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and delivered the post-bag to Washington, at the east front of the mansion.

At such times, the politicians, sages and quid nuncs of the Mount would gather around, apply the ear to doors, windows, or key-holes, and record the news in the journal of the brain. On this occasion, an unusually loud talking is heard at the tea-table, mingled with acclamations of satisfaction. Some pleasant news has evidently reached Mount Vernon. What can it be? Nobody comes out to communicate it. Peter, the superintendent of stables, stands near the west front of the mansion, longing for Frank, the master diningroom servant, to make his appearance and soften the agony outside. He soon comes with smiles, and embraces Peter at the door!

"What's de news, sar ?" eagerly inquires the superintendent of stables.

"Kosciuszko's liberated," replied Frank, "and is about to visit America."

"You doesn't say dat I hopes, does you ?" blunderingly exclaimed Peter, as he flew to spread the news.

Peter reached the quarter of Billy, the venerable body-servant of the chief. Lights soon flew in various directions, from house to house, up stairs and down, and to the summer-house and conservatory. Mount Vernon was illuminaled! Loud shouts pierced the trackless air! "Washington, Kosciuszko and Independence," in the wildest discord, silenced the sacred song. Scomberry, the Sage of Dogue Run, arose with "meekly solemn eye" to address the choir; the "white ladies" came out to witness the scene, and "Kosciuszko's Lamentation" never more saddened the melody of Mount Vernon.

"Tige," the old greyhound, was the constant companion of Thomas, the young turkey driver of the Mount. This venerable dog had been the leader of the "pack," in the sporting days of Mount Vernon; was the oldest dog on the plantation, and, in '98, was the patriarch of the kennel. His hair had grown grey, and long years of hard service had dimmed his sight. When Billy, the old huutsman and body-servant of the Chief, would pat him on the head and talk to him of the chase in days gone by, he would listen as though he understood every word, and appeared to mutter out his regret that he was not still able to lead the famous pack of the fleet-footed companions of his youth.

On a calm, clear day in June, when Mount Vernon echoed a hum of joy, and the distant hills of Maryland spread out a serene and silent shore, a small boy, attended by old Tige, marched out with a flock of hens and young chickens, in orderly procession, at the western gate leading from the mansion, proceeded along the road by the conservatory, and finally passed it. Along the line of march, a luxuriant growth of grass and flowers, with trees bearing tempting fruits, quickened life and charmed the eye. But, alas! how deceptive are all appearances, and how frequently are we stung by surprise, by bees that lurk in the sweetest flowers. Coming to a small cherry tree, the boy discovered the ripe and tempting fruit, climbed the tree, and began to help himself to the large and juicy cherries that hung within his reach. Old Tige laid himself down for repose, and was soon half asleep at the root of the tree; the hens and chickens made off, and scattered to different places, as fancy led them, while the boy, filled with delight, and with good cherries, forgot that he was the commissioned sentinel of the hour. During this suspension of duty by the sentinel up the tree and his dosing companion on the ground, a large fish-hawk, sailing up from the Potomac, "bounced right down 'mong de hens and chickens, and Tige sprung up and made arter de hawk jes as fass as cber his legs could toat him." He arrived at the scene of the hawk's hostile demonstration just as he was leaving the ground with a chicken in his claws! He jumped about "ten foot into de air arter de hawk," but could not catch him-he sailed off to the Maryland heights with his plunder, leaving the two sentinels much wiser by the exploit.

The poor boy, in his hurry to scramble down the tree, became so entangled by the snags that he made but slow progress in hastening to the relief of his frightened and squandered flock. At length, however, he made a desperate effort to jump to the ground, but his long gown caught a snag, suspending him from the tree, with head downwards, dangling in the air. Old Tige, still in pursuit of the hawk, had leaped the fence into the wheat-field, and the faithful old sentinel's head could be seen, "bobbing up and down," in the tall wheat, in his endeavors to "sight out" the course of the fugitive hawk. He whined, he barked, the fowls ran screaming to places of refuge, the boy cried in great alarm, and the shrill voice of a multitude of Guinea fowls, mounted on the walls, trees and fences, joined

in the "discordant melody," and there was music indeed at Mount Vernon in that critical hour. Aunt Dolly, the superintendent of the poultry yard, moved by the unlooked-for uproar, arrived on the ground just in time to behold the hawk soaring over the trees on the Maryland shore, with one of her chickens in its claws! and the sentinel leisurely dangling head downwards in the air!

"Hi! Stealin' cherries, is ye?" exclaimed she. "Hung up de tree, ha? Ye looks nice, doesn't ye? Hawk kotch a chicken, ha ? You hang dar for one whet, for all I keers. Bound I'se not gwine to take you down soon," and off she flew after her squandered chickens, which, by this time, had all disappeared in the tall grass, and under the wood pile. The poor sentinel had, at length, somewhat recovered from his fright, and was earnestly trying to extricate himself from his singular situation; but all his efforts were in vain, for the strong material of his long shirt defied a tearing off from the snag; nor could he elevate himself so as to reach a limb of the tree and climb upwards.

