64: WILD SPOETS IN THE SOUTH. 



parent stock shaded the gravelly banks of the Garonne, 

 carried our minds to other lands, and sent our tongues 

 travelling all around the world for adventures. 



It was dark as we finished the bottle, and Jackson un- 

 locked his closet for another. I believe that wine-closet 

 was the only thing that was locked on the whole place. 

 The negroes had crawled out of their curious retreats, 

 and were lying around in groups. The sheep-drivers had 

 come in from the folds, and the tinkling of tiny bells 

 announced that the sheep were penned for the night. 

 The camp-fire was lit, pipes were smoking, Jackson was 

 sitting against one of the pack-saddles, and his daughter 

 was reclining against his knees. His daughter was a 

 brunette girl of sixteen years of age, and her mother 

 was dead, it was said, many years ago. 



" He was a gentleman," said Jackson, pursuing a des- 

 cription he had been giving of some one living on the 

 coast. "He never took an insult, and never gave one; 

 what more could be said of any man ?" 



"And he gave dis child a dollar Christmas day 

 course he's a gentleman," struck in Hoppin Lem, the 

 planter's favorite servant, who, squatted on his haunches 

 a few yards behind his master, drank in ah 1 the conversa- 

 tion, and joined in the laugh, with the low " yah-e ah- 

 ah-ee !" so peculiar to the negro. 



" Hold your tongue, you black rascal!" said his master. 



" Was it not he who shot young Travers in a duel at 

 the Mobile races ?" asked the Doctor. 



" Of course it was, and did it as bravely as any man 



