an’ harkin’ up dem houn’s. Mars Matthew wuz ridin’ in de lead on Skylark, an’ his favorite houn’, Jerry-Myah, wuz tonguein’ ez sweet ez uh melojin, an’ leadin’ de pack.”

Late in September, 1857, to judge Cotswold sheep his Marster was invited to the great cattle and horse show to be held in Memphis, Tenn., the next month. As Ezra was fond of animals, and trifling about hard work, had good manners and full of kindness, his Marster concluded to send him to Memphis with eight sheep, the pick of the flock.

They stopped in Baltimore, where Noah Walker & Company fitted him out with two suits of brown livery with brass buttons. He was given a new hat, as he expressed it, “Wid uh burr on one side de hat;” but his new boots particularly charmed him, as the best servants got boots, and the others shoes. From Baltimore, Ezra was sent direct to Memphis, and his Mars Matthew joined, in Richmond, Col. John Ware, of Virginia, who bred Cotswold sheep and exhibited in Memphis.

At the Memphis show, three of Ezra’s sheep took blue ribbons, one a red ribbon. He was standing in front of his sheep cot, two days after arriving—standing as though he was going to have his picture taken, delighted with himself and the blue ribbons. A man came along and said:

“Has your Marster many sheep like these?”

“Many? Erbout ten thousan’; dey jes’ run an’ tuck de fus’ dey kotch.”

Another man said, “Whose sheep are these?”

“Dey ’long ter Mars Matthew; his gre’t granpa, dey tell me, holp C’lumbus ’sciver Talbot County, an’ dat wuz befo’ de Petracks cum ober.”

Presently a neat, likely looking mulatto girl came along, looked admiringly at Ezra, leaned over the rail of the sheep cot and said demurely, “Kin I pat one ub yo’ sheep?”

“Sut’ny, honey; dey won’ bite,” Ezra said. “Do you lib ’roun’ heah?”

“Yas, indeed;” and she added, “Wha you cum fum; ’roun’ heah?”

“Bless meh soul an’ body an’ meh body an’ soul—ter think I cum fum dis place! Why, dar ain’ no salt watah heah! I cum fum de Eastern Sho’ ub Maryland, Talbot County. Uncle Stephen Viney say dat he heah John Poney say dat he heah Pawson Phil Demby say dat meh fambly bin libbin’ in Talbot County fum de times ub de Petracks. It’s de fines’ place on uth; don’ hab ter wuck much; da ain’ much lan’, mos’ ev’ything salt watah, ribbers, bays, creeks and cobes. Fuh instinct, I tecks meh boat”——

“Is you uh free pusson?”

“Me? Dey don’ ’low free niggahs down dar; dey all qual’ty slabes.”

“Well, you said you had uh boat.”

“Sut’ny I did. Ef’n uh serbent wants uh boat he jes’ say ter Mars Matthew, ‘I wants uh pine tree, meh Marster, futto meck uh boat,’ an’ rite ’way he say, ‘Teck yo’ choice in de fores’;’ an’ den ten er twelbe serbents almos’ meck dat boat in one night; dey call ’em dug-outs. Well, I kin teck meh boat an’ cross de watah fum Mars Matthew’s ter Mars Jimmy’s, erbout uh harf mile, in uh harf hour an’ mebby fish meh net on de way; ef’n I had ter go by lan’, it wud be twelbe miles erroun’.”

“Is de fishin’ good down da? Any mullets?”

“Mullets! We gib dem ter de hogs. We eats what dey call spot, hog-fish, yaller-neds, catfish, pearch, sheepshead, crokusses, bay mackrel—dat lars fish de bes’ ub all; don’ hab ter mobe yo’ lips an’ tongue ’tall; hit jes’ melt in yo’ mouf—an’ crabs an’ oysters dey almos’ beg you ter eat ’em. Coons in de swamps, an’ ’possums in mos’ ev’y ’simmon tree. Serbents don’ hab much ter do; I dress up dis way mos’ all de time.”

“Well, you sut’ny do look peart in dat suit, an’ you sut’ny mus’ lib in uh pow’ful fine country. I’m a chambermaid, an’ ’longs ter Mars Bedford Forrest, who’s showin’ some game chickens an’ fine cattle, heah; dat’s one ub his serbents stan’in’ in front ub dem cattle; ax him ter bring you ’roun’ ter-night ter see me; I’s jes’ pinin’ ter heah sum mo’ erbout dem ribbers an’ ocean. Meh name is Muhtilda.”

“Meh name is Ezra, but dey call me Ezzy.”

“Well, kin I ’speck you, Ezzy?”

“Yes’m; erboutin supper time.”

Every night Ezra went to see Matilda, and every day, as long as she could get off, Matilda came to see Ezra. The result was, at the end of the week they were married. Ezra never said a word to his Marster about it, and urged her to be silent. She was faithful, dependent and obedient. Ezra told her “he wuz not gwine ter say anything ter his ole Marster tell de day befo’ gwine home, and den his Mars Matthew wud buy huh. Ef’n I say anything rite ’way he mout git rejected, teck me home by mehsef, teck off dis nuniform; mo’n dat, he mout whup me, an’ nebba let me go ter any mo’ shows.” Matilda grew so worried that she cried and cried; she was more than perplexed, almost hysterical, so she told Ezra she was going to see and talk to his Marster. Ezra was affrighted, and said, “Ef’n you tu’n fool an’ git ter prancin’ erroun’ Marster, he will say dat he is sho’ you mus’ uh run ’way wid me, an’ dat he don’ like Tennessee niggahs.”

Matilda had more courage, however, than Ezra, so she interviewed Ezra’s Marster, who said:

“Are you a slave?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I hope your Marster is good and kind to you?”

“Y-a-s, indeed, meh Marster; he is ve’y ’zactin’ an’ punnounced, but he is jes’ ez kind ez kind kin be; ef’n I hadn’ fell in lub wid Ezzy, dat Eastern Sho’ an’ his boat, I wudn’ arsk you ter buy me an’ leabe Mars Bedford; but you know Ezzy hab ve’y cutesome ways.”

“Suppose I can get your Marster to buy Ezra and make him promise never to sell him as long as he behaves himself; how then? I hate to part with him, but I have servants enough.”

“Meh Marster, dat will settle de ’spute rite ’way; please sell Ezzy to Mars Bedford. I’m sho’ he wudn’ part wid me, an’ Ezzy wild suit him futto handle de hosses.”

Mr. Forrest said he would not take five thousand dollars for Matilda; she was all in all the best servant he ever owned, and after a brief talk not only bought Ezra, but the sheep; so they did not have to come home and carry their tails behind them.

