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appear in conversation. Before an audience he was fluent and often powerful; his outward appearance was transformed even, as was that of Patrick Henry; but those who trembled before his vehement declamation in the pulpit were often tempted to laugh at him in the keeping-room. Rachel looked much abashed, and a little indignant, too, at his saucy imputation upon her courage und intelligence. Parris was no longer polite to her; for Master More definitely refused to join his congregation. She rose without speaking, courtesied to the company, and walked off to the kitchen, followed by her aunt and Sarah Carrier.

Some conversation ensued in the keeping-room, concerning various dangerous persons, who were still at large, and then the visitors retired.

During this interval, sister Ann questioned the child pretty sharply as to her confession, and told her that, if it were not true, she was a very wicked girl thus to slander her kind mother. These remarks sat so unpleasantly on Sarah's conscience that she found it convenient to go off in a convulsion; and thus, when the deacon returned to the kitchen, he had a most favorable opportunity for observing the workings of Satan. One of the four platters, which adorned the mantel-piece, lay in fragments on the floor, shivered by the heel of Sarah's thick, hob-nailed shoe, which she bad kicked off, with amazing accuracy of aim. at the brittle target. The child herself sat on the floor, barking at the cat, who, monstrously enlarged in the tail, regarded her with open-mouthed disfavor from the top of a cupboard. Bowson ran for the family Bible, and began to read clamorously from the first passage that he opened at, which happened to be one of the genealogical chapters of Genesis. Sarah stopped her ears, shrieked, kicked, and barked, by turns, with uproarious energy and volubility. Goody Bowson raised her feeble voice in a psalm-tune from the chinney-corner, and Frisk responded with prolonged and miserable howlings. In utter desperation the deacon fell on his knees among the broken crockery, and commenced a prayer, which, from his confusion of mind, was nothing but a jumble of incoherent ejaculations. Sarah took advantage of his closed eyes to fling her other shoe at pussy, who left her asylum with a scared spit, and

flew around the room rentre à terre, until an opportunity offered to bolt up chimney. Overcome by this last manifestation, the deacon rose from his knees, and, stumbling out of doors, rushed off bareheaded toward the house of Elder Noyse. Higginson he never thought of calling; for that good old man had fallen low in public estimation, and, at the very best, was considered lukewarm, or in his dotage. The deacon met his brother-in-law in the street, but never recognized him, and trotted on in a sweating hurry.

More, who was passing by mere accident, on his way home from a raising, could not imagine what possessed his stout friend to run in that insane fashion; but, concluding that Bowson was going for the doctor, and that Sister Ann had been taken suddenly ill, he walked into the house without knocking, and found Sarah in the midst of her tantrums. A few whispers from Mrs. Bowson informed him of the incidents of the morning. Without a word in reply, he twisted off a stout green withe from a fire-log on the hearth, and, taking Sarah by the arm, proceeded to lay the slip of hickory soundly across her back and chubby legs. Mrs. Bowson stood by, silently, with clasped hands, while Rachel covered her face with a sudden start of fright and pity. The child shrieked, barked, kicked, and tried to wallow on the floor; but that strong left hand held her up firmly, and the cutting blows fell fast and furious. In half a minute she burst into tears, and, turning up a piteous little face, begged that Master More would please stop whipping her. She would be good; she wouldn't scream again; she wouldn't break any more platters; please not to whip her so hard. But More's temper was up; this witchcraft had baited him into savageness; and he flogged on pitilessly until Rachel caught his hand, and begged him to have mercy. He let go of Sarah then, and she sank on the floor sobbing: "Thank you, Mistress Rachel. Please don't let him whip me any more. I'll be good. I won't break any more plat

ters."

"You've got a longer story than that to tell, you little monkey," said More. "You've got to take back what you said this morning about your mother. Is she a witch? Tell me now. Is she a witch?" And he raised the hickory threateningly over her head.

"No, no; she isn't, she isn't," screamed Sarah, holding up one little hand to ward off the expected blow, while, with the other, she rubbed her smarting and writhing legs.

"And she never baptized you? And there is no book, nor dog, nor cat, either?" he continued, still holding the whip uplifted.

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No, no! It ain't true, it ain't any of it true! Oh dear! Oh dear!" whimpered Sarah.

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Then, what did you say your mother was a witch for?" shouted More. "Because they told me she was; and they kept a askin' me; and so I told 'em so."

“Oh heavens!" exclaimed More, almost sobbing himself with rage and horror. If this is not too bad! Here is a child-a mere baby-bullied and teased into damning its own mother by false witness. But you little vermin," he continued, turning fiercely upon Sarah, what did you let them persuade you for? You know better. You haven't had half enough to make you remember it."

