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Updated: June 16, 2025
I'se yeard w'at hap'n w'en de Yanks go troo de kentry like an ol bull in a crock'ry sto'." In his duties of waiting on the troopers and clearing the table he had opportunities of purloining a goodly portion of the viands, for he remembered that he also had assumed the role of host with a very meagre larder to draw upon.
"Well, now, I don't belieb you're 'fraid, not de way I yeard you talkin' to de oberseer wen he war threatnin' to hit your mudder. He saw you meant business, an' he let her alone. But, what's to hinder you from gwine wid us?" "My mother," he replied, in a low, firm voice. "That is the only thing that keeps me from going. If it had not been for her, I would have gone long ago.
"At their approach," relates the historian of that local insurrection, "the people of that place had put their cattle into a fold to make room for their horses; but the beasts having broken the fold, some of them drew home to the town a little before day; and a townsman, going to hunt one of 'em out of his yeard, called on his dog nam'd 'Help. Hereupon the sentries cried 'Where? and apprehending it had been a party from Dumfries to attack them, gave the alarm to the rebels, who got up in great confusion."
I niver yeard till on't befar," he said suspiciously. "It's incurable, Jack," said the doctor, gravely. Happy Jack was consoled. He rolled out the word with relish to his next visitor. "Him's vound it out at last. 'Tis the anny-dominy, and 'tis incurable.
"'Twude be a grand marriage vor the likes o' yu, Miss Zairy, vor the Crewys du be the yoldest vambly in all Devonsheer, as I've yeard tell; and yure volk bain't never comed year at arl befar yure grandvather's time. Eh, what a tale there were tu tell when old Sir Timothy married Mary Ann! 'Twas a vine scandal vor the volk, zo 'twere; but I wuden't niver give in tu leaving Youlestone.
I’ve got eighteen dollars and sixty cents, and when they send me to the convent, if I don’t like it, I’m going to run away.” This last and startling revelation was told in a tragic whisper in Lucilla’s ear, for Betsy was standing before them with a tray of chocolate and coffee that she was passing around. “I yeard you,” proclaimed Betsy with mischievous inscrutable countenance.
Dey would kum 'roun en whup de niggers wid a bull whup. Ef'n dey met a niggah on de road dey'd say, "Whar ez you gwin dis time ob mawnin'?" De slaves would say, "We ez gwine ovuh 'yer ter stay aw'ile," en den dey would start beatin' dem. I'se stod in our do'er en 'yeard de hahd licks, en screams ob de ones dat wuz bein' whup'd, en I'd tell mah Missis, "Listen ter dat!"
"We yeard de soun' fum far away, en we year it agin soon." Meanwhile Mad Whately was closeted with his uncle and mother, listening with a black frown to all that had occurred. "I tell you," exclaimed the young man, "it's as clear as the sun in the sky that she should be sent away at once in fact, that you all should go." "I won't go," said Mr. Baron, "neither will my wife.
But somehow it didn't tase right, an' wen dey come ter fine out what war de matter, dey hab sent him a barrel ob san' wid some sugar on top, an' wen de sugar war all gone de san' war dare. Wen I yeard it, I jis' split my sides a larfin. It war too good to keep; an' wen it got roun', Jake war as mad as a March hare. But it sarved him right."
He is not the best Wright that hews the maniest speals. He that evill does, never good weins. Hoordom and grace, can never bide in one place. He that counts all costs, will never put plow in the yeard. He that slayes, shall be slain. He that is ill of his harbery, is good of his way kenning. He that will not when he may, shalt not when he wald. Hanging gangs by hap.
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