As already stated, "Lonz Powers" was published in 1850. The author devotes his twenty-ninth chapter to the town of his birth--Greenville. This entire chapter, with the exception of about one page of irrelevant dialogue, is here reproduced.

In the early part of his reminiscences Mr. Weir gives a picture of Greenville as it was when he was a schoolboy in the early thirties of the last century. The "Village Tavern" referred to was the old Russell Tavern, which was among the first houses built in Greenville and was conducted by the Russells for more than half a century. The "sweet little church" was the old Presbyterian church east of the courthouse. The "old soldier of the second war" of whom he writes is Charles Fox Wing. The "auger-hole" incident, according to the story of "Lonz Powers," took place in 1844. The "Dutchman's" store, tradition says, was run by two brothers, Isaac and Simon Oberdorfer, who after living in Greenville for a few years returned to their native town in another part of the State.

It may be well to remind the reader that in the preface to "Lonz Powers" Mr. Weir remarks that his story is "founded on fact," but that as an author he sometimes indulges in "the privileges of the craft." To what extent he has here, at times, indulged in an author's license can be more readily seen than told. In the whole sketch we may read the good-humored satire of the young Greenvillian who had removed to a larger and more bustling community. Nevertheless it contains much that is tender recollection. The sketch follows:

The little town of Greenville located on, if not seven hills,--like the immortal city of the C‘sars,--at least half that number, was, a few days after the events described in our last chapter [his chapter XXVIII], the theatre of great excitement, and not a little wonder and astonishment. You must understand, dear reader, that year after year, for at least one generation preceding the incidents we are now about relating, the good citizens of this primitive town had lived, or rather vegetated, in one great, grand calm, unruffled by a single storm.

From time immemorial (or at least so far back as my memory runneth, for this quiet spot was my birthplace) the bell on the village tavern had rung out its alarm-notes for breakfast long before the peep of day; dinner followed at eleven, supper at four, and by seven, or eight at the outside, all the sober and respectable portion of the villagers were in bed. Yet I have known--although it was by no means a frequent thing--some wild, dissipated young blades (as they were then called), greatly to the horror and grief of the elder inhabitants, set upon a spree, eating eggs and hickorynuts, at least an hour later than the prescribed time.

The customs of this retired village were as ancient as the village itself, and never changed nor varied in the least, for the good villagers not once dreamed of wandering a hair's breadth from the old beaten path of their fathers. Week after week, month after month, and year after year, quietly stole by, but the people, the town, and the fashions continued one and the same, unchanged, and, in their estimation, unchangeable.

The citizens sat at the same corners, and under the same shadetrees, and nearly, if not altogether, the same men and boys, father and son, day by day, as they had done for a quarter of a century. A stranger might have ridden through that quiet and peaceful little town, at the period of which we are speaking, continued his journey through Europe, Asia, and Africa, consuming half a lifetime, and then returning, would have found exactly the same company, sitting in the same place, engaged in the same business, and talking pretty much about the same things. The houses, gardens, yards, shops, stores, and taverns never changed owners, occupiers, or signs, and, what was still more singular, never grew any better or worse. They remained always looking just the same as though death had swept away the entire community, and time, with its ravages and decay, so far as they were concerned, had ceased to be. 1 Mrs. William H. Yost, sr. (Mrs. Jonathan Short), in 1864

The old seminary (a sacred and holy place in our memory) perched upon one hill--the sweet little church upon another--and the courthouse and jail (as if typical of justice guarded by religion and education) immediately between, have remained just in that position, never improving nor growing worse, until the memory of man knoweth not to the contrary. We have many pleasant memories of that old seminary, and of the ancient pedagogues who figured and flourished there in the happy days of our boyhood. Like the village itself, our old schoolmasters were an odd, unaccountable set, with queer notions of their own, for those fashioners and formers of the mind, those polishers and beautifiers of the most glorious gift of God to man, those workers not in gold and jewels, but in a far more precious and priceless commodity, who figured upon the stage in my day, were a species strange and unique, and bearing very little, if any, resemblance to the genus pedagogue of this steam-engine age.