N. B. Forrest soon became attached to Ezra, thought the world of him, and when the Civil War broke out took him as his body servant. Ezra served him faithfully during the war, and when General Forrest disbanded his troops at Gainesville, Ala., May 9th, 1865, General Forrest told Ezra he would give him a home and take care of him as long as he lived. Ezra said, “He wud like once mo’ ter see Mars Matthew an’ Miss Mary an’ den cum back.” Whereupon General Forrest presented him with Pigeon, a mule, and gave him money enough to go home. He rode some hundred and seventy miles to the home of a Mrs. Sanson, where he stayed two weeks, and then took the train from Rome, Ga., for home; and one bright, beautiful morning early in June, timid and lonesome the steamer landed him at Miles River Wharf, Talbot County, Maryland, a mile by water from “Fairlands.”

All faces were strange to him; he knew no one and no one knew him. “The Rest” had been burned during the war, and the new house looked strange. Across the river and opposite “The Rest” was “The Anchorage.” It looked changed; there were no little negroes playing on the lawn. “The Villa” further up the river was almost hidden by the trees that had grown so since he left. Timidly he turned his longing eyes on “Fairlands,” and he saw, a mile away across the river, grand pecan nut, majestic oak, poplar and horse-chestnut trees. He pulled from his pocket a bandanna handkerchief almost big enough to cover a baby’s crib, and said, brushing tears from his eyes, “Dat’s wha Mars Matthew an’ Miss Mary lib. Dat’s ‘Fairlands.’” He asked an old darkey unloading fish and soft crabs from his canoe if, for thirty cents, he would land him at the foot of the “Fairlands” garden. “Git abode; I got meh net sot at de foot ub de gyarden.”

“Ev’ything is so changed,” he said inaudibly, as he took his seat in the bow of the boat. “Mars Bedford tole me I al’ays had uh home wid him,” and he almost regretted leaving his far Southern home.

What a lovely day it was! The air was of caressing softness; the breeze was so light that the sail sometimes jibed, the ripples kissed lightly the sides of the boat that floated lazily along; the balmy June air, the sweet breath of the salt water, all, coupled with Ezra’s fatigue, soothed him and presently he was asleep. His hat fell off beside him, and

Here and there on his face were little tufts of beard that looked like tiny grains of popped corn.

In about an hour the boatman turned the stern of his boat towards the shore and pushed her on the beach at the foot of the garden back of the dwelling—spanked the water with his paddle, and Ezra awoke, got out, walked through the water bushes and soon was strolling along one of the garden walks. He thought how strange it was in the month of June those once leafless and carpet-like walks should be strewn with leaves; then he noticed that the box hedges were ragged and in places had paths through them; the grape arbors were decayed here and there and tottering, and many grapevines were trailing over and embracing leafless and dying peach and pear trees——

Only the birds seemed to care for and own this once enchanting and beautiful garden, “warbled their native wood notes wild” and sang hallelujahs to the morning-glories and other flowers. Acres of air were filled with the delicious perfume of blooming grapevines, and the canticles of birds.

Ezra sank upon an old rustic seat and said again, “Mars Bedford say he wud al’ays teck care ub me. I’m sorry I spent meh money and lef’ de Souf, but I wan’ ter see Mars Matthew an’ Miss Mary once mo’,” and again he took out that bandanna handkerchief. His solitude was broken by old Sam’l, once one of the gardeners, the only servant that stayed when they were emancipated. He had on his arm a basketful of cling peaches. He said, “I s’pose you bin sorf crabbin’ ’long de sho’ an’ cum up heah ter res’ yo’sef dis sweet, lubly day?”

Ezra said: “I ain’ bin crabbin’, do’ I lubs crabbin’ an’ lubs crabs futto eat. I’m jes’ fum de wah; fit in mos’ ev’y battle. Mars Bedford Forrest wuz wid me all de time. Ub cose you hearn tell ub him.”

Sam’l looked at him inquisitively, and said:

“Now, hush!”

And then Ezra’s face beamed, he recognized old Sam’l, and he said, “Don’ you recommember me, Brer Sam? I’s Ezzy, Leetle Billy’s brudder, dat Mars Matthew sold ter Mars Bedford befo’ de wah.” Whereupon they embraced.

Ezra was very hungry, and soon commenced to eat up the peaches, when a little darkey about three years old whom Sam’l said was his grandchild, looked into the basket and said something that probably meant to ask for peaches. Whereupon Ezra said:

“Do de chile talk, Brer Sam?”

Brer Sam’l said, “Well, I kyant tell ezactly; he mecks de sounds, but kyant fo’m de wuds yit.”

Then with timidity and a trembling voice he asked Sam’l for Mars Matthew and Miss Mary. Sam’l said, “Losin’ he good an’ faithful serbents dat wuz ’swaded ’way, seein’ de lawn kivvered all de time wid twigs an’ leabes, ev’ything goin’ ter wase, young Mars Matthew gittin’ kilt at Petersbu’g, ’stressed him so pow’ful dat he got so he cudn’ recommember anything; fuh instinct, he wud fogit de tex’ befo’ he lef’ de chuch; he almos’ fogot his A B C’s; den ergin, he wuz eighty years ole, an’ den he died. Mistis ’structed Pawson Phil Demby, John Poney, Damon Danridge, Rasmus Jemes an’ mehsef ter meck de toom. She wudn’ hab nobody else, an’ you kyant ’magine how fine it look.

“Ezzy, sence you bin ’way we has had uh gre’t preacher at Zion Chuch, an’ we hab all got erligion an’ tu’n Presbyters; de shirks wuz so bad we had ter gib up de Babtis’ erligion. Jes’ let me git annerr barsket ub peaches, Ezzy, an’ den I’ll go up an’ tell Ole Mistis you’r heah, an’ she will sho’ly see you.”

Whilst Sam’l was gone, Ezra thought of the straw stacks he used to climb and slide down, how his young Marster, killed at Petersburg, used to drive Rasmus, Saul, Little Billy and himself tandem, all harnessed up with sweet potato vines, and prancing with sheep-rib bits in their mouths like colts. And then he recalled the colts he broke, gazed upon the river where he used to wade the hunting horses along the beach to wash and tone up their legs; then he thought of his brother, Little Billy, his coon dog, Jasper, and of his boat, and wondered where they all were. He wiped his eyes, took a chew of tobacco, when his crowded thoughts were diverted by Sam’l’s return. So by and by Ezra was bowing to and greeting his “Ole Mistis.” Thinking to condole with her and leave the impression that he always thought his Marster of sound mind, he said, “Miss Mary, people use ter say dat Mars Matthew wuz rash-nal, but I nebber did think Mars Matthew wuz rash-nal.”