Sarah held up both hands, and gave forth a piercing wail as she saw the hickory tempest about to descend a second time on her sore legs and shoulders. But at that moment the door opened, and the deep voice of Justice Hawthorne was heard saying: "It must truly be a fearful demonstration."

There, on the threshold, staring into the kitchen, towered the stalwart magistrate, backed up by Noyze and Bowson. "Oh, please, good gentlemen. don't let him whip me," cried Sarah, catching with her natural quickness at the chance of a rescue. 64 What is the meaning of this, Master More?" asked Hawthorne, advancing haughtily upon the hunter. Noyse followed him at a politic distance, with his hands folded resignedly on his breast; but the deacon, getting a fierce look from his brother-in-law, remained fidgeting and grinning on the door-step. Please, Master Hawthorne," said the

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stantly, and gave the solid palm such a gripe as evidently made its powerful owner flinch with pain. "Hawthorne," said he, "take care of yourself. If I should scourge a few grown men as I have scourged that child I should only do my duty."

The two men eyed each other steadily and ungrily, and a struggle would perhaps have taken place, but that Rachel sprang forward, and, catching her father's arın, burst into tears. Glancing at his daughter, More let go of the magistrate's hand, and stepped back a couple of paces. The other made no advance upon him; for he knew that Noyse and Bowson would be of no assistance in a scuffle; and that he alone was no match for a man who could dance with a barrel of cider on his shoulder. He simply said: "Henry More, I counsel you to quit this dwelling, and moreover to quit your present ways. Stout as you are, you are not stout enough to fight both law and gospel; and, if you try it, you will surely find yourself terribly worsted. Take care of your own neck, and be a little less zealous about the necks of others."

More gave a contemptuous laugh, and replied: "If that is all you have to say, I will e'en go home to my dinner."

Shaking hands with his sister, and motioning Rachel to follow, he walked by the justice and minister to the door. The deacon grinned at him apologetically, but More passed him without a recognition; switching his stick be paused and looked around for Sarah; but that knowing child had found some safe hiding-place; and so he marched home, apparently quite cool, but in reality speechless with wrath.

After he was gone, Hawthorne, Noyse, and the deacon had Sarah into the keeping-room, away from Mrs. Bowson, and got the entire story, rather exaggerated, perhaps, of her persecutions. Their remarks on the subject may be so easily imagined that it is not worth while to repeat them. Before the justice and minister left the house, they charged Bowson to guard his spirit against that Sadducee of a brother-in-law, and to keep Sarah vigilantly from any more such stumbling-stones in the good way of confession.

The unfortunate child, notwithstanding that Elder Noyse had patted her on the head, and Master Hawthorne had given her sixpence, did not recover dur

ing the whole day from the demoralizing effects of her forced abjuration. Her arm, where her inquisitor had held it, was black and blue; as also were various tender places on her back and shoulders. She sat for hours at the window, as if watching for More; and on the whole kept herself wonderfully quiet for a person tormented of the devil. Once, it is true, toward the middle of the afternoon, she stole cautiously into the shop through the back door, and told deacon Bowson that somebody in the kitchen would be glad to see him. He was very busy hanging up poultry at the time; but imagining that the visitor might be some elder on witch affairs, he put on his coat, washed his hands, and hurried into the house. No one was to be seen but Mrs. Bowson, Goody

Bowson, Hannah, and Sarah. "Child," said he, "where is the person who wants me?"

"There she is," replied the imp, pointing to his wife. "Mistress Bowson is always glad to see you."

A good deal miffed at this disrespectful joke, the deacon got back to the shop just in time to see a lean dog vanishing out of the front door with one of his fattest turkeys. This same trick was repeated over and over before night, and alternated with others equally irreverent and annoying. “ Yea,” said the deacon, relating these manifestations to his minister, and her whole carriage to me is with a sauciness which I am not used anywhere to be treated withal."

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Imposing deacon, John Bowson !

SOUTHERN LITERATURE.

SINCE the Pickwick Papers, there has been no such delightful reading as the Journal of the late Southern Convention at Savannah. The world is greatly indebted to the gentlemen who engaged with such alacrity in this seasonable divertissement, and whose eloquent naïveté equaled that of Snodgrass, Tupman, and Winkle in their palmiest moments. After the grave excitement of a presidential election, the convention came in as naturally as a farce after a drama-Raising the Wind, for instance, after Old Heads and Young Hearts. The whole affair sprang out of the charity of generous souls who wished to give the country a laugh, to treat us all to a good Christmas burlesque, and atone, by their impromptu performance, for the lamentable absence, in American amusements, of clown, harlequin, and pantaloon. A chivalric paper, with even more perception than the Eutanswill Gazette, entered fully into the sly humor of the performance, and announced that the convention passed resolutions which would be recorded and filed as the basis of future resolutions at future conventions.