I well remember one of these ancient trainers of the young mind, who, for want of a better, was for a time made grand Czar of the old seminary, and I can never, even now, think of his little school, and the rare scenes enacted under his reign and superintendence, without a burst of laughter.Old Presbyterian Church, Greenville

He was an odd, disjointed little fellow,--a reverend, by the by,--without much knowledge of books and with still less of politeness or etiquette, yet on every Friday evening would he make his entire school go through a thorough drill in "curtseys," "bowing," "leaving and entering the room," and in "formal introductions one to the other," done up, as he imagined, in the best Chesterfield (Count D'Orsay was not then in vogue) style, and, as I know myself, much to the gratification and amusement of his red-headed, bare-footed, and ragged disciples.

I have been a little awkward and stiff in my bowing ever since those polishing Fridays of my younger days, and believe in my soul I never will forget the ungraceful, formal bows drubbed into me by this schoolmaster of the "ancien regime."

This same little fellow had also a great, and I might say, superlative idea of female loveliness, and conceived it to be not only his duty to polish the minds and manners of his scholars, but to add, if possible, new charms to their natural beauty. He was in the habit of saying, at each one of these drill days, and sometimes even during the week, "that the most lovely and attractive feature of the female face was the serene smile." Hence regularly, on these stated evenings, would he form all the girls of his school in a long line, and then go through the exercise of putting on the "serene smile." Jupiter and Bacchus, what a sight! Cruikshank should have seen that review! A good sketch would have made his everlasting fortune, and caused the death or life of every sour anti-laugher in the Union.

There we sat--the boys dirty, barefooted, and grinning with delight--while first the little, ungainly, cross-eyed (for he had a horrible squint) teacher would draw up his mouth to a proper focus, and, with a smirk and heavenly roll of the eye, give a sample of the "smile serene," and then girl after girl, along down the line, would follow with grim contortion and grimace his most beautiful and charming example; and thus we had the "serene smile" with all the variations. Some of the larger and more intelligent girls, struck with the ridiculousness of this "serene review," would merely smile in derision and contempt; and to these he invariably gave the badge of excellence in this particular branch of his exercises. To this day the young ladies of this little village, remembering the "serene exercises" of their ancient beautifier, often catch themselves unconsciously going through the "serene smile"; and his scholars generally may now be pointed out and known by the great serenity of their countenances. Peace be to the old pedagogue! If he is still alive, may he die with a "serene smile" upon his lips; and if he is dead, may his scholars remember the lesson he taught them, and "smile serenely" to his memory.

I remember still another famous teacher, who flourished for many years as superior of this academy when we were a wild boy; and his name must and shall not go down to the grave unhonoured and unsung, as long as we have a goose-quill and ink to dot down his peculiarities. When inflicting punishment, he never used the rod, but vented his ire by pulling the nose, cars, and hair of the offender. To such length did he carry his nose and earology that the trustees of the school were compelled by public opinion, and the elephantine growth of the junior villagers' probosces, to call a special meeting and pass a law forever forbidding any further elongation of these necessary members of the face divine. Once set by the ears, and fully alive to the importance of the occasion, the trustees not only put a stop to the squeezing of smellers, but forever put an end to "ear-pulling." This special statute was all that saved us; for even as it was, these features had got such a start, that they are now much larger and longer than there is any particular necessity for. But, as the commercial papers would say, after this decline of ear and nose punishments, there was a visible and rapid increase in the demand for hair.

Our good teacher being deprived, by one stroke of the trustees' pen, of his two greatest gratifications, took to wool-gathering in the most serious and most extensive manner. There is no telling how many of us would now be patronizing the wig-makers (for, as it is, we are generally coolly covered about the cranium) had not a young friend and myself hit upon a glorious plan of putting a stop, and forever, to this last pleasure of our old master.

On a certain morning, without any cause or provocation (as you may all well know), this hair-plucking teacher of ours, who wore a wig himself, and therefore held all hair in utter abomination, took it into his head to give my young friend, who was blessed with white locks, and myself, who had just the opposite, a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull all together, and such a pull that made our heads tingle, and which we (or at least I can speak for myself) have not yet forgotten. Like a second-rate power when insulted by a superior, we smothered our ire for the time; but the hour of vengeance was at hand, for we had hit upon a plan of operations and only awaited a fit season to put it in execution. So, when the school was dismissed for dinner, revenge took the place of hunger, and we spent the entire vacation in picking up and gathering together every stray hair we could find in the school-room. No lover ever thought more of, or treated with greater respect and tenderness, the flowing ringlets of his mistress, than we did each straggling white, red, or black hair, gathered on that day from the dust and dirt of that little room.

