American fiction -- 19th century; Short stories, American; United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
to kick at quartz tailings, at a barrel of Boston crackers, or at the
head or shin of "Nigger Pete." An artistic discrimination economized
her surplus energy. "Ef you'll notiss," said Dan, with a large
parental softness, "she never lets herself out to onst like them mules
or any jackass ez I've heerd of, but kinder holds herself in, and, so
to speak, takes her bearings--sorter feels round gently with that off
foot, takes her distance and her rest, and then with that ar' foot
hoverin' round in the air softly, like an angel's wing, and a gentle,
dreamy kind o' look in them eyes, she lites out! Don't ye, Jinny?
Thar! jist ez I told ye," continued Dan, with an artist's noble
forgetfulness of self, as he slowly crawled from the splintered ruin of
the barrel on which he had been sitting. "Thur! did ye ever see the
like! Did ye dream that all the while I was talkin' she was a
meditatin' that?"
The same artistic perception and noble reticence distinguished her
bray. It was one of which a less sagacious animal would have been
foolishly vain or ostentatiously prodigal. It was a contralto of great
compass and profundity--reaching from low G to high C--perhaps a trifle
stronger in the lower register, and not altogether free from a nasal
falsetto in the upper. Daring and brilliant as it was in the middle
notes, it was perhaps more musically remarkable for its great
sustaining power. The element of surprise always entered into the
hearer's enjoyment; long after any ordinary strain of human origin
would have ceased, faint echoes of Jinny's last note were perpetually
recurring. But it was as an intellectual and moral expression that her
bray was perfect. As far beyond her size as were her aspirations, it
was a free and running commentary of scorn at all created things
extant, with ironical and sardonic additions that were terrible. It
reviled all human endeavor, it quenched all sentiment, it suspended
frivolity, it scattered reverie, it paralyzed action. It was
omnipotent. More wonderful and characteristic than all, the very
existence of this tremendous organ was unknown to the camp for six
months after the arrival of its modest owner, and only revealed to them
under circumstances that seemed to point more conclusively than ever to
her rare discretion.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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