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THE COURANT; A SOUTHERN LITERARY JOURNAL. 91
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flowers smell, and the little birds, how prettily they
sing. Bury me," she added, "where the birds will
sing over my grave."
The word grave, startled the aged servant; for he had
sank, insensibly, into a reverie. He turned his eyes
towards the dying child, and as he looked upon her
pale face, and shrunken form, and heard from her trem-
ulous lips, that ill-omened word, he leaned his head upon
the bed, and wept. The tide he had so long struggled
to restrain, at length burst its bounds, and the accumu-
lated sorrows of many previous days found utterance in
loud lamentations. These, heard in the adjoining room,
soon drew Mr. and Mrs. Howard, with aunt Sally, to the
chamber. Without heeding the old man, they approached
the bed-side, and there she lay, beautiful in death, her
little hands clasped upon her breast, and her soft hair
trembling in the breeze, over her sweet, placid brow.
Life had departed from her; not in haste, as if anxious
to be gone, or mangling and deforming in its retreat,
but slowly, and gently, as it loth to leave so fair a dwell-
ing, or in withdrawing to mar its loveliness.
Mr. and Mrs. Howard bent over the dead child, in
all the agony of speechless grief. Aunt Sally knelt
down at the foot of the bed, and burying her face in the
covering, wept aloud. As soon as old Toney had par-
tially recovered, he replaced his saturated bandanna
handkerchief, and struggling to regain his composure,
by a few preliminary hems and coughs, he rose from the
bed-side, took the old people by the arm, and led them
silently out of the room. Aunt Sally rose as the grand-
parents left the room; and throwing herself upon the
child, kissed it passionately, and called upon it in wild
despair, as if anxious to give at least one soothing,
parting word. Her grief was indeed very great, for,
notwithstanding her misplaced severity, she loved little
Lucy with the most devoted affection. As she hung
over the motionless body of her little ward, and stooped
to kiss her pale, cold lips, that seemed to smile upon
her even in death; busy memory retracted the past, and
although conscious of the rectitude of her intentions,
and of the earnestness of her devotion to her little
ward, she could not disguise from herself the sad fact,
that but for her Lucy would have been happier. Sad
and bitter was the reflection. Her hands had drawn the
only clouds that had dimmed the bright sky of a girl-
hood so transient. Sad, terrible, were her piteous
moans, as she sobbed upon the bosom of the lifeless
child.
Old Toney returned to the room, and with a respect-
ful motion of the hand, intimated to Miss Howard the
propriety of her laying out her little charge. This opened
the fountain of her grief afresh. It was now Toney's
hard task to offer consolation, when, in truth, he needed
it himself.
"God takes the good, too good on earth to stay."
"Yes," replied Miss Sally, and she seemed to revive
with the expression. "Yes, I always thought dear,
sweet Lucy was more an angel than a child."
Toney withdrew
Miss Howard now proceeded with the painful task of
preparing, with her own hands, the little body for
burial.
The morning passed away. In the afternoon Lucy
lay on a setee, in the front parlor, with the unwearied
old servant still hovering about her. He had gone me-
chanically through the arrangement of the house, and
now he took his station by the corpse, as if each suc-
ceeding moment that remained, before the final separa-
tion, was increasingly dear. It was touching to see him
lay his hand upon her forehead, to see if it was really
cold, walk to the window, through which the wind
blew upon the child, and shut it down; then recollect-
ing himself, raise it again, and resume his station by
the corpse.
The neighbours were apprized of Lucy's illness, and
although but little known to them, her condition awak-
ened universal sympathy. The children loved her.
She had never, indeed, shared their diversions, but fre-
quently on Sunday, after church, they had followed her
in her rambles through the church-yard among the
grave-stones, and listened to her sweet prattle. On pass-
ing to church in the morning, many of them stopped at
the outer gate to enquire how she was, and went away
with downcast eyes when told that she was no better.
The rumor of her decease reached the neighbouring
church, on the opposite side of the field, as the congre-
gation were about dispersing. Mothers exchanged brief
parting salutations, and walked away with their aprons
to their eyes. Stern, stalwart men conversed in a sub-
dued tone. The children gathered together in small
groups, and walked towards the residence of the How-
ards. The more forward of them approached the door,
and looked in upon the old negro and the dead child;
and by gradual advances made bold to enter. Group
after group reached the house, and entered; until the
bier of little Lucy was surrounded by these young and
sincere mourners. Some leaned over and kissed her
pale, thin hands, as they lay locked upon her breast,
others lifted up her bright ringlets, or pressed their
hands gently upon her forehead. Looks were exchanged,
but not a word spoken. Many of them had flowers,
which they had plucked that morning by the roadside.
On leaving they dropped the flowers upon the corpse,
so that when they were gone, and the old man, who had
been so absorbed in thought that he was scarcely aware
of the presence of the children, rose to to take a look
once more at little Lucy, he thought that surely angels
had been there, and had scattered over the sleeping
child these tokens of their guardian love.
Monday came; it was the day of Lucy's funeral. At
an early hour, the church yard was filled. Old Toney
was seen issuing from the door of Mr. Howard's house,
followed by the old people, Miss Sally, and the domes-
tics of the family. They were carrying the child to her
burial. Toney begged the privilege of bearing the coffin
himself. This he could easily do, for a child of eight
years, wasted by disease, is not heavy, even for an old
man. Arrived at the grave, he laid his burden down,
and took his station at the foot; whilst the crowd closed
around it. A few words from the officiating minister
breaks the profound silence, a prayer is offered, the
coffin descends into the grave, and the family depart.