To these, when wearied with searching, we added a bunch pulled from the white locks of my friend, by particular request; and folding them all neatly together, making quite a respectable collection, he bore them triumphantly, as a memento of our teacher's cruelty and barbarity, to his father. The old man, although a pleasant and kind-hearted gentleman enough, was very apt to use his knotty cane, and that, too, without much delay or examination, whenever he was excited by anything mean or outrageous, and we counted upon this trait in his character for vengeance. Our teacher, however, by some means unknown to the author, escaped the drubbing he so well deserved, and which we so confidently anticipated, but was forever after very chary how he pulled hair.

The citizens of this little place have lived so long together, having the same habits and customs, enjoying the same sunshine and shade, taught by the same teachers, and worshipping in the same church, that they all bear a faint resemblance to each other, and look for all the world like a great family of relations. The old men never grow any older, and the young men remain in "statu quo"; only they all have a premature appearance of middle age. Smoking, until a few years back, was a thing unknown, or known only to be universally condemned. Railroads, steamboats, and telegraphs, and all such things, would do to talk about, but were believed to be rather sinful inventions, made for the purpose of desecrating the Sabbath, and therefore not very favourably received. The fashions were never changed; for these retired people cared not a fig for Paris, or the latest style. The same old tailors who did the cutting and modelling when I was a boy still remain, and form and fashion the Sunday finery of the modern dandy. During the week, or working days, the clothes of the community were about the same in fashion, material, and appearance. The lawyer, divine, merchant, clerk, mechanic, and labourer all alike wore shocking bad hats, ragged coats, patched pants, and unblacked shoes, and were equally indifferent as to dress. They have not yet entirely forgotten their ancient habits, and a little patching and blacking would not be at all injurious or unbecoming. If they kill the poor brute for his hide, we think it nothing but fair and right and proper that they should keep his skin always in mourning. Humanity requires this much at their hands. 2 Charles Metzker, 1849

But when Sunday came, it was quite another thing. This was a day for ransacking old trunks and bandboxes; and you wouldn't begin to know your acquaintances of the week, without a fresh introduction. The villagers mounted their best, and now was the time to tell who was who; for the swinging black, laid away during the week, made its seventh-day appearance, glittering in the sunshine; and blankets, casinets, and jeans coats,--very respectable on common occasions,--were nowhere in comparison with the wool-dyed, short-napped, imported broadcloth. This custom of all going alike during the week, and in the same careless, ragged manner, was and is not done on account of meanness or parsimony; not at all,--for the citizens of Greenville have always been noted for liberality and generosity,--but merely because they are all known to each other, very seldom see any strangers, and can not understand or conceive any particular use or necessity in troubling themselves about their apparel. On Sunday it is another thing altogether; for their fathers before them set the custom of shaving and dressing up on this particular occasion, and they but follow in their footsteps. It is a mark of respect to the sacred day and answers the purpose of a kind of almanac to let them know how time is passing. They have strange notions of the world in this little town, for they look upon every foreigner as an enemy, and watch his movements with a rather suspicious and jealous eye. They have heard from their merchants, who travel East once a year (and are therefore considered most daring and wonderful voyagers), of robbers, pickpockets, and other such fellows, and have, from the horrible accounts given by these travelers, come pretty much to the conclusion that all the remainder of the world outside of their boundaries are engaged in one or the other of these laudable occupations, and are to be at any rate considered dishonest until they prove themselves the contrary.

As to whiskers or other hirsute ornaments, they are not only esteemed prima facie evidence, but proof positive of rascality and villany of the darkest grade. No such a thing has ever been tolerated, but have always been held in the strictest abomination; and a person visiting this village with one of these hairy appendages would run a great risk of being mobbed, or at least thrown into prison on suspicion of horse-stealing. One or two men in my remembrance have been convicted and sent to the penitentiary on no other evidence; and one fellow, who had only escaped the same fate by a hung jury, was at the next term acquitted by acclamation, he having followed his lawyer's advice and freed himself from this suspicious encumbrance. The good citizens have always laid it down as an axiom (and with some degree of reason) that no honest man would thus attempt to conceal his countenance. The lawyers who practice at this court are the most barefaced in the circuit; and those sporting whiskers generally spend the better part of the Sunday previous in getting up a clean face--I won't add heart, for they are not generally supposed to be troubled with any such commodity.

