The Memories of Fifty Years: Containing Brief Biographical Notices of Distinguished Americans, and Anecdotes of Remarkable Men; Interspersed with Scenes and Incidents Occurring during a Long Life of Observation Chiefly Spent in the SouthwestSparks, W. H. (William Henry)
History
The Memories of Fifty Years: Containing Brief Biographical Notices of Distinguished Americans, and Anecdotes of Remarkable Men; Interspersed with Scenes and Incidents Occurring during a Long Life of Observation Chiefly Spent in the Southwest
Sparks, W. H. (William Henry)
Georgia -- History -- 1775-1865; Southwest, Old -- History; United States -- Biography
When the morrow came, the clouds were weeping and the damp was dripping
from every leaf, and gloomy rifts of spongy vapor floated lazily upon
the breeze, promising a wet and very unpleasant day. These misty
periods rarely endure many hours in the autumn, but sometimes they
continue for days. The atmosphere seems half water, and its warm damp
compels close-housing, to avoid the clammy, sickly feeling met beyond
the portals. At such times, time hangs heavily, and every resource
sometimes fails to dispel the gloom and ennui consequent upon the
weather; conversation will pall; music cease to delight, and reading
weary. To stand and watch the rain through the window-panes, to lounge
from the drawing-room to your chamber, to drum with your fingers upon
the table--to beat your brain for a thought which you vainly seek to
weave into rhyme in praise of your inamorata--all is unavailing. The
rain is slow but ceaseless, and the hours are days to the unemployed
mind. We hum a tune and whistle to hurry time, but the indicating
fingers of the tediously ticking clock seems stationary, and time waits
for fair weather. The ladies love their chambers, and sleeping away the
laggard hours, do not feel the oppression of a slow, continuous, lazy
rain.
The morning has well-nigh passed, and the drawing-room is still
untenanted. The judge was busy in his office, looking over papers and
accounts, seemingly unconscious of the murky day; perhaps he had
purposely left this work for such a day--wise judge--a solitary man,
unloving, and unloved; hospitable by freaks, sordid by habit, and mean
by nature. Yet he was wise in his way; devoid of sentiment or sympathy
as a grind-stone, his wit was as sharp as his heart was cold. Absorbed
in himself, the outside world was nothing to him. He had work, gainful
work for all weathers, and therefore no feeling for those who suffered
from the weather or the world, if it cost him nothing in pence. He was
the guardian of his baby sister; but all of her he had in his heart was
a care that she should not marry, before he was ready to settle her
estate. The interest he felt in her, was his commissions for
administering her property with a legitimate gain earned in the use of
her money.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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