Old Toney still keeps his post, gazing with unaltered
composure upon the coffin, until it is lost to view, be-
neath the falling clods, and the mound is rounded which
is to mark the spot where his little mistress is laid.
Among the last to leave the grave, he walks slowly along
the path that leads to the house. We shall not attempt
to describe the feelings of the generous old slave. Suf-
fice it to say, he had no sooner got out of the crowd,
than he reached convulsively into his right pocket for
his bandanna handkerchief; and its bright colours were
soon repeatedly passing to his face, until he disappeared
among the trees that encircled the homsetead.
In a church-yard, in one of the upper districts of
South Carolina, the visitor seldom fails to notice two
graves, with a little one between them. There lie the
remains of Mr. and Mrs. Howard, and the last of their
race--dear little Lucy.
--------"Pictas dat Flora coronas,
Manibus hic supremus honos."--Calpur. Ecl. VIII. 69.
At a short distance, and in a line with the child's, is
another grave. "Siste viator." The dust that moul-
ders there was the tenement of a noble soul. Daddy
Toney, on his death-bed, made two special requests of
his old master--to be burried in his clerical costume,
with a bandanna handkerchief around his head, and
to be laid as near as propriety would permit to his little
mistress.
"It isn't a fitten thing," said the old man, "that
poor negro lie down by better people; but Miss Lucy
wont hab no obections, and," continued the sable patri-
arch, "we'll soon all be where nobody ax 'bout de
colour of de skin.
Should the traveler happen to stop at the church, on
Sunday, he may see a venerable lady, attended by a
bevy of smiling children. He would scarcely recognize
in her matronly gaze, and benignant countenance, the
aunt Sally of our story. Yet, such is the fact. Schooled
by the trails through which she has passed, she has
learned to pity a world which she attempted in vain to
scold into propriety. Her natural kindness has been
developed in the more congenial occupations of a benev-
olent life. Every little girl reminds her of her "poor,
dear Lucy;" she loves, and is beloved by all the young
people. Indeed, some of the more staid matrons, charge
her with spoiling, alike, young girls in the neighbour-
hood, and it is a common saying among them; "Why!
you are as much of a girl as old aunt Sally."
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PROVINCIALISMS NORTH AND SOUTH.
-----
Though born and reared in Yankeedom, I have spent
some years of late in the cotton zone of the South. I
am, therefore, well posted in regard to the provincial-
isms of both sections. Here, in the South, the English
language has been much modified by the negroes. Chil-
dren reared among the slave population must, of neces-
sity, get many early impressions from the negro nurse
who attends them, and consequently acquire not only
much of the phraseology, but some of the tone or twang
of the African. This is more marked in those who ne-
ver have been abroad for education.
To many of your readers, a mention of the more com-
mon provincialisms of the South will not be uninterest-
ing. The Southerner is not aware, generally, of his
false English, when he says "have saw," for "have
seen;" he has "great insurance" for "assurance;" "a
heap of times," or "a heap of friendship," for a "great
many," or "a great deal;" "he is a no account person"
for "he is a person of no character; "powerful weak,"
for "very weak; "mighty little," for "very little;"
"thar, far, bar, dar," for "there, fair, bear, dare;"
"any dimensions of game there," for "any amount."
A very common word is which instead of what. For
instance, you ask a Southerner a question and he hears
you imperfectly, he says "Which?" instead of "What?"
He says "right smart," or "right smart sprinkle," for
"much," "quite," or "considerable."
The Southerner never says "stone," but even a peb-
ble is a "rock" with him. When I first lived South,
and heard of their "heaving rocks" at each other, I
thought they were surely a race of Titans.
"I seed him," for "I saw him."
And so "he overseed for me last year," instead of
"oversaw."
The prefix "done" is extremely common; thus, "it
is done gone," "the house is done swept," or, "he has
done, done it." Also, "thunder pole," for "lightning
rod;" "struck with thunder," for "lightning;" "clare"
for "clear," very common; "stairs" for "stars," the
heavenly bodies.
The word "sorry" is in constant use in the sense of
"indifferent" as "a sorry crop," "a sorry appearance,"
a "sorry-looking horse," etc.
"Reckon," for "guess," or "presume," is in constant
use.
I regard the word "carry" as the best test of a South-
ern man. If you haer him order a servant to take or
lead a horse to water, he invariably says "Carry my
horse to water."
The Yankee "stubs" his toe, the Southerner "stumps"
it. The latter word is incorrect.
"You are not going to town is you?" instead of "are
you;" quite common, and derived from the negro.
"Crap," instead of "crop" is common, and "drap,"
also, for "drop."
"He holp me to do it," for "helped."
A physician in practice South must say to his patient,
"What hurts you?" "Does your head hurt you," etc.,
instead of where's the seat of pain, &c. Ths doctor
generally is answered, "I have a misery in my stomach,
or head," etc.
A "boil" is invariably termed a "rising."
The word cigar is pronounced South with the accent
always on the first syllable.
"Onion" is often "inyun" here.
The garden vegetable "colewort," which is on every
Southerner's dinner-table, and affords greens to the
slaves, is called "collords."
The Southerner will "prize up" anything, while the
Northerner will "pry it up." Both, I believe, are cor-
rect.
The Southerner "totes" everything, instead of "car-
ries." Yet this word is not improper, though confined
to the negroes and those reared with them.
By-the-way, our friends here would say, "raised in
Virginia," instead of "reared."
Our youths never "bathe" in the stream, but inva-
riably "go in a washing."
"Me and John did it," for "John and I," is very
prevalent.
"Afeard" is often used for "afraid."
We never hear of "clingstone peaches," but "pressed
peaches." So "whetrock" is used for "whetstone," and
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