One poor devil of a half-military attorney was so green, or ignorant of the customs of this Rip Van Winkle village, as to make his appearance during term-time ornamented not only with whiskers, but a moustache. He only escaped the penitentiary, prison or mob, by a slight mistake as to his genus, being taken by most of the citizens for a stray baboon from a travelling menagerie. As such he was looked upon, admired, wondered at, and followed around by the boys and negroes, and last, through humanity for a poor dumb brute, allowed to escape. It was only their ignorance, that such a thing as a moustache was ever worn, that saved the poor fellow. As it was he made a most narrow escape; and, upon learning the dangers and perils through which he had passed, became so alarmed that he fled the country immediately, and has never been heard of to this day.

The amusements of this quiet town were as simple and harmless as might be expected with such primitive, unsophisticated people. At the period of which I am speaking, the old and middle-aged sat in the shade talking polities, or dreaming away their days in listless indolence, only varying their monotonous life by going to church regularly on Sunday. The young gentlemen, being a little more full of life and spirit than their fathers, played marbles, and, when tired of this manly amusement, did the same as the old men, only they gave tone to their sittings by vigorous whittling on boxes and benches, now and then adding variety to their innocent sport by slyly gallanting the girls to church, whenever they could catch an opportunity of doing so, without being observed by their friends or mammas. Card-playing, wine-bibbing, balls, horse-racing, dancing, and other such pleasures were things unknown, or if known, never happened during my day and generation; for they were all esteemed and considered most heinous and wicked contrivances of the devil to destroy men's souls. 3 The Metzker House, Greenville, in 1895

Christmas, the 8th of January, and 22d of February, our three great national holidays, were either forgotten--considered no better than their other three hundred and sixty-two fellows--or passed by unnoticed, merely from indifference or their total repugnance to all noise and confusion. The glorious Fourth of July--that most celebrated and memorable of all our days--would have shared the same silent fate, had it not been for an old soldier of the second war. Regularly did this old patriot, from my earliest recollection (and it was a great and bright epoch in my boyish days), rear his liberty pole and cap of freedom on every coming Fourth. On the third, let it be sunshine or storm, he would repair to the woods, and there felling the loftiest pole he could find, always eschewing hickory,--for he was a most inveterate Whig,--he would remove it to the public square, and on the morning of the Fourth, bright and early, before the rising of the sun, would he bring out his old banner, with its stripes and stars, and proudly send it up into the heavens. For three days would he let his eagle, his stars, and his stripes flutter gaily in the winds, in honour of the day and to the memory of his gallant ancestors; but on the fourth he would again take down his worn and sometimes tattered banner, and folding it up, sacredly lay it away, to do the same honour to the coming year. It was a simple and touching act of devotion, and well worthy of the old soldier's heart. Our country's proud flag is dear to all of us, but still more so to him who has fought and suffered under its protecting folds. The old man's gray hairs, and his glad shout, and his deep emotion when his banner would sweep out from the flagstaff, and his old eagle unfold her broad wings and flap them joyfully in the wind, will never be forgotten by us.The William A. Wickliffe Residence, Greenville

The rearing of that cap of liberty and flag was the most memorable event of my childhood days. I waited for it, and dreamed of it, and sprang up with the coming light to see the first and last of it, and danced and sang around it, and shouted with joy as the old man cheered its upward flight. May that gallant old soldier and honourer of the Fourth live to unfold his star-decked banner through many a coming year; for, when he dies, then will this old flag be forgotten, this proud act of devotion lie buried with his throbless heart, and this ancient village, the home of my infancy, be left without an honoured day.