The success of the exhibition was signal. We congratulate all the performers upon having given the country a heartier laugh than it has enjoyed for many months. We are quite sure that the spectacle was more ludicrous than the actors themselves conceived, and

the Pickwick Club might have learned many a valuable lesson from its Savannah rival. It was a matter of regret that a distinguished amateur clown from Virginia, whose ground and lofty tumblings, during the summer season, had won him such merited consideration, should have been unavoidably prevented from appearing, by a little job of cabinet-work which he had undertaken. But the country was reconciled to the absence of the South Carolina pet, knowing how exhausted he had been by his recent striking performance in that absurd old farce, My Uncle, in which he was so appropriately supported by a collection of sticks from his native state. The Georgia bragger, although a good deal hackneyed in his part, came in, toward the end of the performance, with a tolerable joke, which served, at least, to show his capacity. But, in general, the whole spectacle was of the freshest character, scarcely any of the actors having ever before been heard of.

Of all the good jokes perpetrated by the Savannah Pickwickians, none seeins to us more purely humorous than the debate upon a "southern literature." Resolved, say these lovely wags, that there is no southern literature. Resolved, that there ought to be a southern literature. Resolved, that there shall be a southern literature. Resolved-this time the delighted reader is sure

they are going to authorize W. Gilmore Simms, LL. D., to construct a southern literature. Not at all. The very best of the joke is, that his name is omitted altogether, and sundry other gentlemen are requested to take the matter in hand. Dr. Simms

is destined, this year, to be a victim. He went away from New York some time since, and was announced as a martyr in some sympathetic newspaper. But here there was a grave questionwhether the martyrdom on that occasion was in the pulpit or in the pews. At home, however, there can be no doubt that he was deliberately sacrificed. It is now many years since Dr. Simms and his writings have done duty-and well, too-as the southern author and a southern literature. If an unwary critic ever chanced to suggest that, haply, "the spirit of the free states seemed to be more conducive to literary affluence and excellence than that of the slave states," the outraged press of the latter scoffed at him bitterly, and soon silenced him with Simms. And yet, at the very moment when there is question of creating a southern literature upon the great scale, by a vote of the Savannah Pickwickians, the name of W. Gilmore Simms, LL. D., is ruthlessly omitted!

It appears, according to the Savannah club, that neither English nor American authors are capable of producing this "southern literature," and for once the gentlemen who want it must turn to and help themselves. One of the practical humorists of the club, a very Tracy Tupman, remarked plaintively-"They had at one time a literary publication in South Carolina, but where was it now?" and, having thus exposed the probable success of the effort to establish a "southern literature,' the delightful Tupman proceeds with the most brilliant non sequitur upon record:

"It was important that the South should have a literature of her own, to defend her

principles and her rights. He thought they could get text books at home, without going either to Old England or to New England for them. These resolutions would do no harm, but he thought that, instead of passing resolves, it would be better for each man to determine hereafter to encourage no northern books or papers. [Applause.] Let the coun try understand, that the South had talent enough to do anything that needs to be done, and independence enough to do it. Let southern children be kept from northern educational institutions, and northern instructors be excluded from the south. Let southern col leges and manufacturing establishments be

built up. A thousand commercial conventions would not do as much towards making the south independent of New England as one good college or manufacturing establishment."

"Her principles and her rights," which the southern literature is to be established to illustrate and defend, are, the principle that a man is a thing, and the right of selling him and his children into perpetual slavery. And with an elaboration of humor which Grimaldi, not to say Sam Weller, would have envied, this good Tupman continues

"He did not know in what part of Europe they could expect to get text-books that would suit the southern country. Certainly not in England, where their own language was spoken and written."

So far Tupman was certainly correct. But if he be determined to look abroad

for the foundation of the "southern literature," notwithstanding that the country is to take notice that "the south has talent enough to do anything that needs to be done," why should he not look into Russian or Turkish letters? Certainly a judicious selection of works might be made from those literatures, which, under the careful supervision and excision of the American Tract Society, and protected by the laws of South Carolina, Louisiana, Virginia, Georgia, etc., against education, might be cautiously introduced as the nucleus of the enterprise. We commend this suggestion to the attention of the numerous gentlemen, whom, as scholars and literary men, we congratulate upon their appointment, by men who find the literature of Shakespeare and Milton not fit for their pur

poses, to

"prepare such a series of books in every de partment of study, from the earliest primer to the highest grades of literature and science, as may seem to them best qualified to elevate and purify the education of the South."

