July jumble jumbled jumbo jump jumper jumper cable jump rope jump-start jumpsuit jumpy Jun. McCoy M. MS Ms. It was a town with a distinct Southern flavor, though rather more astir than the true Southern community of that period; more Western in that it planned, though without excitement, certain new enterprises and made a show, at least, of manufacturing. It was somnolent a slave town could not be less than that , but it was not wholly asleep — that is to say, dead — and it was tranquilly content.
The river, of course, was the great highway. Rafts drifted by; steamboats passed up and down and gave communication to the outside world; St. Louis, the metropolis, was only one hundred miles away. Hannibal was inclined to rank itself as of next importance, and took on airs accordingly.
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These and their families constituted the true aristocracy of the Southern town. Most of them had pleasant homes — brick or large frame mansions, with colonnaded entrances, after the manner of all Southern architecture of that period, which had an undoubted Greek root, because of certain drawing-books, it is said, accessible to the builders of those days. Most of them, also, had means — slaves and land which yielded an income in addition to their professional earnings. They lived in such style as was considered fitting to their rank, and had such comforts as were then obtainable.
It was to this grade of society that judge Clemens and his family belonged, but his means no longer enabled him to provide either the comforts or the ostentation of his class. He settled his family and belongings in a portion of a house on Hill Street — the Pavey Hotel; his merchandise he established modestly on Main Street, with Orion, in a new suit of clothes, as clerk.
Possibly the clothes gave Orion a renewed ambition for mercantile life, but this waned. Business did not begin actively, and he was presently dreaming and reading away the time. Orion Clemens perhaps deserves a special word here. He was to be much associated with his more famous brother for many years, and his personality as boy and man is worth at least a casual consideration. He was fifteen now, and had developed characteristics which in a greater or less degree were to go with him through life.
Of a kindly, loving disposition, like all of the Clemens children, quick of temper, but always contrite, or forgiving, he was never without the fond regard of those who knew him best. His weaknesses were manifold, but, on the whole, of a negative kind. Honorable and truthful, he had no tendency to bad habits or unworthy pursuits; indeed, he had no positive traits of any sort. That was his chief misfortune. Full of whims and fancies, unstable, indeterminate, he was swayed by every passing emotion and influence. Daily he laid out a new course of study and achievement, only to fling it aside because of some chance remark or printed paragraph or bit of advice that ran contrary to his purpose.
Such a life is bound to be a succession of extremes — alternate periods of supreme exaltation and despair. In his autobiographical chapters, already mentioned, Orion sets down every impulse and emotion and failure with that faithful humility which won him always the respect, if not always the approval, of men.
Printing was a step downward, for it was a trade, and Orion felt it keenly. To him it was punishment, and the disgrace weighed upon him. Then he remembered that Benjamin Franklin had been a printer and had eaten only an apple and a bunch of grapes for his dinner. Orion decided to emulate Franklin, and for a time he took only a biscuit and a glass of water at a meal, foreseeing the day when he should electrify the world with his eloquence.
He was surprised to find how clear his mind was on this low diet and how rapidly he learned his trade. Of the other children Pamela, now twelve, and Benjamin, seven, were put to school. They were pretty, attractive children, and Henry, the baby, was a sturdy toddler, the pride of the household.
Little Sam was the least promising of the flock. He remained delicate, and developed little beyond a tendency to pranks. He was a queer, fanciful, uncommunicative child that detested indoors and would run away if not watched — always in the direction of the river. He walked in his sleep, too, and often the rest of the household got up in the middle of the night to find him fretting with cold in some dark corner.
The doctor was summoned for him oftener than was good for the family purse — or for him, perhaps, if we may credit the story of heavy dosings of those stern allopathic days. Yet he would appear not to have been satisfied with his heritage of ailments, and was ambitious for more. An epidemic of measles — the black, deadly kind — was ravaging Hannibal, and he yearned for the complaint.
He yearned so much that when he heard of a playmate, one of the Bowen boys, who had it, he ran away and, slipping into the house, crept into bed with the infection. The success of this venture was complete. According to his own after-confession, this gratified him, and he was willing to die for the glory of that touching scene. However, he disappointed them, and was presently up and about in search of fresh laurels. Clemens did not recollect the precise period of this illness. With habitual indifference he assigned it to various years, as his mood or the exigencies of his theme required.