Those were bright days--the days of our early youth, when every passing event brought happiness; when every thought was the genuine outpouring of unsophisticated nature, and when all our hopes and dreams were of a golden hue. They are gone now--and no longer do we wake to cheer the old flag in her upward flight; no more will we wander by the little branch, and lave our limbs in its bright waters; and never again will we sit in that old seminary, or carve the name of our boy-love upon the widespreading beech. We wished then for manhood, and prayed then for the time when we would mingle with the world. We have got our wish, and would like right well if we were a boy again. The world is not what we expected; for the glorious garden of our young anticipations has its thorns as well as its flowers. Glory has proven a bauble; and love, patriotism, and friendship are too intimately combined with selfishness, hypocrisy, and deceit to afford much pleasure. We would gladly exchange our manhood, with all its proud privileges and cares, for "the days when we went gipsying a long time ago," through the hills and valleys around that retired little village. We had far more heartfelt pleasure in fishing in that little branch and stringing our minnows, than we have ever had, or ever will have, in fishing for "gudgeons or whales" in this great world-sea of ours.

No wonder the good citizens are wedded to that quiet place, and think no home so lovely and enchanting as that forest-embowered home of theirs. The neat little church, the silent, sunny dells, the quiet, retired graveyard, the old oak covered with the wild vine, the gay, sweet-scented rose, springing up over fence and hedge, the tumbling brook, and the still, dreamy quietude of the place, give such an air of rural beauty and patriarchal innocence to that retired and peaceful spot that no one could but love that fairy scene.

Death but seldom left the footprints of his sad tread within the boundaries of that quiet town. He walks abroad in the crowded city and swarming thoroughfare, leaving behind him a gloomy path of sorrow, marching to the wail of the living and the last sigh of the dead; but to this retired place he but rarely takes his way, only mowing down those who are ripe for the sickle, and leaving the young vines green and flourishing, until time shall wither their soft young tendrils and fit them for the reaper and the grave. Yet that shady little graveyard, where a man would almost be willing to lie down and sleep forever, with its short, myrtle-covered mounds and little head and foot-stones, tells of fair young flowers, crushed in their first bloom of infantile beauty, untimely withered; of prattling tongues hushed in their sunny glee; of earthly treasures swept away; and that "Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!"

Many a sad tale of heavy affliction is brought again to our memory by looking upon those monuments of love in that still and silent resting-place of the dead, and many a simple but sorrowful story could be told of those who people that village graveyard. For, although sickness and death but rarely visited that retired spot, yet long years had brought many to that last home.

That grave, far away by itself, alone and without companionship, unmarked by head or foot-stone, desolate and solitary, and almost smooth with the common turf, is as vivid now in my imagination as when, shuddering, I crept stealthily by it many years ago. It is the last resting-place of the suicide. His was a sad fate, and one of the strangest and most horrible events that ever disturbed the quiet monotony of the village. He came there a stranger, upon an errand of love, and no doubt with a heart alive to gladness and gay with brilliant anticipations of the coming future. His business was to obtain the necessary papers to consummate his marriage with the fair young girl he had wooed and won. He was successful, and when upon his return to the home of his intended bride, while yet upon his way, little dreaming of evil, he was met by an enemy and cruelly insulted. Resenting the injury, he in his rage threatened further punishment to his foe, and that foe, too cowardly to meet him, as a brave man, hand to hand, took a coward's revenge by having him arrested and taken before a magistrate. He was there, upon the oath of his craven antagonist, bound over to keep the peace, and as he was a stranger, and no one appeared to go his security, was committed (as the law directs) to prison for the want of bail. The same sun that beheld him joyous and light-hearted, leaving the little village and hurrying with sparkling eye to the presence of her he loved, beheld him again, and ere it had sunk to rest in the distant west, with bondaged arm, desponding heart, and gloomy brow, placed within the cheerless walls of the village prison. This may be a necessary law, but it often works great injury and injustice, and we have known it too frequently made the engine of a coward's vengeance. It has been said that

"The wildest ills that darken life Are raptures to the bosom-strife; The tempest in its blackest form Is beauty to the bosom's storm."

The poor prisoner must have undergone this fierce bosom-strife, or sunk in utter despondency under this heavy blow, at one stroke crushing all his fond hopes and joyous imaginings; for on the following morning, when visited by the jailer, he was found suspended by the neck--dead! a horrible and terrible object, with his purple swollen face and starting eyes! In the hour of solitude and madness, he had become the victim of his own hand, and died in prison. Instead of embracing his bride, he clasped death to his bosom, and now his soul was in eternity, and his disfigured corpse left to the wonder of the gaping villagers.