The old lady could scarcely repress a smile, and told Ezra the quarter where he was born and lived (on Heart’s Cove, a beautiful sheet of water near the homestead and an arm of Miles River) should be renovated and made comfortable as his home, and all that she required of him in his declining years was to keep her in oysters, fish and crabs, an easy task and eminently to the taste of Ezra.

In a few days, helped by his young Marster Arthur, Ezra was comfortably domiciled in his quarter on Heart’s Cove, and was very happy. He wished he had ridden Pigeon home instead of giving her away; he missed her so. He did not seem to worry about his wife the war had separated from him. One day whilst he was chinking and fixing up his boat, which old Sam’l had taken good care of, and singing lustily—

his young Marster Arthur, a lad of 15, who had already grown fond of him, and found him always entertaining, took a seat near him, asked him some questions about the South and if he saw anything of the war.

“Who, me? Mars Bedford wuz wid me an’ we fit mo’n uh hunard battles, I specks, skirmages an’ all.”

“Who do you mean by Mars Bedford?”

“Why, Gen’l Forrest; de gre’tes’ warrior dat ebber libbed. Yo’ Pa sole me ter him. He wuz jes’ Mistah Forrest dem days, an’ wuz uh private de fus’ ub de wah; think ub dat! Well, when de wah broke out he tuck me fuh one ub his bodyguard; dat is, ter guard his body an’ keep dem blue coats ’way. He had uh hunard an’ fifty men in his bodyguard, an’ I wuz rite ’side him, his serbent an’ waitah—an’ mo’n dat, wid him night an’ day, ceppin in de battle; den I al’ays hilt his hoss when he fight on foot. You see when de battle ’tall ornsartin he meck dat bodyguard git of’n deah bosses an’ he draw dat big swo’d ub his’n an’ say, ‘Foller me,’ an’ ’mejately de blue coats see Mars Bedford an’ dat long swo’d ub his’n, dey sho’ ter run, don’ meck no difference ef’n dey ez thick ez grasshoppus. Some people say he cud look like uh goblin an’ tu’n inter uh sperrit in uh han’-ter-han’ fight; once uh week he sharpen his swo’d same ez uh raiser, an’ arfter his brudder got kilt (nebba saw uh man cry so in meh life) he sharpen dat swo’d ev’y day an’ he say, ‘Ef’n dey don’ s’render arfter I say s’render, I’ll cut de haids of’n ev’y one I gits close ’nuff ter,’ and he did it, too.”

“Now, Ezra!”

“Young Marster, I hab seed too much sufferin’ an’ too much sorrow ter meck fun ub it; mo’n dat, I’m gittin’ ter be uh ole man, an’ I wan’ meh heb’nly Marster’s lub; so what I am tellin’ you is de truf. I will cross meh hyart an’ bref uh thousan’ times ef’n you wan’ me ter.’ Then he was contemplative for a moment, when he resumed chinking his boat and singing—

“Stop singing, Uncle Ezzy, and go on with your story.”

“Jes’ think ub dat chile callin’ me uncle. I’s gwine ter teck him fishinin’ ev’y day wid me, an’ sorf crabbin’, too, when I gits dis boat fix’. He is de ve’y spit ub Ole Mars. Well, young Marster, I wo’ uh gray nuniform, an’ rode de bes’ mule in de Souf, name Pigeon. Some wha erboutin Chrismus, 1862, close ter Lexington, Tenn., uh gre’t big kunnel s’rendered ter Mars Bedford. He wuz almos’ skeered stiff, trem’lin’ like uh aspine leaf, but when Mars Bedford say, smilin’, ‘You fellows didn’ meck much ub uh fight,’ it gib dat kunnel condidence, an’ rite ’way he look peart an’ say, ‘Gen’l, won’ you please exchange me soon?’ An’ Mars Bedford say, ‘Yas; go an’ git me de bes’ mule in yo’ cumman’, an’ I’ll exchange you fuh de mule.’ Dat’s how I got Pigeon. Befo’ dat I had uh wufless, lazy hoss, an’ Mars Bedford wanted ev’ything lively ’roun’ him. Den ergin, I carried uh coffeepot, jes’ big ’nuff fuh me and Mars Bedford, sugah, coffee, hard-tack, blackin’, blackin’ brush, soap an’ towels, an’ sich like. De Gen’l tied strings ’roun’ de bottoms ub uh heavy par ub canvas pants, an’ I stuffed deah legs full, tell dey jes’ strut out; den I put dem straddle Pigeon’s back an’ tied ’em ter de saddle so ef’n de amblabus wuz behin’ I had ’nuff perwissions fuh Mars Bedford an’ me tell de amblabus cum up. Pigeon, she al’ays kep’ up. De mammy ub dat mule mus’ uh bin uh thurrybred, she wuz al’ays peart an’ fresh; de fac’ is, da wan’ much jackass erbout huh; she nebber blowed huh trumpet ’ceppin she horngry. When I got ev’ything on meh ahmy saddle, front an’ back, de pack wuz erbout up ter meh shoulders when I sot in de saddle, but den ergin, it didn’ pester me, kase I wuz almos’ settin’ in uh bungproof.

