A Sage Conversation
(From Georgia Scenes, first edition, 1835.)
[Three old women over their pipes.]
Mrs. Shad.—The old man likes a joke yet right well, the old man does; but he’s a mighty good man, and I think he prays with greater libity, than most any one of his age I most ever seed,—don’t you think he does, Mis’ Reed?
Mrs. Reed.—Powerful.
Mrs. Barney..—Who did he marry?
Mrs. Shad.—Why, he married—stop, I’ll tell you directly—Why, what does make my old head forget so?
Mrs. Barney.—Well, it seems to me I don’t remember like I used to. Didn’t he marry a Ramsbottom?
Mrs. Reed.—No. Stay, I’ll tell you who he married presently. Oh, stay! Why I’ll tell you who he married! He married old daddy Johnny Hooer’s da’ter, Mournin’.
Mrs. Shad.—Why, la! messy on me, so he did!
Mrs. Barney.—Why, did he marry a Hooer?
Mrs. Shad.—Why, to be sure he did.—You knew Mournin’.
Mrs. Barney.—Oh, mighty well; but I’d forgot that brother Smith married her. I really thought he married a Ramsbottom.
Mrs. Reed.—Oh no, bless your soul, honey, he married Mournin’.
Mrs. Barney.—Well, the law me, I’m clear beat!
Mrs. Shad.—Oh, it’s so, you may be sure it is.
Mrs. Barney.—Emph, emph, emph, emph! And brother Smith married Mournin’ Hooer! Well, I’m clear put out! Seems to me I’m gettin’ mighty forgetful somehow.
Mrs. Shad.—Oh yes, he married Mournin’, and I saw her when she joined society.
Mrs. Barney.—Why, you don’t tell me so!
Mrs. Shad.—Oh, it’s the truth. She didn’t join till after she was married, and the church took on mightily about his marrying one out of society. But after she joined, they all got satisfied.
Mrs. Reed.—Why, la! me, the seven stars is ’way over here!
Mrs. Barney.—Well, let’s light our pipes, and take a short smoke, and go to bed. How did you come on raisin’ chickens this year, Mis’ Shad?
Mrs. Shad.—La messy, honey! I have had mighty bad luck. I had the prettiest pa’sel you most ever seed, till the varment took to killin’ ’em.
Mrs. Reed and Mrs. Barney.—The varment!!
Mrs. Shad.—Oh, dear, yes. The hawk catched a powerful sight of them; and then the varment took to ’em, and nat’ly took ’em fore and aft, bodily, till they left most none at all hardly. Sucky counted ’em up t’other day, and there warn’t but thirty-nine, she said, countin’ in the old speckle hen’s chickens that jist come off her nest.
Mrs. Reed and Mrs. Barney.—Humph—h—h!
Mrs. Reed.—Well, I’ve had bad luck, too. Billy’s hound-dogs broke up most all my nests.
Mrs. Barney.—Well, so they did me, Mis’ Reed. I always did despise a hound-dog upon the face of yea’th.
Mrs. Reed.—Oh, they are the bawllinest, squallinest, thievishest things ever was about one; but Billy will have ’em, and I think in my soul his old Troup’s the beat of all creaters I ever seed in all my born days a-suckin’ o’ hen’s eggs. He’s clean most broke me up entirely.
Mrs. Shad.—The lackaday!
Mrs. Reed.—And them that was hatched out, some took to takin’ the gaps, and some the pip, and one ailment or other, till they most all died....
Mrs. Barney.—I reckon they must have eat something didn’t agree with them.
Mrs. Reed.—No, they didn’t, for I fed ’em every mornin’ with my own hand.
Mrs. Barney.—Well, it’s mighty curious!
A short pause ensued, which was broken by Mrs. Barney with, “And brother Smith married Mournin’ Hooer!”
Footnote
9 By special kindness of Mr. Charles Edgeworth Jones, Augusta, Ga.