Well do we remember that ghastly and terrible scene, and the cold. chilly sensations that stole through our heart as we looked upon that shuddering sight, and beheld his now useless license, and that plain gold ring glittering with pale, unearthly light upon his swollen finger. No one thought of moving that ring from his stiff, clammy hand! It was the last fond gift of a doting mother, a gentle sister, or, may be, one even dearer than these. But there it was--he prized it when alive, and it rests with him now in his dishonoured grave. His body was taken by the jailer and his assistants and carried to his last long home--that lonely grave; and there, without a friend, without a mourner, without a sigh, a tear, or a prayer, was buried the stranger suicide. There, upon the top of the hill, rest the whites; a little farther down, placed below those who were their masters before death made them all equal, sleep the blacks; and there, still farther down, below them all, without a stone or a monument, without even a head-stone or a line to tell his name and fate, slumbers, quiet and still enough, the victim of suicide. Solitary and alone, separate and apart, and away from his fellows, as if there were not enough solitude in the grave, rests the mouldering remains of that unfortunate man. We shunned that humble grave when we were a boy, for there was something startling and terrible to our young heart when we thought of his mournful death; but in after years we often stood by that lonely mound, and mused long and sorrowfully over his sad, sad fate.

But our story is not of the past nor of the dead,--and we must leave this beautiful and sacred spot, with all its sad memories, and mingle again with the living.

We know, gentle reader, you will pardon this wandering of ours; for who can think of his childhood, and the merry days of youth--when all was sunshine and song--without paying a passing tribute to the good old days of yore, and to the memory of his ancient home. This was indeed a strange little town, with its queer old habits and customs, and its simple-hearted, contented inhabitants. But, notwithstanding they thought not as the world thinks, and had little to do with the novelties, amusements, and fashions of the day, yet within that quiet, unpretending village, as novel as it may appear, there were men of the highest talent and genius; and as a general thing, the citizens were as intelligent and well educated as in any place, of the same population, in Kentucky or the world. Then we must not forget the ladies. Unlike the males, who cared so little for dress or fashion, they have ever followed the customs of the changing age, if not as strictly as some, at least close enough never to be odd, or to attract attention by the antiquity of their apparel. Inheriting all the beauty of mother Eve, blessed with rare intelligence, gifted with much natural grace, and remarkable for their modesty and gentleness of heart, they are well fitted in every respect to grace the drawing-rooms of the proudest and loveliest of all our land, and cannot be excelled in anything becoming or lovely in the character of a woman.

Taking all things together, this quiet little village was as pleasant a home as could be found in many days' journey, a kind of modern Arcadia, with its peaceful calmness,--"a happy valley" (something like that from which Rasselas escaped), where a man could live and dream away life, unruffled by a single storm.

But, as we have already remarked, a long time ago, in the commencement of this chapter, the great, grand Dead Sea calm which had fallen upon this waveless and billowless village was now broken and rent asunder. The quiet and peace which had rested over that ancient town for so many years was now destroyed, and destroyed forever! Never again will our old home be what it once was, when we were a boy, and when the good old teacher went through his "serene review," giving forth his riband of honour to the successful "smiler." All the male inhabitants of the village, from the oldest to the youngest, were now gathered together in awful wonderment, crowding with staring eyes (and for them, frightful commotion) around, not the mouth of the raging Vesuvius, or a great opening in the earth, such as Curtius closed,--patriotically closed,--but around nothing more nor less than an "auger-hole." Yes, gentle reader, it was not another sack of Rome, neither was it another rape of the Sabines, but it was a genuine, bona fide "auger-hole," and, in the language of Free Tom, "it wasn't nothing else." But this unusual and unlooked-for sight (found where it was) was quite sufficient to stir up all the latent energies of that hitherto sleeping community.