These are the gentlemen-but why did not the facetious Tupman, who remembered that there "had been" a literary publication in South Carolina, recall that there is a literary man there, and do justice to the martyr Simms ?

"Profs. Bledsoe, McGuffey, of Va.; President Smith, of Randolph and Weaver College, Va.; Hon. Geo. E. Badger, and D. L. Swain, of N. C. Rt. Rev. Bishop Elliott, and J. Hamilton Cooper, of Ga.; Prof. John Lecompte, Rev. J. H. Thornwell, Rev. J. W. Miles, and Rev. Dr. Curtis, of S. C.; President Tallman, of Ga.; Dr. Lacey, of N. C.; Ashbel Smith, of Texas; President Longstreet, of Miss.; Dr. Garland, of Ala.; Charles Gayarre, of La.; Dr. Richard Fuller, of Ind., and Dr. Alonzo Church, of Ga.'.

There was no especial time mentioned in which the southern literature must be completed by these gentlemen; and that is a little defect in the humor of the joke. Why not have resolved, for instance, that the article must be delivered at the next meeting of the Pickwickians at Knoxville! But, meanwhile, Winkle, of Georgia, submitted the following additional resolution :

"Resolved, That it is recommended to the legislatures of the southern states to withhold, from all schools and academies that use northern text books or employ northern teachers, any portion of the school fund.

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"This, he thought, would be striking at the root of the evil; but so long as they permitted northern school-marms' and school teachers to come here, they could, of course, select injurious books for their scholars. He was for excluding such people and their books altogether. Applause.]"

Winkle, of Georgia, is evidently stern but sagacious. Sagacious, because, while northern books and school-marms" come in, the chances of the southern literature may languish; but stern, because his method would restrict the reading public of "the south" to that literature which, by the terms of the joke, does not yet exist. Does Winkle mockingly mean to recommend to southern readers the "literary publication" which they had at one time" in South Carolina? He insisted that the state legislatures should exclude the "northern literary publications," which would consequently force into the field the talent enough to do anything," to which Tupman gracefully alluded.

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But Augustus Snodgrass, of South Carolina, took a bolder sweep, and by implication called Winkle and Tupman spoons. Augustus Snodgrass said:

"He was opposed to this child's playthese resolves not to subscribe to northern periodicals, or buy northern goods. It was nothing but a miserable subterfuge, and would amount to nothing practical. Whatever resolves this convention might adopt, southern ladies would continue to read Go dey's Lady's Book and Arthur's Home Magazine, no matter what sentiments they might

advance; the ladies wanted the fashions and their hoops, and they would have them. Laughter.] They could get these things at the north, but not at the south. Northern publishers employed the talent of the south and of the whole country to write for them, and poured out thousands annually for it; but southern men expected to get talent without paying for it. The Southern Quarterly Re view and the Literary Messenger were liter

ally struggling for existence, for want of material aid. But these journals were as well supported at the south as northern periodicals were. It was not the south that built up northern literature; they did it themselves. There was talent, and mind, and poetic genius enough in the sonth to build up a literature of a high order; but southern publishers could not get money to assist them in their enterprises, and, therefore, the south had no literature. He regarded these resolutions as mere child's play."

Snodgrass agrees with Tupman's theory of "talent enough to do anything," by declaring that there is talent, and mind, and poetic genius enough in the south to build up a literature of a high order," if it were only encouraged. The wag never asks why it is not encouraged. The droll Snodgrass never hints that there is a choice of mental as well as other food, and that a man or woman, even in "the south," will read what seems most interesting and able. The Pickwickian jokers at Savannah must, of course, have their little biennial joke, but the great laws of nature will perversely continue to operate. Calhoun's works, and Jefferson's works, and Benton's works are published in the free states. The works of W. Gilmore Simms, LL. D., are also

published there; and we invite Tup

man's attention, and that of the whole club, to this curious fact, that Mr. DeBow, who moved the names of the gentlemen who were to prepare a southern literature, is himself the editor of a review which is printed in New York,* and that the first gentleman upon his list, Professor Bledsoe, is also the author of a work designed to show the great and glorious character of human slavery, and that this book is published in Philadelphia. The fact is-whatever the joke may be-that where there is a large reading public, there will be authors and publishers. The Pickwickians might as well have appointed a committee to secure summer in January, as to create a literature. They can, indeed, make police regulations. They can institute a vast censorship, as in Rome, and publicly condemn and burn books. And we recommend to the jokers, as a suitable candidate for grand inquisitor of this holy office for the condemnation of any book which tended to disseminate the heresy of human brotherhood, the superintendent of common

We wish to do no injustice. No names, either of printer or publisher, appear upon the Magazine, but we have the statement upon good authority. VOL. IX.-14

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