“Pigeon wuz ve’y feard ub watah (da sut’ny wuz no Babtis’ blood in huh) an’ dat mecks me think ub what dey call de Streight raid. It wuz in April, 1863. Mars Bedford had been fightin’ consonly fuh days, an’ de hosses an’ men hadn’ slep’ fuh two nights, ’ceppin in de saddle, an’ had nuffin ter eat. Mars Bedford picked up uh box ub crackers, put dem in his amblabus an’ divided ’em wid his men. Da wan’ uh thing in meh pants legs futto eat, ’twuz ’zausted. Befo’ tryin’ ter cross what dey call Black Creek de Gen’l made uh speech ter his men, callin’ fuh all dat wuz willin’ ter cross; all ’sponded ’ceppin de men asleep in deah saddles, an’ I wuz one ub ’em. Gen’l Streight wuz retretin’ jes’ ez fars’ ez he cud, an’ cross ober an’ bu’nt de bridge ober Black Creek. De creek wuz muddy, swollen, deep an’ dangersome. Mars Bedford wuz meddotatin’ how ter cross, an’ de sharpshooters wuz firin’ fum de udder side. Seberal ladies walked up, an’ one ub ’em erbout sebenteen year ole, say, ‘Whose cumman’ is dis?’ an’ somebody said, ‘De advance ub Gen’l Forrest’s cavelry.’ She wuz all stirred up, an’ she say, ‘Pint Gen’l Forrest out,’ an’ when dey pinted him out she made such uh curchysy she mos’ swep’ de groun’, wiped wid huh ap’on de pusspuration fum huh face and said, ‘Dear Gen’l Forrest an’ brabe soldiers, I know ub an ole ford neah heah, erboutin uh harf mile ’way, an’ ef’n I had uh mount I cud teck you rite ter de ford. We hab no hosses; dem blue coats teck ’em all. De way is th’oo briars an’ fallen trees an’ drif’wood an’ sich like. I kyant walk well in it.’ Den Mars Bedford say, ‘I will put you up behin’ me, my chile.’ Then huh ma say, ‘No! No! meh daughter; you mout git kilt, an’ you is meh only yew lam’.’ Den Mars Bedford say, drappin’ dem sorf eyes ub his’n on huh an’ lookin’ ez fine ez uh cherrypin er serrypin, ‘Git up behin’ me fum dis fallen tree.’ Den huh mudda almos’ hab spavins, but she clum up on dat hoss. Mars Bedford call fuh uh scout an’ ’way he went. Ub cose I wuz wid him; jumpin’ logs, tearin’ up de briars an’ weeds. Arfter dey had gone boutin uh harf mile, Miss Emma, dat wuz huh name, say, ‘Stop, Gen’l Forrest, dis heah ravine runs down ter dat ford an’ de ford runs dis way: > .’ Den dey got off an’ walked ter de ribba, but de watah wuz so high an’ so muddy dey cudn’ see de ford; but she say, ‘It’s bin heah ev’y sence I wuz uh baby. I know almos’ ev’y rock in it an’ ezac’ly wha it is.’ Den I heah bang! bang! bang! and den erboutin fo’ty bangs, an’ heah cum de bullets. I wuz peepin’ wid Pigeon fum behin’ uh big rock. Oh, I wuz al’ays wid him. Den I heah Miss Emma say, ‘Gen’l stan’ behin’ me; dey won’ shoot me.’ Mars Bedford say, ‘Git behin’ dat rock an’ stay da tell I cum fuh you.’ Den Mars Bedford teck out his spyglass an’ spied all ’roun’ an’ he heah some twigs crackin’ behin’ him, an’ he looked ’roun’, an’ da wuz dat chile almos’ in his footprints. De Gen’l’s eyes almos’ spit fire, an’ his mouf trimbled. Den he say, jes’ like he orderin’ uh charge, ‘Stay behin’ dat rock!’ Den she say, ‘Gen’l, I wuz fear’d you mout be wounded, an’ I wanted ter be neah you.’ Den he sot down befo’ de rock—me an’ Pigeon wuz behin’—tu’n’d his sorf eyes up ter de sky an’ say, ’De worl’ kyant whup us wid sech women!’^[18] Pres’ny he holped huh up de ravine—all de time de sharpshooters wuz firin’, an’ some ub de balls wen’ th’oo huh dress—an’ when she got up de ravine she say, ‘Dey jes’ wounded meh crin’line!’ an’ she tuck orf huh sunbonnet an’ shuck it at ’em. Gen’l Forrest sant her back ter tell de res’ ub de cumman’ ter cum, artil’ry fus’. Almos’ befo’ dey got ter de ford dey limbered up, fired uh few bung-shots, an’ dem blue coats soon lef’ dat ford. Den Mars Bedford tole one ub his officers ter teck uh regiment an’ hole dat ford, and dey hilt it. Ev’ything wuz ready, an’ Mars Bedford started erhaid ober de ford, when Miss Emma call him back, almos’ cryin’, and she say, ‘You’r gwine ’rong; you see de ford run dis way: > .’ Den she clum er rock an’ say, ‘Lemmy git up in front ub you an’ show de way.’ De Gen’l say, ‘No; git up behin’; dey mout shoot you.’ An’ she say, ‘No; I mus’ ride in front, hab de reins, so dat I meck no mustake.’ Den Mars Bedford teck orf his nuniform coat, fold an’ put it in front ub him, den he teck orf his felt hat an’ put it on de coat, an’ she jump on jes’ ez spry ez uh colt, an’ he say ter his soldiers, ‘Follow me.’ His scout, Mars Torm, wuz one ub de fus’ ter follow. Mars Bedford stop his hoss an’ say, ‘You kyant go; yo’ ahm is badly shot an’ broken; you is not fit ter fight er swim.’ So den he wuz orf ergin. De hosses wuz neighin’, de creek wuz twissin’, rum’lin’ an’ tum’lin’, de hosses stoppin’, stum’lin’, an’ backin’ jes’ de same ez ef’n ’twuz dark. I cudn’ say nuffin but meh prayers, an’ I mos’ choke sayin’ dem. Mo’n dat, Pigeon she wuz carryin’ on high, jes scan’lus; wudn’ eben put huh feet in de watah. De watah wuz so high dey had ter teck de caissions orf, an’ de soldiers waded wid de powder on deah shoulders. It tuck two hours ter cross, but bless Gord, dey all got ober. Befo’ dey got harf way ’cross Mrs. Sanson, Miss Emma’s mudda, wuz at de ford, an’ she wuz almos’ ’zausted fum walkin’ th’oo de briars an’ tangled bushes.”

Ezra commenced again to chink his boat, singing—

Arthur was by this time intensely interested, and after Ezra had bitten off a fresh chew of tobacco, said, “Well, what then?”

“Well, den Mars Bedford rode back wid Miss Emma, got orf his hoss, tuck her down—I nebba saw him so ’cited an’ hainsome. Den he mounted, tuck orf his hat, kissed his han’, jes’ so, an’ soon he wuz dashin’ up de hill ter jine his troops. Mars Torm, po’ feller, did look so ’stressed ter be lef’ behin’.

“When Mars Bedford wan’ talkin’ his eyes jes’ ez sorf ez uh ’possum’s, but when he wuz serioussum an’ opened his mouf, da wan’ no apples in his eyes, nuffin but fire, an’ when he tole his favorite scout, Mars Torm, ter stay back, he jes’ tuck root on dat spot.

“He wuz uh ve’y curisome man; fuh instinc’, he had uh swo’d made jes’ futto suit hissef. It wan’ quite ez long ez uh fence-rail, but mos’ nighly; you wudn’ think he wud cut blue coats haids orf but he wud. It’s so curisome—he wuz so gentle an’ he talk so sorf, but den ergin his eyes, when he on uh scout er charge, jes’ like uh fish-hawk’s. How-some-ebba, I once heah ole Mars Nickey say uh race hoss dat prances an’ bucks an’ goes ev’y which way at de pos’—jes’ like uh dug-out in rough watah—ain’ no race hoss; dey th’ow up deah tails befo’ dey go two miles. But de nice quiet ones like de fo-mile hosses Mars Matthew use ter own, when dey at de pos’ you’d s’pose dey habin’ deah pictur taken. Well, Mars Bedford wuz sho’ly uh fo’-miler in his ways, an’ he al’ays had his way, too.