Old Rip, once awake, has never again been caught napping, and, from the morning of this commotion, there has been a rapid and wonderful change going on in the habits and notions of the people, and in the appearance of that little village. The lethargy and apathy which had so long borne heavily upon them, crushing their motive power, and laying a distinctive mark between them and the balance of the world, once broken, never again resumed their sway. From that day you may date the first inroad of cigars and whiskers. From that hour, old houses have become new--old coats have been trimmed, and docked, and remodelled--bell-crown hats have given away to sharp tops--round-toed to square-toed shoes--and the peace of that hitherto silent town is now nightly broken by the braying of a "brass band" and the puff of a steam-engine, and, what is still more strange, all these changes and improvements are mainly ascribable to that "auger-hole."

You must not suppose that these quiet villagers were ignorant of mechanics or mechanical instruments, and had never before seen an "auger-hole"; for it was not so, since for many years they had been well acquainted with the science of "boring." Do not think, for a moment, that we use the word "boring" in its fashionable sense, for we have no such intention, and, if we did, it would not be true, for the good citizens, among their other strange peculiarities, were not in the habit of talking much, but, on the contrary, were rather reserved and much given (if such a thing can be) to silence. This particular "auger-hole," which was then creating so much excitement and which has since been the cause of such wonderful changes, was discovered in the window-blind of the Dutchman's store, one of their principal stores, a very unusual place, not at all necessary, either for light, safety, or beauty. No wonder they were surprised and suspicious; for that little hole, although then harmless, and not large enough for a fairy to slip through without greasing, still augured, not only the presence of an auger (they could have forgiven that), but of a robber and burglar!The William G. Duncan Residence, Greenville. Erected 1912

Like the footsteps discovered by Crusoe upon the sandy beach of his little island, it told of danger, and that they were no longer safe, unless secured by lock and bar. The good citizens wondered much, studied long, looked intently, and shook their heads; pointed at the ominous hole, and talked in low whispers; suspected every man with whiskers that they could bring to memory, and yet they hesitated, and were in doubt what to do or where to turn for safety. But, while still deep in their mazy cogitations, they were suddenly aroused by loud cries of distress, and the little Dutchman, wringing his hands and swearing, burst in upon the amazed crowd, crying out that he had been robbed. ...

The crowd had now a faint inkling of the cause of his wailing, and, like politicians deserting a fallen star, left, without a sigh or backward look, the hitherto fearful and wonderful and mysterious "auger-hole," and rushed pellmell to the Dutchman's store.

And there, sure enough, were all the marks and evidences of the midnight robbery, for the burglars had left broad traces of their recent presence. The money-desk had been broken open, and all the poor Dutchman's hard-earned spoils, with the exception of a handful of coppers and a few German pieces, not considered pure coin (and which the thieves had scorned to take), carried away. His goods, too, had not been treated with that gentleness and care with which a well-trained salesman would have handled such articles, but were thrown about in wild confusion over counter and floor, and all that were of any great value had been removed, by the very choice and select robbers, to some other market.

While the excited crowd were still gazing with speechless dismay and horror upon these unmistakable evidences of a daring robbery, committed in their very midst, a countryman rode up, and, being informed of the cause of this unprecedented tumult, declared that he had seen, only a few hours previous, a band of bearded men, travelling with great rapidity along a certain solitary road, and that they had many bundles and packs, so many that he had taken them for movers or a company of hunters.

"You are certain they wore whiskers?" shouted one of the bystanders.

"Yes," replied the countryman.

"Then they are the robbers!" exclaimed the same voice.

"Ay, they are the robbers!" shouted the whole assembly, without a dissenting voice, now that they had certain proof as to the whiskers,--for they would have convicted any man on such evidence as that.

A few moments later, a company of well-armed and well-mounted men, led by the countryman as guide, dashed from the village in hot pursuit of the daring invaders. Nor was it many hours before they discovered, in a lonely wood, Lonz Powers and a band of his desperadoes, for they were the robbers and burglars who had thus rudely disturbed the security of that unguarded town. The villagers were bold men, excited with the hope of making a terrible example of those daring villains who had so rashly destroyed the peace of their quiet realm, and did not hesitate how to act when once in view of their retreating foe. So soon as within shooting distance, they poured in a volley from pistol, shotgun, and rifle, and with a loud shout charged gallantly upon the enemy. The robbers were well mounted, for they had the pick of the country in their horses, and, not choosing to meet their enraged pursuers, dropped their spoils, dashing off helter-skelter through the woods, every man for himself, as fast as their steeds, urged by whip, and spur, and voice, could carry them. With but one exception, they all escaped; and he, his horse being disabled by the first fire, fell into the hands of the villagers, and was afterwards induced by some very striking reasons given him (by the Regulators, into whose tender hands he was in a few days committed), to make very valuable discoveries, which eventually put an end to the career of Lonz Powers and his companions.

