Guy Rivers: A Tale of GeorgiaSimms, William Gilmore
History
Guy Rivers: A Tale of Georgia
Simms, William Gilmore
Georgia -- History -- 1775-1865 -- Fiction; Gold mines and mining -- Fiction
propriety of a like obedience.
A few fallen trees, trimmed of their branches and touched with the adze,
ranging at convenient distances under the boughs of those along with
which they had lately stood up in proud equality, furnished seats for
the now rapidly-gathering assemblage. A rough stage, composed of logs,
rudely hewn and crossing each other at right angles, covered, when at a
height of sufficient elevation, formed the pulpit from which the
preacher was to exhort. A chair, brought from some cottage in the
neighborhood, surmounted the stage. This was all that art had done to
accommodate nature to the purposes of man.
In the body of the wood immediately adjacent, fastened to the
overhanging branches, were the goodly steeds of the company; forming, in
themselves, to the unaccustomed and inexperienced eye, a grouping the
most curious. Some, more docile than the rest; were permitted to rove at
large, cropping the young herbage and tender grass; occasionally, it is
true, during the service, overleaping their limits in a literal sense;
neighing, whinnying and kicking up their heels to the manifest confusion
of the pious and the discomfiture of the preacher.
The hour at length arrived. The audience was numerous if not select. All
persuasions--for even in that remote region sectarianism had done much
toward banishing religion--assembled promiscuously together and without
show of discord, excepting that here and there a high stickler for
church aristocracy, in a better coat than his neighbor, thrust him
aside; or, in another and not less offensive form of pride, in the
externals of humility and rotten with innate malignity, groaned audibly
through his clenched teeth; and with shut eyes and crossed hands, as in
prayer, sought to pass a practical rebuke upon the less devout
exhibitions of those around him. The cant and the clatter, as it
prevails in the crowded mart, were here in miniature; and Charity would
have needed something more than a Kamschatka covering to have shut out
from her eyes the enormous hypocrisy of many among the clamorous
professors of that faith of which they felt little and knew less. If she
shut her eyes to the sight, their groans were in her ears; and if she
turned away, they took her by the elbow, and called her a backslider
herself. Forrester whispered in the ears of Ralph, as his eye
encountered the form of Miss Munro, who sat primly amid a flock of
venerables--
"Doesn't she talk like a book? Ah, she's a smart, sweet girl; it's a
pity there's no better chance for her than Guy Rivers. But where's
he--the rascal? Do you know I nearly got my fingers on his throat last
night. I felt deusedly like it, I tell you."
"Why, what did he to you?"
"Answered me with such impudence! I took him for the pedler in the dark,
and thought I had got a prize; it wasn't the pedler, but something
worse--for in my eyes he's no better than a polecat."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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