Down the River; Or, Buck Bradford and His Tyrants

, black my boots, an

t Ham Fishle

them yo

t I said to

had just told me that he was going to a party, that he was a little late, and asked me if I would assist him, I would have jumped over his head to oblige him, though he was three inches taller than I was. I am willing to go a step farther. If this had been the first, or

Captain Fishley and his wife, and especially by their son Ham; and I had come deliberately to the conclusion that something must be done. I

manded Ham, leaping over

rtook me. Not being willing to take the fire in the rear, I halted, wheeled about, and drew up in order of battle. I had made up my mind to k

lack my boots,"

ow yo

Bradford, yo

Fishley, I

't y

N

'll mak

o

ed up every fibre of my frame in readiness for the shoc

this," said Ham, after a glance at

ght," I

ny good will on his part, if the case was not settled by him. I had rebelled, and I must take my chances. I went to the barn, harnessed the black horse

his vengeance upon my head. I was rather surprised at his non-appearance, and rather disappointed, too; for I preferred to fight the battle at the barn, or in the y

ed Mrs. Fishley, from th

y, snarling woman, who never spoke pleasantly to any one,

arm!" I

the highest tones of her voice, which sounded

that I was not called to the expected settlement, which, in spite of my fixed determination, I could not help dreading. Mrs. Fishley wante

ork harder, to think of more things, stagger under more burdens, than all her female neighbors put together. If she ever confessed that she was sometimes just a little cross, she wanted to know who could wonder at it, when she had so much to do, and so many things

actual ones. They soured her temper,-or, more properly, her temper soured them,-and she groaned, complained, snarled, snapped, and fretted, from very early on Sunday morning to ve

period, long before I was born, had been a more decent man than he was at the time of which I write. If he ever had been, his degeneracy was easily explained; for it would not

e and more intolerable than my own trials-and they were the trials of my poor, dear, deformed, invalid sister. Tender, loving, and patient as she was under them, her sufferings made my blood boil with indignation. If Mrs. Fishley had treated Flora kindly, she

breast-bone projected, and she was so drawn up that she looked like a "humpback." But what she lacked in body she more than made up in spirit, in the loveliness of an amiable disposition, in an unselfish devotion to others, in a loving heart, a

ther I hurried or not; I should "have to take it" the moment she saw me. If I was in the barn, I ought to have been in the shop; if in the shop, the

t in the street and into the store after you, and you alwa

anything; it

over full," she continued, in the same amiable, sweet-tempered tones. "It's strange you can't do anythi

r the pail wants emptying or not," I ventured to

it along, and

the brim, and it was simply im

econd added line above the treble staff. "You are spilling it all

t, I might have carried it "like folks." It was no use; she always got the better of me in an argument. I fed the pigs, as I always did, before I w

heard her cry to poor Flora, who was sitting in her arm-chair by the

dn't

laimed Mrs. Fishley, seizing her by the ar

" groaned

poor Flora's tyrant by the shoulders, and hurled her half