Proudly the exulting conquerors returned to the village, loaded with the recovered goods of the Dutchman, and bearing in their midst, bound hand and foot, a fierce, dark-visaged, black-whiskered bandit. The prisoner was a sullen, devilish-looking cut-throat as one would care about meeting; returning stare for stare with the gaping villagers, and refusing to answer any questions, or doing so only in a dogged, sullen tone, defying them to do their worst, and threatening every imaginable vengeance.

Many a rusty, long-disused fowling-piece or pistol was dragged from its hiding-place on that memorable night. Many a door, that never knew a lock before, was made intimately acquainted with that civilized guard; and many an anxious citizen had a weary, broken sleep of it, dreaming of huge whiskers as big as the court-house cupola, flourishing away upon the faces of terrible and hideous robbers; starting at every slam of a crazy window-shutter, and imagining the gnawing of the hungry rat the file of the desperate burglar. It was a dreadful, uneasy night to the nervous villagers--that first night after the robbery--and it will not be soon forgotten, for, since that time, they date all events from that memorable epoch; and it has become just as much a habit with them to say, "from the year of the great robbery," as it used to be, "from the year of the shakes."Main Street, Greenville, in 1912

Alas! sweet little village! thy quiet and spirit-like stillness so dreamy and fairy-like, is now gone; and, I fear me much, gone never to return. Thy citizens have tasted excitement, and for one entire day the usual places of resort have been deserted, and the ordinary amusements swallowed up in wild astonishment, first, at the "auger-hole," then, at the actual scene of robbery, and, last of all, in gazing upon the fierce whiskers of an actual live robber.

From that ever-to-be-remembered day--that day of horror and tumult--the good citizens have never been able to fall back into their old habits and customs and peculiarities. It is true, the young men still play marbles, and the old men still talk politics and go regularly to church; but then they have other sources of pleasure, and take delight in far different amusements from what they did in our day.

The march of improvement, an impetus having been given by this robbery, is now onward. New merchants, new tailors, new lawyers, and new divines are now moving in, and the old settlers, forced by necessity, are compelled either to change their musty habits or be driven by public opinion, in disgrace, from their ancient hunting-grounds. The bell at the old tavern, with its famous and well-known landlady, still sticks out for the ancient customs, ringing as it did of yore the summons to meals, at daylight, eleven, and four o'clock; but many of the citizens, smitten with the lazy fashions of modern improvers, disregarding its shrill call, sleep long after that little bell has pealed out its alarum; and many of them have even gone so far as to dine at twelve and sup at dark, and sit up as late as nine, although the majority, I am happy to say, still fall to sleep at the good old hour of seven.

As for the public, or high-days and holidays, the good people of Greenville, wishing, no doubt, to make up for past neglect, now celebrate not only Christmas, the 8th of January, 22d of Febuary, and 4th of July, but throw in some three or more for good count, upon which day-offering they have braying from the brass band and puffing from temperance orators. Had the robbers never bored that "auger-hole," or robbed the Dutchman, they might have continued their thriving to this day; and that little village would have remained enjoying its ancient nap, and never awakened to the fuss, turmoil, and improvements of this changing age. They might have robbed almost any other town, and the robbery would have created no disturbance; but unfortunately, in an evil hour for them, they fell upon this quiet, out-of-the-way place, where the mere boring of an auger-hole shook the entire community to its very foundations, and led, not only to their future overthrow and ruin, but to the happiness (that is, in the estimation of the age), prosperity, and final greatness and glory of this hitherto slumbering, but now thoroughly awakened village.

Alas! my ancient home, you have changed, but I will not say for the better. I remember only thy quiet old days, when the hum of the singing insect, and the buzz of the floating bee, was the only and loudest music heard within thy silent borders. I will not think of thee as thou art now, noisy with the clattering hammer and shaken by the hoarse belching of steam, but will continue my slumber, forever dreaming that thou art now what thou used to be, my own, still, quiet, peaceful home!