“Mrs. Sanson inwited Mars Torm ter meck huh house his home tell he git well; mo’n dat, she spressify huhsef dat she al’ays lubbed ter nuss Cornfederates. Den she look at Pigeon an’ me an’ say, ‘I kin teck good care ub you, too, an’ yo’ mule. Peter, Simon an’ Nancy is ve’y ole, so you kin holp ’em ter milk de cows, chu’n de butter an’ pick de strawberries. Young Marster, I stayed da fuh two weeks, until de watah fell in Black Creek. I got fat, so did Pigeon, an’ den I crossed de creek an’ jined Mars Bedford.

“Oh, go on, Uncle Ezzy.”

“Well, in erboutin free monfs Mars Torm, de scout, jined us. He looked fat an’ slick, an’ Gen’l Forrest lubbed an’ ’spected him so he kissed him. He didn’ kiss me, but I wud uh kissed him.”

Between you and me, kind reader, after greeting General Forrest, “Mars Torm” hurried to his humble hammock. His thoughts were more of “Black Creek” than the tented field. From a pocket in his gray jacket he pulled out and fondly kissed a daguerreotype. When he opened it a pressed rose leaf fell out. It may have been the rose leaf which a dear kind hand had placed between the pages she loved to read to him, and the mate to the one he had. He sank into his hammock, and the tranquil twilight saw him weeping, and then reciting:

A bugle sounded. Forrest was in the saddle. The scout’s reverie was over.

“Well, de nex’ big fight wuz at what dey call ‘Brice’s Cross Roads;’ dat’s de place Mars Bedford had uh spavin [fainted] fuh one hour. I fanned him consonly wid meh hat; he had de gre’tes’ condidence in me. At uh place call ‘Ripley’, a few days befo’ dis fight, uh farmer sant what dey call in Mississippi, mountain oysters ter Mars Bedford. Dey ain’ nuffin ter Eastern Sho’ oysters; some people say dat Mars Bedford eat too many an’ dey gib him de spavin, but I know dat ain’ so. I wuz waitin’ on de table an’ stan’in’ rite behin’ him, an’ arfter helpin’ Gen’l Beauford an’ Gen’l Rucker he stir dat soup fuh mo’n five minutes befo’ uh mountain oyster cum on top. Den I say, ‘Dar’s one, Marster,’ an’ he tu’n an’ gimmy uh look wid dem eagle eyes ub his’n dat meck me trimble. I know what meck him sick, an’ I’m gwine ter tell you. De fightin’ wuz so furisome dat Gen’l Forrest say ter his bodyguard, ‘Dismount; draw yo’ swo’ds an’ foller me,’ an’ when de blue coats seed Mars Bedford, ’way dey went. Well, he had so few men ’long side de blue coats, dat not uh man cud be spared ter go an’ git watah, so Mars Bedford felt so thusty an’ weary dat he drunk de powder watah fum de sponge bucket, an’ dat’s what gib him dat spavin.

“Honey, you ain’ but fifteen years ole, so Brer Sam’l say, an’ ef’n I wuz ter tell you how many wuz kilt an’ wounded in dat fight it might meck you see ghoses an’ witches in yo’ sleep, an’ keep you fum growin’. I hilt Gen’l Forrest’s hoss, Pigeon an’ two other hosses when he dismounted, an’ ’pears ter me de hosses looked ’stressed, da wuz so many kilt on bof sides. Now, dat’s all I’m gwine ter tell you erboutin battles.

“Young Marster, chillun musn’ know too much. Fuh instinct, yistiddy I wuz chinkin’ dis boat (an’ I gwine ter name huh Miss Emma) when Mars Jimmy’s chillun cum erlong gwine home fum school; dey clum all ober me, an’ pres’ny one ub ’em say, ‘Uncle Ezzy, what is uh vulgar fraction?’ Ub cose, I had ter tell de truf, so I say, ‘Hit’s somethin’ little boys an’ girls musn’ talk erbout.’

“In May, 1865, we all s’rendered at Gainesville, Alabama. Mars Bedford gib me Pigeon an’ money ter cum home wid ef’n I wanted ter. Fuh fo’ days I hunted ’roun’ Gainesville ’mong de troops futto fine Mars Torm. I knew’d he lib near Rome, Georgia, an’, ub cose, he had ter ride de same road I did, so I wanted him ter let me ride ez far ez Mrs. Sanson’s wid him. Dem sweet people wuz so kine ter me I wuz gwine ter gib ’em Pigeon; mo’n dat, I wuz feard ter ride by mebsef in uh gray nuniform fum Gainesville ter Black Creek, erboutin two hunard miles. How-some-ebba, I ’cluded ter ride jes’ at night, an’ bless Gord, in erbout uh week I struck Black Creek ford horngry an’ tired. De birds wuz singin’, roostus crowin’, hens uh cacklin’ an’ de watah in de creek ez clear ez uh jewdrap, an’ Pigeon she jes’ nach’ly went in de watah kase she seed Mrs. Sanson’s house—wuz horngry an’ ve’y tired. I wuzn’ watchin’ de mule, an’ de fus’ thing I knewed Pigeon gib uh monstus buck an’ mos’ jumped of’n de ford in dat deep watah; den she tuck uh good look wid huh ears an’ went ’long—-an’ what you s’pose frighten’d dat mule? He! he! he! he! dar sot on uh plank ’tween two rocks Mars Torm (no wunna I cudn’ fine him) an’ Miss Emma fishin’ in de deep watah at de foot ub de ford. I meck bleebe I didn’ see ’em, an’ dey sut’ny didn’ see me; you see dey wuz fishin’. When I got ’cross de ford, Pigeon wuz so tired she stop an’ res’, an’ I watch to see ef’n de fish bitin’, kase I wuz al’ays fond ub fishin’, and I heah Mars Torm say, in words ez sorf ez dem riffles, ‘I lub dis creek; de watah so repose, an’ cums twissin’ in dis big pool gittin’ stiller an’ stiller tell it seems ter stop, res’ an’ be so happy. Oh, ef’n meh hyart wuz ez happy ez dis stream! It chatters, an’ sings, an’ smiles, an’ baves itself in de sunlight; it looks so contented, but I am so sad’—an’ he did look rejected. Den Miss Emma open huh cherrypin mouf an’ say raal sorf, ‘What’s de mattah; yo’ ole woun’ hurt you?’ An’ he say, ‘No; it’s de new woun’; I mus’ leabe ter-morrow, so I mus’ tell you dat yo’ sweet eyes, lubly hyart, beautiful, brabe soul has ’chanted me ev’y sence I fus’ saw you, an’ I wan’ ter arsk befo’ I go, dear Miss Emma, dat you will let me lub you. I don’ arsk you ter lub me.’ Jes’ de way I use ter cote—He! He! He! ’ceppin I use ter say:

“Den Mars Torm spressify, ‘Fuh free monfs, dear hyart, I et yo’ bread an’ butter’—an’ I think he say mullasses—‘an’ ter-morrow I go ter seek meh fortune, an’ ef’n Gord prospers me, I shall arsk you to meck meh life ’chanted.’ Den she say, ez sorf ez de note ub uh martingale, ‘Thormas.’ Den he say, ‘Angel, did you say Thormas?’ An’ she say, ‘Yes; meh brabe an’ gentle’—an’ rite ’way ’pears ter me dey bof had on dat big sunbonnet ub her’n; an’ wussa yit, de two fishin’ rods wid deah reels wuz floatin’ down dat ribba, ober an’ ober de riffles. Dey wuz fogot when dem two chillun said yes ter one nerr.