At length he hung quietly, now and then rolling the white of his eye and stealthily gazing around, in hope of discovering some meaus of relief. Soon, Mose, the cow-boy, as "luck" would have it, arrived on the ground with his lowing herd, adding base to the music; and, seeing the suspended sentinel, and the excited Guinea fowls perched upon the highest objects, apparently making sport of the sight, he came running up the road toward the scene of confusion, with long cow-whip in hand.

At first, Mose was inclined to have some fun at the expense of the dangling sentinel, but discovering his subject in sufficient pain from long hanging, slowly proceeded to take him down.

"Dis shirt must be made outen 'normous strong truck," said the waggish cow-boy, as he “tugged away” in trying to release the sentinel from the redoubtable snag.

"Dis no tow linen," remarked he, coolly; "it's flax linen, sartin. I can't tar you down, boy. You hab to hang here for a skeer-crow I sposes. Den de hawk's not gwine to steal no chickens, I bounds. Good mornin', sar. How is ye, sar? You feels happy, I hopes." Thus leisurely and coolly the cow-boy harangued the sentinel, as he passively hung to the snag, hoping for deliverance.

"I specks I hab to climb up and lif you off de snag," said Mose,

and thus saying, he began to climb up slowly, as though nothing at all in particular demanded haste; and, gaining the limb from which his subject was suspended, he soon "liffed him off de 'foresed snag," and let him fall about six feet to the ground. The sentinel rolled over and pleasantly showed his "ivory," by a grin at the cow-boy. "Specks you down now," said Mose, with a mischievous grin. “Dis snag's a 'normous long suag, sartin. I'se gwine to break you off, Mr. Snag; you might hang me some dese days," and, suiting the word to the effort, broke off the snag; and, losing his balance, fell headlong to the ground. The sentinel roared, and the cow-boy, seizing his whip, said, "how is ye, boy? I thinks I must tetch you up a little to suple your jints," and he vigorously applied his whip to the bare legs of the sentinel. A sharp race, "under the lash," soon brought the two youngsters in the presence of the grave superintendent of the poultry yard.

"Hi, youngster, you's down, is ye? Better waited till I took you down. I bound de hawks eat you fust."

As Dolly was thus berating the youngster, the wagoner and schoolmaster, Thomas Mason, drove up and dismounted. Dolly readily told him the tale, but the only comfort he gave the young chicken minder was, "he-e-e-yah, yah, yah,” as be mounted his wheel-horse, and shouted, "jee up dar, Jerry, I'se off arter dat, sartin.”

Old Tige soon returned from his pursuit of the hawk, and with sad steps came and took his seat in the poultry yard near his fellow sentinel-the fun was too great to admit of any anger, and the two delinquents escaped punishment, except that which had been administered by the fun-loving cow-boy.

Tige was an honest old hound, minded his own business, and was therefore much beloved and caressed by all the servants, and espe cially by Billy, the old huntsman; but "Old Vulcan," the French hound, many years younger than Tige, would steal, and snarl, and quarrel and cause numberless disputes about trifles among all the well-behaved hounds of the kennel.

"It happened that upon a large company sitting down to dinner at Mount Vernon one day, that the lady of the mansion discovered that the ham, the pride of every Virginia housewife's table, was missing from its accustomed post of honor. Upon questioning

Frank, the butler, the portly, and, at the same time, the most accomplished and polite of all butlers, observed that a ham-yes, a very fine ham-had been prepared, agreeably to the madam's orders; but lo and behold, who should come into the kitchen, while the savory ham was smoking in its dish, but old Vulcan, the hound, and without more ado, fastened his fangs into it and although they of the kitchen had stood to such arms as they could get, and had fought the old spoiler desperately, yet Vulcan had finally triumphed, and bore off the prize-ay, cleanly under the keeper's nose. lady by no means relished the loss of a dish which formed the pride of her table, aud uttered some remarks by no means favorable to Vulcan, or, indeed, to dogs in general; while the chief, having heard the story, communicated it to his guests, and with them laughed heartily at the exploit of the stag-hound."

The

There were many very old foxes on the Mount Vernon estate that had defied the fangs of Tige, Vulcan, and the whole pack for years. They were all grey foxes, with one exception, and "this was a famous black fox, which differed from his brethren of orders grey, and would flourish his brush, set his pursuers at defiance, and go from ten to twenty miles at an end, distancing both dogs and men, and, what was truly remarkable, would return to his place of starting on the same night, so as always to be found there the ensuing morning. After seven or eight severe runs, without success, Billy recommended that the black reynard should be let alone, giving it as his opinion, that he was very near akin to another sable character, inhabiting a lower region, and as remarkable for his wiles. The advice was adopted from necessity, and ever thereafter, on throwing off the hounds, care was taken to avoid the haunt of the unconquerable black fox."

"When I fust took up my 'bode in de house 'whar I now lives," said Scomberry, the philosopher of Dogue Run plantation, “I sot out wid de old 'oman to raisin' chickens, and one season I riz de bes lot dat plantation eber seed. One day de ole black fox, chuck full ob 'cumspyroundable instinctions, sneaked right up 'hind de hen-house and 'gan spyin' around arter his dinner. At las he trots right round de corner, and walks right smack into de door ob de hen-house, and sot de hens to screamin' in de mos' awful kind o' manner. I jes' seizes my old musket, dat had seed sarvice in the

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