He must have been a wearing child, and we may believe that Jane Clemens, with her varied cares and labors, did not always find him a comfort. She looked at him with that keen humor that had not dulled in eighty years. It was decided that the whole family should go for a brief visit, and one Saturday morning in June Mrs. The hour was early when Judge Clemens got up to saddle his horse, and Little Sam was still asleep.
Then he was confronted by Jane Clemens, who demanded Little Sam. Wharton Lampton, a brother of Jane Clemens and Patsey Quarles, hastily saddled a horse and set out, helter-skelter, for Hannibal. He arrived in the early dusk. The child was safe enough, but he was crying with loneliness and hunger. He had spent most of the day in the locked, deserted house playing with a hole in the meal-sack where the meal ran out, when properly encouraged, in a tiny stream. He was fed and comforted, and next day was safe on the farm, which during that summer and those that followed it, became so large a part of his boyhood and lent a coloring to his later years.
To Little Sam it was probably a life-saver. With his small cousin, Tabitha, 6 just his own age they called her Puss , he wandered over that magic domain, fording new marvels at every step, new delights everywhere. A slave-girl, Mary, usually attended them, but she was only six years older, and not older at all in reality, so she was just a playmate, and not a guardian to be feared or evaded. Greening, of Palmyra, Missouri, has supplied most of the material for this chapter.
The farm-house stood in the middle of a large yard entered by a stile made of sawed-off logs of graduated heights.
In the corner of the yard were hickory trees, and black walnut, and beyond the fence the hill fell away past the barns, the corn-cribs, and the tobacco-house to a brook — a divine place to wade, with deep, dark, forbidden pools. All the woods were full of squirrels — gray squirrels and the red-fox species — and many birds and flowers; all the meadows were gay with clover and butterflies, and musical with singing grasshoppers and calling larks; there were blackberries in the fence rows, apples and peaches in the orchard, and watermelons in the corn.
They were not always ripe, those watermelons, and once, when Little Sam had eaten several pieces of a green one, he was seized with cramps so severe that most of the household expected him to die forthwith. It is the slender constitution that bears the strain. There were plenty of these: there were the horses to ride to and from the fields; the ox-wagons to ride in when they had dumped their heavy loads; the circular horsepower to ride on when they threshed the wheat.
This last was a dangerous and forbidden pleasure, but the children would dart between the teams and climb on, and the slave who was driving would pretend not to see. Then in the evening when the black woman came along, going after the cows, the children would race ahead and set the cows running and jingling their bells — especially Little Sam, for he was a wild-headed, impetuous child of sudden ecstasies that sent him capering and swinging his arms, venting his emotions in a series of leaps and shrieks and somersaults, and spasms of laughter as he lay rolling in the grass.
The negro quarters beyond the orchard were especially attractive. In one cabin lived a bed-ridden, white-headed old woman whom the children visited daily and looked upon with awe; for she was said to be a thousand years old and to have talked with Moses. The negroes believed this; the children, too, of course, and that she had lost her health in the desert, coming out of Egypt. The bald spot on her head was caused by fright at seeing Pharaoh drowned. She also knew how to avert spells and ward off witches, which added greatly to her prestige.
Long afterward he would become Nigger Jim in the Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn tales, and so in his gentle guilelessness win immortality and the love of many men. Certainly this was a heavenly place for a little boy, the farm of Uncle John Quarles, and the house was as wonderful as its surroundings. It was a two-story double log building, with a spacious floor roofed in connecting the two divisions.
In the summer the table was set in the middle of that shady, breezy pavilion, and sumptuous meals were served in the lavish Southern style, brought to the table in vast dishes that left only room for rows of plates around the edge. Fried chicken, roast pig, turkeys, ducks, geese, venison just killed, squirrels, rabbits, partridges, pheasants, prairie-chickens — the list is too long to be served here. If a little boy could not improve on that bill of fare and in that atmosphere, his case was hopeless indeed. His mother kept him there until the late fall, when the chilly evenings made them gather around the wide, blazing fireplace.
