MRS. GREY. "Do you grudge the poor girls | against you as to the importance of richness in their holiday and their holiday dress?" dress. What say you to Shakespeare's 'Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy ?'" GREY. "Far from it. Let us all make life as bright as may be with holidays and holiday dresses. But what has that to do with our all dressing alike? When I meet a French nurserymaid with her white-capped, bonnetless head, a respect for her mingles with my admiration of her head-dress. But when I see other women in the same condition of life flaunting past her in bonnets which are cheap and vulgar imitations of those their mistresses wear, I respect as little as I admire. Why should all men on certain occasions get into dress-coats and stove-pipe hats?-habits so hideous in themselves that he must unmistakably be a man bred to wearing them, if not a fine-looking and distinguished man, who can don them without detriment to his personal appearance." MR. KEY. "Very reason why every free and enlightened American citizen will sacrifice comfort and his last dollar to exercise his right to wear them. Can't help, either, deciding in his favor. For your idea of a proper costume, Mr. Grey, seems to be a blue, red, or yellow bolstercase drawn down over the head, with a hole in the middle of the closed end for the head, two at the corners for the arms, and a cord about the waist." GREY. "I don't scout your pattern so much as you expected. Worse costumes in every respect have been often worn. See this beautiful figure of Heloise: the immortal priestess of selfsacrificing love shows a costume which conforms almost exactly to your description." HELOISE:-ABOUT 1150. TOMES. "Your bringing up the poets to your aid reminded me that the greatest of them is VOL. XXV.-No. 146.-M GREY. "That it is not Shakespeare's advice, but that of a wily, worldly-minded old courtier to his son, at a time when to get on at court and among people of condition a man had need to be richly dressed. That need has passed away. We do not know what Shakespeare thought upon the subject, or what he would have made a Polonius say, had he lived nowadays. But we know that Horace's simplex munditiis-neat simplicity, Nelly-was the expression of his personal admiration." MRS. GREY. "Yes, the poets are always raving about neat simplicity, or something else that's not the fashion. I suppose they sustain you in your condemnation of perfumes too." TOMES. "There I'm with Grey, and the poets too, I think." MRS. GREY. "What say you, Mr. Key ?" MR. KEY. " Always distrust a woman steeped in perfumes upon the very point as to which she seeks to impress me favorably." TOMES. "At least, Grey [turning to him]. Plautus says, 'Mulier recte olet ubi nihil olet;' which you may translate for the ladies, if you choose." GREY [As if to himself and Tomes]. Though art's hid causes are not found, MRS. GREY. "What's that you're having all to yourselves there?" GREY. "Only a few lines from one of Rare Ben's daintiest songs." MRS. GREY. "What do poets know about dress, even when they are poetesses? Look at your friend, the authoress of the Willow Wreath,' which she wrote for no other earthly reason that I can see than that her name happened to be Ophelia. What a spook that woman is !" MR. KEY. "Glad to know at last what that word means. Spook-something lean, longnecked, and ugly, dressed in all the colors of the rainbow at once, and some that are not in the rainbow besides; with a wreath on its head, and cork-screw curls hanging down its back. Something to be approached by men, if at all, with distant and awful respect, and by women with secret exultation." MISS LARCHES. "In a word, Mr. Key, a spook is a fright; and every ill-dressed woman is a fright." Here a neat, fresh-looking maid-servant entered, and said, "Please, Ma'am, dinner is served;" and after the expression of a little astonishment at the length of the conference, Mr. Key and Tomes, in answer to an invitation to stop, pleaded engagements, and left Miss Larches to discuss them with her host and hostess over the dinner-table, where plans were laid for future discussions of other departments of Social Esthetics. SURRY COUNTY, NORTH CAROLINA. TRAVELERS note the al Tost perfect uniformity of the American people in dress, The people are almost wholly agricultural; there are twothirds as many farms as houses, and less than one slave to a family. In education it probably ranks lowest of any county in the United States. By the census of 1850 it appears that almost one-third of the adult males, and more than half of the females were unable to read and write. They are in blissful ignorance of the latest fashions, making their own garments, material and all. When "Skitt" revisited them, after many years' absence, in 1857, he found "sacks" and "joseys" in full vogue. Almost the only opportunity which the young men had of seeing any thing of the world beyond was when, in the autumn, a party would harness up their teams and carry their spare produce to the nearest town, some days' journey off. They would camp out at night, and as lucifer-matches had not yet reached them, they were obliged to trust for fire to a brand bor THE WINDSOR CHAIR rowed from the nearest house. Such a party once encamped near a fine dwelling, and dispatched one of their number to borrow a brand. He was courteously received by the good lady, who made him sit down in a parlor furnished, to his view, most gorgeously, with a carpet and half a dozen "Windsor