“Well, ’pears ter me all ub uh sudden I got so sleepy dat I put meh ahms ’roun’ Pigeon’s neck (she wuz use ter dat) an’ went ter sleep. Bimeby I woke up wid uh curisome an’ mos’ quaresome feelin’. Bless de Lawd, I tho’t uh jack-uh-ma-lantern had got me, sho’. Dem chilluns wuz feelin’ so peart an’ sassy dat dey tied erroun’ meh neck uh live eel dey had kotch, an’ I wudn’ fogit er fogib ’em ter dis day ’ceppin dey wuz in lub an’ I wuz uh lissinin.’ Honey, I wuz skeard stiff. Bung shells wuz nuffin ter dat.

“Dey wuz all so kin’ at Mrs. Sanson’s (de Lawd bless dem people) I stayed dar two weeks res’in’, an’ den dey sent me ter Rome, Georgy, futto teck de train fuh ‘Fairlands.’ When I got in de kerridge ’long side Simon, Miss Emma say, ‘Dear me, Ezra, what is you gwine ter do wid Pigeon?’ So I say, larffin’ an’ sassy like, ‘I gib huh ter you, Miss Emma, an’ Mars Torm, fuh uh weddin’ present.’ Mars Thormas smile an’ say, ‘You scan’lus ole scamp.’”

In his narrative dear old Ezra showed wonderful memory, but forgot to mention that in that hour of anguish, whilst crossing Black Creek, as the waters got deeper and deeper, finally up to the flanks of the horses, Mrs. Sanson sank upon her knees and with wrinkled, aged and uplifted hands, said:

“From lightning and tempest, from plague, pestilence and famine, from battle and murder, and from sudden death.

“Good Lord deliver us.”

Early in the spring of 1866 Ezzy frequently paddled his canoe over to “Woodstock,” where in a cabin on the riverside lived Jerry and Ceasar Butler, old bachelor brothers. Their sister Cassey, a widow of some six months, was their guest. The brothers for the most part lived out on the water, oystering, fishing and crabbing. Cassey liked her surroundings so much that her visit was now three months long, and she interested herself mostly in raising chickens and ducks. The dusky damsels in the neighborhood said Cassey was going to marry Brer Snake Bit Jim, a hand on Captain Stitchberry’s schooner, the “Margaret Jane,” and he had been keeping company, as they expressed it, with her for about five months. She was the loudest singer in Zion church, a wholesale Baptist, and walked in the water like a pious one when immersion time came, and some uncharitable people said that when she came home from meeting chickens had better roost high. Though twenty years younger than Ezra, his war stories and adventures charmed her. She thought him a hero and soon they were betrothed. Ezra was not one of the slow-paced sort.

Ezra’s young Marster was very much annoyed at the idea of his marrying Cassey. He knew her to be self-willed and high tempered, and told Ezra that if he brought her to Fairlands he would charge him $25 a year for his quarter and ten acres; but Ezra was too fond of telling war tales and having a listener that almost smothered him with caresses when he told of hair-breadth escapes. So one bright May day Parson Phil Demby pronounced them man and wife—his third wife.

Ezra made a living crabbing, fishing, oystering and cultivating a little grain. He was an expert angler, and if a dinner was given by any of the gentry between May and November and a boiling rock wanted, Ezra was notified and he would be sure to catch the rock. He loved children and children loved him. If the overseers’ little ones wanted to go fishing, they would go to the garden and in sight of him commence to dig worms and when they reached the bateau, he would be there bailing or shoving her from shore. Soon he would add sufficient peelers and soft crabs to the bate, and then to the hurdle. Ezra’s pole, some eighteen feet long, was of cedar growth, with the bark stripped off; a coarse line and cork about the size of a duck egg, and when he gave a grunt and slashed it out, the water almost surged; but somehow or other, the fish, and good ones, too, loved his bait. “Ef’n you chilluns don’ stop er talkin’ an’ rockin’ dis boat I’ll paddle straight home. You pester de fish so dey won’ bite, an’ hit ’stresses me pow’ful.”

Autumn came and he did not find his quarter as happy as formerly. As a consequence, he spent a great deal of his time at the mansion. Even the solemn and sour old maiden housekeeper, Miss Betsy, whose apron strings were strung with keys and who for forty years had lived at Fairlands, was indulgent, and welcomed him. One day I came upon him cleaning her bird cage and singing over and over:

I said, “Why don’t those canaries lay?”

“Miss Betsy say dey bof boys,” was his reply.

The cook liked him, and he liked her more than he did Cassey. He often toted for her baskets of chips to make the fire burn brightly, put on the big back logs, and turned the turkey in the tin kitchen. Twice a week on winter nights he was sent for to beat the hominy in the big mortar. When he grew weary of the iron pestle, and wanted to chaff some servant, he would say, “I sut’ny does lub ter beat dis hominy—a—heh—heh—heh,” and then we boys would “spell” him and he would praise our industry until we nearly collapsed from fatigue.

“O, call back yesterday; bid time return.”

He had a local reputation for his original sayings and deserved it. For example: “You kyant eat uh hoecake but once;” “All moufs mus’ eat, but all moufs kyant eat gravel;” “Ev’y man’s mouf ain’ uh prayer book;” “Uh case orntried is hyard ter justify;” etc., but from being chaffed by the young men at the “Royal Oak” and St. Michaels, towns near by, where he sold his crabs and fish, and bought fishhooks and tobacco, had become somewhat shy and reticent.

