The Swamp Doctor's Adventures in The South-West: Containing the Whole of The Louisiana Swamp Doctor; Streaks of Squatter Life; and Far-Western Scenes; In a Series of Forty-Two Humorous Southern and Western Sketches, Descriptive of Incidents and CharacterRobb, John S.
General
The Swamp Doctor's Adventures in The South-West: Containing the Whole of The Louisiana Swamp Doctor; Streaks of Squatter Life; and Far-Western Scenes; In a Series of Forty-Two Humorous Southern and Western Sketches, Descriptive of Incidents and Character
Robb, John S.
Southwest, Old -- Social life and customs
“Poisoned with solution of arsenic, ha! ha! oh! lord! ha!” and my
preceptor, throwing his burly form on the floor, rolled over and over,
making the office ring with his laughter--“poisoned, ha! ha!”
“Get out of this, you drunken rascal!” said he to the dying patient,
applying his horse-whip to him vigorously. It acted like a charm: giving
a loud yell of defiance, the old Choctaw sprang into the middle of the
floor.
“Whoop! whiskey lour! Injun big man, drunk heap. Whoop! Tubba big Injun
heap!” making tracks for the door, and thence to the swamp.
The truth must out. The boys had got into the habit of making too free
with my preceptor's whiskey; and to keep off all but the knowing one, he
had labelled it, “Solution of Arsenic.”
A TIGHT RACE CONSIDERIN'.
|During my medical studies, passed in a small village in Mississippi,
I became acquainted with a family named Hibbs (a _nom de plume_ of
course), residing a few miles in the country. The family consisted of
Mr. and Mrs. Hibbs and son. They were plain, unlettered people, honest
in intent and deed, but overflowing with that which amply made up for
all their deficiencies of education, namely, warm-hearted hospitality,
the distinguishing trait of southern character. They were originally
from Virginia, from whence they had emigrated in quest of a clime more
genial, and a soil more productive than that in which their fathers
toiled. Their search had been rewarded, their expectations realized, and
now, in their old age, though not wealthy in the “Astorian” sense, still
they had sufficient to keep the “wolf from the door,” and drop something
more substantial than condolence and tears in the hat that poverty hands
round for the kind offerings of humanity.
The old man was like the generality of old planters, men whose ambition
is embraced by the family or social circle, and whose thoughts turn
more on the relative value of “Sea Island” and “Mastodon,” and the
improvement of their plantations, than the “glorious victories of
Whig-gery in Kentucky,” or the “triumphs of democracy in Arkansas.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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