22 WILD 8POET8 IN THE SOUTH. 



as one cake was eaten, another would be ready on the 

 stone in front of the fire. Beyond the circle sat the 

 hounds, awaiting, with expressive attitude, the stray bits 

 that were handed them from time to time ; and joke, and 

 tales, and future plans, were one by one rehearsed with 

 laugh and hopeful wishes. 



Poke was a jolly fellow. A critical judge of character 

 might have said he was a little lazy, but none of us were 

 critical, and who could blame a man who never lost his 

 temper in all his life ? His face was like an orange, so 

 full and gentle, and the soft flaxen curls that clustered 

 tight around his head were like a child's. A shrewd 

 observer, he never saw a leaf changing color but he 

 inquired the reason, and with his gentle air read human 

 character with great facility. He seemed to know every- 

 thing, medicine, atfd the arts, and the commonest little 

 handicraft, and the greatest human theories, and he would 

 discourse up to his waist in a miry slough upon the beau- 

 ties of some aquatic plant as gracefully as in a parlor on 

 the color of a painting. His true name was Earnest 

 Pollock. His acquaintances called him Doctor, for he 

 had studied medicine at Paris ; the newspapers call him 

 the Honorable Mr. Pollock, for he had once been 

 appointed bearer of dispatches to Russia : I called him 

 Poke, for I loved him. Poke was short in stature, and 

 ready to talk. In this respect he was the counterpart of 

 Mike, or Michael Hone, or Mike the Spook, as he was 

 termed by different classes of people. Mike was gaunt, 

 though not over tall, slow in his motions, and very quiet 