chairs." When he returned he described his adventure to his companions: "I tell you, boys, with my dirty britches I sot right smack in one o' the finest Weasler chairs you uver seen in all yer borned days, and my big, mudbustin, pis-ant-killin' shoes on thar fine carpet looked like two great big Injun coonoes. I'll be poxed ef 1 knowed how to hold my hands nur feet." Although uneducated, in the usual accepta Fisher's River (North Carolina) Scenes and Characters. By "SKITT, who was raised thar." Illustrated by tion of the term-preferring a rifle and shotJOHN M'LENAN. Harper and Brothers, Publishers. pouch, and, we are sorry to say, an article "GOOD-MORNIN', LADIES." You got quit ye, as we's even. Odd characters abound in such a community. Foremost among those commemorated by "Skitt" is "Uncle Davy Lane," a tall, heavy, lazylooking old fellow, whose specialty was telling hunting stories. He was never seen without his "Bucksmasher"-a rough-looking rifle of his own make, for he was a sort of gunsmith; and when once seated would pour out a continuous stream of adventures, most of which had happened to himself, though a few of them he had "hearn." He had certainly never heard of Baron Munchausen, though many of his stories are vastly like those of that veracious narrator; as, for instance, the following about "Pigeon Shooting," which we give in his own words, slightly abridged: "I mounted old Nip, and moseyed off fur the pigeon-roost. I 'ruv thar 'bout two hours by the sun, and frum that blessed hour till chock dark the heavens was dark with 'um comin' inter the roost. It is unconceivable to tell the number on 'um, which it were so great. Bein' a man that has a character fur truth, I won't say how many there was. Thar was a mighty heap uv saplins fur 'um to roost in, which they would allers light on the biggest trees fust, then pitch down on the little uns ter roost. Now jist at dark I thort I'd commence smashin' 'um; so I hitched old Nip to the limb hitchin' place, I thort. I commenced blazin' away at the pigeons like thunder and lightnin'; which they'd light on big trees thick as bees, bend the trees to the yeth like they'd been lead. which they appropriately name "knock-me- | uv a tree with a monstrous strong bridle-a good stiff" to reading-they are a very clever folk, as their friend "Skitt" shows, and especially on the alert against, as they phrased it, "having the rig put on 'em." Dick Snow was one of the best of them; a fine, manly fellow, with a countenance which bespoke honesty, frankness, decision, and fun. He was "well off," and although he could not read, had a wife who ranked as A. No. 1, and was visited by all the "quality" of the region. Among these were the two pretty daughters of Mesheck Franklin, "the Congressman." One night, when retiring, they bade him "good-night." He did not understand this; but concluded that it was some "rig," which he determined to repay. So he rose early in the morning and stationed himself at the foot of the stairs; and as the ladies appeared, rushed out, exclaiming: "Good-mornin' at ye, ladies! I's fast anuff "By hokey! I shot so fast, and so long, and so often, I het old Tower so hot that I shot six inches off uv the muzzle uv the old slut. I seen it were no use to shoot the old critter clean away, which I mout have some use fur agin; so I jist quit burnin' powder and flingin' shot arter I'd killed 'bout a thousand on 'um, fur sure. Arter I'd picked up as many on 'um as my wallets would hold, I looked fur old Nip right smack whar I'd hitched him, but he were, like King Saul's asses, now har to be found. I looked a consid'able spell next to the yeth, bat, bless you, honey! I mout as well a sarched fur a needle in a haystack. At last I looked up inter a tree 'bout forty foot high, and thar he war swingin' to a limb, danglin' 'bout 'tween the heavens and the yeth like a rabbit on a snare-pole." "How come him up thar, Uncle Davy?" "Why, I hitched him to the limb uv a big tree bent to the yeth with pigeons, you numskull, and when they riz the tree went up, and old Nip with it, fur sure." "But how did you get him down?" said a listener. "That's nuther here nor thar; I got him down, and that's 'nuff fur sich pukes as you ter know." Uncle Davy's exploits with deer were numerous and wonderful. Among them was a Munchausenism about an old buck which he had shot with a peach-stone in default of a bullet; and a few years after he saw the animal again with a fine peach-tree loaded with fruit growing from his shoulders. But we must satisfy ourselves with the following: "I tuck the sunny side uv the Sugar Loaf. I kep' my eyes skinned all the way up, but nuver seen any thing tell I got nairly to the top, when up jumped one uv the poxtakedest biggest old bucks you uver seen. He dashed round the mounting faster nur a shootin' star ur lightnin'. But, howsomever, I blazed away at him, but he were goin' so fast round the Loaf, and the bullet goin' strait forrud, I missed him. Ev'ry day fur a week I went to that spot, allers jumped him up in ten steps uv the same place, would fire away, but allers missed him, as jist norated. "I felt that my credit as a marksman, and uv old Bucksmasher was gittin' mighty under repair. I didn't like to be outgineraled in any sich a way by any sich a critter. I could smash bucks anywhar and any time, but that sassy rascal I couldn't tech a har on him. He were a perfect dar-devil. One whole night I didn't sleep a wink-didn't bolt my eyes-fixin' up my plan. Next mornin' I went right smack inter my blacksmith shop, tuck my hammer, and bent old Bucksmasher jist to suit the mounting, so that when the pesky old buck started round the mounting the bullet mout take the twist with him. "I loadened up, and moseyed off to try the 'speriment. I 'ruv at the spot, and up he jumped, hoisted his tail like a kite, kicked up his heels in a banterin' manner, fur he'd outdone me so often he'd got raal sassy. I lammed away at him, and away he went round the mounting, and the bullet arter him -so good a man, and so good a boy. I stood chock still. Presently round they come like a streak uv sunshine, both buck and bullit, bullit singin' out, 'Whar is it? whar is it?' 