One cold and windy day in December I started for Wild Goose Marsh, famous as snipe ground, with the view of burning the same. So to fully enjoy Ezra’s confidence and to get him to talk freely, I put a half-dollar in his hand, invited him to stop shucking oysters and go with me to the marsh and assist in burning the same. His young Marster’s pointers, “Rob Roy” and “Rose,” whom he had adopted and who had adopted him, were lying in his boat. He expatiated a few moments upon the “quaresomeness ub snipe an’ jack-uh-ma-lanterns,” and then got in my carriage. Meantime I was taking in his raiment. He said, “I’m not dress up, kase I’m shuckin’ oysters.” He wore an old dressing gown some one had given him in the long ago. It must have had twenty patches from the size of a blacking box up to a tin plate. His vest, from patches, was of many colors; it was fastened with seven buttons, and no two of them alike. One foot was shod, and the other wrapped in an old piece of carpet. “Meh cawns hu’t me so,” he said. He was smaller and more bent than ever, and extremely interesting. A drink of applejack and a good lunch, the brilliancy of the burning marsh and my interest in him made him very loquacious. With apparent earnestness I said, “Uncle Ezra, how long have you lived on this estate?”

“Who, me! Bawn heah erboutin uh hunard year ago. I cum outin de Hollyday fambly. Ole Mars’ grabe is ober dar wha you see dem willows weepin’. Dar’s uh gre’t big slab ober de grabe, an’ on hit is uh passel ub A. B. C.’s an’ uh anker, wid stars an’ eagles an’ little grapevines all erroun’ ’em. Mars Pinckney say, ‘Dat’s what dey call in dem days de coat ub mail.’ His wuz uh gre’t fambly, an’ Mars Thormas wuz uh cap’n an’ fit an’ wuz kilt in de Resolutionary Wah.”

“Are you sure of that, Uncle Ezzy?”

“’Cose I is. I heah Phil Demby’s fadda say dat he holp ter put him in de amblabus when he wuz shot. He saw de British what shot him, an’ de ve’y bungshot dat hit him. Boss, what glorisome days dem wuz. I kin recommember ’em mehsef. Dese days ’pears ter me dey is spilin’ ev’ything by changin’. An’ hits ergin de Scripturs. Fuh instinct, when I wuz uh young man de Mefodis’ ’roun’ heah use ter hab what dey call meetin’ houses; dey use ter shout an’ moan, an’ moan an’ shout pow’ful. Dey cummence ter pray at fus’ sorf, an’ den deah voice got so strong toreckly you cud heah ’em uh mile orf. An’ de chunes wuz so fine, dey didn’ stop at de corners; dey jes’ swong ’roun’; dey cud turn deah voices same ez uh whirl-win’ an’ ter play de fiddle, dance, er hab uh melojin wuz cornsidered ornry an’ onricheous, an’ hit wuz, too. But in dese days ev’ything is changed in all de chuches, ’ceppin de Babtis’; de only change de Babtis’ made is ter babtize regular in fresh watah in Cap’n Tomlinson’s mill pon’, ’ceppin jes’ befo’ dey cut ice. You see dey had ter gib up salt watah, de shirks wuz so bad. Mo’n dat, de Bible don’ spressify salt watah. Den ergin Pawson Demby tuck de shirk fright an’ de consequasion wuz he hilt several pussons down too long. Tilly Mink got erligion an’ wuz thinkin’ boutin it so much (jes’ persidderin hit all de time) dat she fogot ter teck outin her dress some apples dat wuz swotuated in huh pocket. Well, Pawson Demby hilt her un’er so long dat she pawed de bottom; almos’ tore huh dress orf, an’ she mout erbin hilt un’er de watah tell she wuz drowned, but she got holt Pawson Demby’s legs, an’ fuh erwhile it ’peared like she wuz babtizin’ him. Brer Billy los’ his specks lars’ spring, so cudn’ see good, an’ when he seed de apples uh bobbin’ up, I s’pose he tho’t dey wuz sperrits, kase he sung out ter Pawson Demby, ‘Jes’ gib huh annubba dip, Pawson Demby, huh sins is cummin’ up fum huh in clustahs;’ but Pawson Demby lef’ well ernuff be well ernuff. Kase Tilly Mink nebba did hab much erligion, an’ when she seed dat distructed frock an’ dem kyart-house apples dat we all knew’d growed in Ole Mars’ archard, huh ’ligion lef’ huh jes’ ez fars ez she got it. Huh hyah riz on huh haid, an’ she talked jes’ scan’lous, an’ ’lowed she gwine ter jine de Presbyters. Well, hit may be fuh de bes’, but uh case orntried is hyard ter jestify.”

“Yas, sah; ev’ything is changed. Ebin Mefodis’ preachers an’ de elders, shuh. Dey struts an’ prances erroun’ same ez colts an’ tukkey gobblers in de spring, an’ hits dribin uh lot ub ’em ter distruction. All moufs ain’ prayer books, boss. Hit’s de same thing wid dem Presbyters dat Tillie’s gwine ter jine, an’ when it cums ter de ’Piscopaliums hit’s wussa yit. Up heah at St. Thormasses dey bu’n insects in what dey call uh—I fogit de name—an’ dem preachers dat kyant talk good—an’ mos’ ub ’em kyant—dey sorter sing what dey talkin’. I heah Cap’n Stitchberry’s brer say who halls de sain—an’, ub cose, he er Babtis’—dat ef’n Ole Mars wuz erlive an’ went ter St. Thormasses, he wudn’ no wha he wuz, kase dey bows like uh passel ub muscovy drakes. Boss, dem muscoves is quaresome ducks. T’other day I saw Brer Sam’s boy, Rasmus, bowin’ ter uh passel ub muscovy drakes an’ dey wuz bowin’ ter him. So I say ter de boy, ‘What you doin’ ter dem ducks?’

“‘Talkin’ drake talk.’

“‘Well, what de ducks say?’

“‘I dunno, but dey do!’

“All dis changin’ business is ergin de Bible, too. Lars’ Sunday Pawson Demby preached erbout hit. His tex’ wuz fum de Profit Jerry-Myah: ‘Kin uh Ethiopium change his skin er uh leopard his spots?’ An’ Pawson Demby say ’twuz ornpossible.

