“From Virginia, ma’am,” supplemented the Colonel, who was already redolent of Bourbon; “the name of Delancy Hyde hahz been in the family more ’n five hunderd yarz. Fak, ma’am! My father owned more slaves nor he could count. Ef it hahdn’t been fur a damned Yankee judge, we sh’d hahv held more land nor you could ride over in a day. Them low-born Yankees, ma’am, air jes’ fit to fetch an’ carry for us as air the master race; to larn our childern thar letters an’ make our shoes, as the Greeks done fur the Romans, ma’am. Ever read the Richmond newspapers, ma’am? John Randolph wunst said he’d go out of his way to kick a sheep. I’d go out of my way, ma’am, to kick a Yankee.” “If you’re disposed to listen to a story, Colonel,” said Vance, “take a chair.” And he pointed to one the furthest from Mrs. Berwick. “I am about to read an autobiography of the fellow Gashface, of whom you have heard.” And Vance drew from his pocket a small visiting card crowded close with stenographic characters in manuscript. “An’ that’s an auter—what d’ yer call it,—is it?” asked the Colonel. “Cur’ous!” The Colonel reinforced himself with a plug of tobacco, and Vance began to recite what he called, for the occasion, “The Autobiography of Gashface.” But we prefer to name it =The Story of Estelle.= I was born in New Orleans, and am the son of William Carteret. He was a Virginian by birth, the younger son of a planter, whose forefather, a poor Yorkshire gentleman, came over from England with Sir Thomas Dale in the year 1611. You might think me false to my father’s native State if I did not vindicate my claim to a descent from one of the first Virginia families. You must be aware that all the gentle blood that flowed from Europe to this continent sought Virginia as its congenial reservoir. It would be difficult to find a low-born white man in the whole eastern section of the State. [“That’s a fak!” interposed the Colonel.] My grandfather died in 1820, leaving all his property to his eldest son, Albert. (Virginia then had her laws of primogeniture.) Albert generously offered to provide for my father, but the latter, finding that Albert could not do this without reducing the provision for his sisters, resolved to seek fortune at the North. He went to New York, where he studied medicine. But here he encountered Miss Peyton, a beautiful girl from Virginia, nobly supporting herself by giving instruction in music. He married her, and they consoled themselves for their poverty by their fidelity and devotion to each other. The loss of their first child, in consequence, as my father believed, of the unhealthy location of his house, induced him to make extraordinary efforts to earn money.