'Go it, my fellers,' says I, and away they went round the Loaf like a Blue Ridge storm. Afore you could crack yer finger they was around agin, bucklety-whet. Jist as they got agin me, bullit throwed him." THE PIGEON-BOOST. But Uncle Davy came out strongest in his snake stories. Once, when out blackberrying, he felt something at his bare legs. For half an hour he paid no attention to it, supposing it was the briers. Looking down at last, he found that it was "the biggest rattlesnake that uver was seen or hearn tell on-would a filled a washin' tub to the brim. There he were peggin' away at my feet and legs like he were the hongriest critter on yeth." The upshot was that "I moseyed home at an orful rate: it's no use to say how fast I did run, fur nobody would b'leeve it." Reaching home, he swallowed seven pails of milk and two gallons of whisky, and was never the worse.-We must let him tell at length his wonderful adventure with the "Horn-Snake:" "I was not thinkin' about sarpunts, when, by Zucks! I cum right plum upon one uv the curiousest snakes I uver seen in all my borned days. There it lay on the side uv a steep presserpis, at full length, ten foot long, its tail strait out, right up the pres THE HORN-SNAKE. serpis, head big as a sasser, right toards me, eyes red as forked lightnin', lickin' out his forked tongue, and I could no more move than the Ball Rock on Fisher's Peak. But when I seen the stinger in his tail, six inches long and sharp as a needle, stickin' out like a cock's spur, I thought I'd a drapped in my tracks. I jumped forty foot down the mounting, and dashed behind a big white oak five foot in diamatur. The snake he cotched the eend uv his tail in his mouth, he did, and come rollin' down the mounting arter me jist like a hoop, and jist as I landed behind the tree he struck t'other side with his stinger, and stuve it up, clean to his tail, smack in the tree. He were fast. tried to shoot the tarnil thing; but he kep' sich a movin' about and sich a splutteration that I couldn't git a bead at his head, for I know'd it warn't wuth while to shoot him any whar else. So I kep' my distunce tell he wore hisself out, then I put a ball right between his eyes, and he gin up the ghost. "Soon as he were dead I happened to look up inter the tree, and what do you think? Why, Sir, it were dead as a herrin'; all the leaves was wilted like a fire had gone through its branches. "I left the old feller with his stinger in the tree, thinkin' it were the best place fur him, and moseyed home, 'tarmined not to go out agin soon. Now folks may talk as they please 'bout there bein' no sich things as horn-snakes, but what I've seen I've seen, and what I've jist norated is true as the third uv Mathy. I mout add that I passed that tree three weeks arterward, and the leaves and the whole tree was dead as a door-nail." We have already noted the fondness of the people for "knockem-stiff." Thereby hangs a good story told by "Skitt." The great occasions of the region were the militia musters held at "Shipp's Muster Ground," between "Big and Little Fisher's Rivers" which give the name to the book. These musters were held in May and November, and all the militia were put through the tactics before the "old Revolutionaries" who survived. These old "'Lutionaries," "Nigger Josh Easley," who sold "gingy cakes," and "Hamp Hudson," who kept a "still-house" running all the year, were the chief attractions of these musters. Hamp had a dog named Famus," known through all the country. It happened, on a time not long before one of these musters, that Famus fell into one of his master's 66 mash-tubs and was drowned. The rumor ran through all the country that Hamp had distilled the mash in which the dog "was drownded, and was gwine to carry it to the May muster to sell." The report created a powerful sensation, and when muster-day came there was a general determination not to drink a "drap uv Hamp's nasty old Famus licker." Among the foremost of those who were "down" on Hamp and his liquor was Uncle Jimmy Smith, a lisping old veteran who had been at the storming of Stony Point. "I tell you, boyith," he said, "you "Of all the hissin' and blowin' that uver you hearn sense you seen daylight, it tuck the lead. Ef there'd a bin forty-nine forges all a-blowin' at once, it couldn't a beat it. He rared and charged, lapped round the tree, spread his mouf and grinned at me can do ath you pleath; but old Jimmy Smith orful, puked and spit quarts an' quarts of green pisen-old Stony Point-ain't a-gwine to tech it." at me, an' made the ar stink with his nasty breath. Nigger Josh sold his cakes, and was jubilant; I seen thar were no time to lose; I cotched up old but not a man approached Hamp's stand, and Bucksmasher from whar I'd dashed him down, and his casks remained untapped. It was a dolorous |