“Jes’ befo’ Chrismus I went ter Easton wid uh load ub Chrismus trees, an’ one ub de fus’ things I seed wuz uh lubly lookin’ young Mistis dribin uh cullud pusson; he wuz uh settin’ behin’ huh wid his ahms folded, all dress up an’ smilin’ same ez uh ole gray goose smilin’ on uh gander. Well, I nebba ’spected ter lib ter see uh change like dat. Fac’ is, mos’ all de ladies ’roun’ heah gittin’ changed, an’ ve’y sassy, tryin’ ter be like de men. Fuh instinct, dar is uh lady doctor an’ uh lady lawyer, dey tells me, in Balt’mo’. Think ub dat! An’ hit’s all ergin de’ structions ub Gen’sis, Rebullation, Jerry-Myah, Noahy an’ I ’specks all ub de profits. Kase de Bible say dat ’ooman kyant ebin pray in publuc. Boss, da ain’ no use talkin’, fum de cricket an’ grasshopper clean up ter man, de male de gre’tes’ an’ bes’ lookin’. Dar’s uh little Jinny Wren settin’ on dat reed singin’ beau’ful. Now, ain’ hit s’prisin’ wha he git dat voice fum dat you kin heah ’cross de ribba; hit sut’ny is strange. Well, dat he wren, don’ he look peart; an’ he is peart, too. He kin meck uh hawk hide hissef. You see he’s de male. Well, look at dat cock sparrow; don’ de hen look meek ’long side him? Boss, I’m gwine ter teck mos’ ev’ything dat wuz in de yark, ter show dat ladies musn’ try ter be men, an’ change deahsebs. Hit kyant be did any mo’ dan you kin gib de female birds de feathers ub de males. I s’pose de bobolink is de mos’ dress up ub all birds, fuh he changes his clothes twice uh yeah, an’ when he got on dat beau’ful spring suit ub his’n his wives do clustah erroun’ him. De cock partridge (some people call ’em Bob White), de oriole, pigeon, teal duck, tukkey, canlas-back duck, woodpecker, red-wing blackbird, de wood-duck, tu beau’ful futto kill; how lubly de males is ’long side de females. Den ergin, pursidder de roostus; don’ matter ef’n dey shankhy, banty, game, er what not, dey’r boun’ ter hab lubly feathers all streaked an’ striped same ez dem cattle dat Jacob, de father ub de Petracks, owned. Mo’n dat, ef’n two roostus fight, de one dat whups jes’ crows, flaps his wings, an’ heah cums his wives an’ de udder roostah’s wives all runnin’ off wid him. Dat’s jes’ de way de ladies ’roun’ heah runs arfter Mars Pinckney.”

Ezra seemed much pleased with his talk, and with a wisp of burning grass in each hand, continued to fire the marsh, and for the moment forgot my presence and sang:

Pretending to entirely dissent with Ezra and to keep him interested and talkative, I said, “Well, how about robins, doves, mocking birds, jack snipe, woodcock and other birds where the male and female are alike?”

“Well, boss, Mars Pinckney say ef’n you gib de birds you kyant tell erbout uh wumm, ef’n he takes it hit’s uh he, an ef’n she takes it hit’s uh she.”

“How about owls, Ezra; they look alike, and they don’t eat worms?”

“Well, Noahy, dey tell me, name him de bird ub wissum, an’ ub cose made him wise, an’ de female kyant fool him, like dey mos’ gen’ly kin de males. Fuh instinct, when de female owls think deahsebs smart—bin out all night an’ talkin’ in condidence ’mong deahsebs erbout it—de male, ef’n he deceitful (an’ some males is), kin lissen an’ nod his haid jes’ same ez ef he wuz uh sleep an’ meck bleebe he uh lady owl, an by an’ by all unbenonsted ter de lady owl, fine out ef’n his wife bin uh tootin’ an’ uh hootin’ erroun’. Mo’n dat, he mout erbin keepin’ comp’ny hissef all night wid some sassy lady owl. Dar’s wha his wissum cum in.

“S’pose de gentlemens an’ ladies look jes’ like one nerr an’ dress up de same, Lawdy, by an’ by heah wud cum judgment day sho’ nuff, an’ we wud soon burhol dis worl’ on fire an’ uh cislin’. So hit won’ do fuh dem ter look de same, an’ we don’ wan’ no changin’, deed we don’; we wants de males ter look proud an’ prancin’ all de time, an’ de females ter burhol ’em an’ not look sassy. I mos’ fogot one ub de lubliest ub de fowls, dat will meck meh sponsibility stronger—dat’s de peacock. When de peacock spreads his tail in de spring an’ looks his peartest, dey tells me sometimes de hens git too po’ ter lay; dey so in lub dey jes’ eat nuffin; jes’ meddowtate an’ look at deah mates struttin’ erbout. Da ain’ nuffin like uh peacock’s tail ’ceppin sometimes in de fall when de dew is ve’y heavy an’ sorter fog-like an’ fros’-like, jes’ uh little missy, an’ heah cum de sun risin’; an’ when hit strikes de trees, bushes an’ wines full ub dat fog, fros’ an’ mis’, da ain’ no rainbow er peacock’s tail kin hole uh can’le ter it, I don’ keah who raises de peacock. Well, boss, I am sho’ you see de application, but strange futto say, Mars Pinckney, wid all his wissum an’ pursidderin’, is, ’pears ter me, on de fence. Natchelly, ub cose, he is s’pose ter change kase he got so many sweethyarts. He is ve’y fon’ ub fishin’ wid me. One day we wuz fishin’ fuh rock an’ tailor an’ waitin’ fuh de tide ter tu’n. I rents meh house fum him. I don’ al’ays pay at de lars’ ub de monf, er de lars’ ub nex’ monf, an’ I owed him so much rent I wuz mos’ ’fear’d ter argue wid him an’ talk ter him wid all meh soul erboutin dis changin’ business ’roun’ heah, an’ ub de lubliness ub de male in contras’ ter de female; but I did it. Well, den he say, sorter snuffin’ meh composation orf, ‘Ezra, you no mo’ erbout sorf crabs, fish an’ watahmillions dan you do erbout things changin’.’ Den he say, ‘Don’ people all erroun’ heah change money, change deah names when dey git merried? Don’ de watah we fish in change fum ebb tide ter flood? Eggs ter chickens, sinnahs ter moaners, sun, moon, win’ an’ seasons change. De acorn changes ter de oak, peach stone ter de peach tree. Wumms ter butterflies.”

“Ezra, your Mars Pinckney is right. That’s the long and short of it. Your Parson changed baptizing in salt water for fresh water. You have confessed it, and you are changing all the time. Your hair was once black, now it is white. To-day is bright, cold, windy and sunny. To-morrow will be changed; it can’t be just like to-day. Even your oxen, Lawyer and Farmer, like a change. Grass is good enough when there is no wheat field to jump into, but when the wheat is green, sweet and rich, they leave the grass.”

“Jes’ so, boss, jes’ so.”

“Why, you would get tired of bacon and cabbage if you had it all the time.”

“Who, me? I nebba got tired ub it yit.”

“And, Ezra, if Aunt Cassey, your good and kind wife, hadn’t changed her mind and married you instead of Uncle Snake Bit Jim, her name would now be Mrs. Snake Bit Jim.”

“Dat’s what I say, boss; dat’s de application ezactly. I don’ like dis changin’ business. Bless Gord, I wish Cassey hadn’ change huh mine.”

Memories of happier days come to us all. May they soften the pillow of dear old Ezra. His first wife was my nurse, and many a time his willing hands, to give her’s rest, have rocked my cradle.