Sixty years later he wrote of that scene:. I can see the room yet with perfect clearness. I can see all its buildings, all its details: the family-room of the house, with the trundle-bed in one corner and the spinning-wheel in another a wheel whose rising and falling wail, heard from a distance, was the mournfulest of all sounds to me, and made me homesick and low-spirited, and filled my atmosphere with the wandering spirits of the dead; the vast fireplace, piled high with flaming logs, from whose ends a sugary sap bubbled out, but did not go to waste, for we scraped it off and ate it;.
For him it was education of a more valuable and lasting sort than any he would ever acquire from books. Nevertheless, on his return to Hannibal, it was decided that Little Sam was now ready to go to school. He was about five years old, and the months on the farm had left him wiry and lively, even if not very robust. His mother declared that he gave her more trouble than all the other children put together. People born to be hanged are safe in water. She declared she was willing to pay somebody to take him off her hands for a part of each day and try to teach him manners.
Her sense of pity was abnormal. She refused to kill even flies, and punished the cat for catching mice. She, would drown the young kittens, when necessary, but warmed the water for the purpose. On coming to Hannibal, she joined the Presbyterian Church, and her religion was of that clean-cut, strenuous kind which regards as necessary institutions hell and Satan, though she had been known to express pity for the latter for being obliged to surround himself with such poor society.
Her children she directed with considerable firmness, and all were tractable and growing in grace except Little Sam. Even baby Henry at two was lisping the prayers that Sam would let go by default unless carefully guarded. His sister Pamela, who was eight years older and always loved him dearly, usually supervised these spiritual exercises, and in her gentle care earned immortality as the Cousin Mary of Tom Sawyer. They did not know they were glimpsing the first outcroppings of a genius that would one day amaze and entertain the nations.
Neighbors hearing of these things also certain of his narrations remonstrated with Mrs. I discount him ninety per cent. The rest is pure gold. A certain Miss E. Horr was selected to receive the payment for taking charge of Little Sam during several hours each day, directing him mentally and morally in the mean time. Her school was then in a log house on Main Street later it was removed to Third Street , and was of the primitive old-fashioned kind, with pupils of all ages, ranging in advancement from the primer to the third reader, from the tables to long division, with a little geography and grammar and a good deal of spelling.
Long division and the third reader completed the curriculum in that school. Pupils who decided to take a post-graduate course went to a Mr. Cross, who taught in a frame house on the hill facing what is now the Public Square. Miss Horr received twenty-five cents a week for each pupil, and opened her school with prayer; after which came a chapter of the Bible, with explanations, and the rules of conduct. Then the A B C class was called, because their recital was a hand-to-hand struggle, requiring no preparation.
The rules of conduct that first day interested Little Sam. He calculated how much he would need to trim in, to sail close to the danger-line and still avoid disaster. He made a miscalculation during the forenoon and received warning; a second offense would mean punishment. He did not mean to be caught the second time, but he had not learned Miss Horr yet, and was presently startled by being commanded to go out and bring a stick for his own correction.
This was certainly disturbing. It was sudden, and then he did not know much about the selection of sticks. Jane Clemens had usually used her hand.
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It required a second command to get him headed in the right direction, and he was a trifle dazed when he got outside. He had the forests of Missouri to select from, but choice was difficult. Everything looked too big and competent. Even the smallest switch had a wiry, discouraging look. Across the way was a cooper-shop with a good many shavings outside. One had blown across and lay just in front of him. It was an inspiration. He picked it up and, solemnly entering the school-room, meekly handed it to Miss Herr. Jimmy Dunlap, go and bring a switch for Sammy. He informed his mother when he went home at noon that he did not care for school; that he had no desire to be a great man; that he preferred to be a pirate or an Indian and scalp or drown such people as Miss Horr.
Down in her heart his mother was sorry for him, but what she said was that she was glad there was somebody at last who could take him in hand. He returned to school, but he never learned to like it. Each morning he went with reluctance and remained with loathing — the loathing which he always had for anything resembling bondage and tyranny or even the smallest curtailment of liberty. A School was ruled with a rod in those days, a busy and efficient rod, as the Scripture recommended.
Among the records preserved from that far-off day there remains a yellow slip, whereon in neat old-fashioned penmanship is inscribed:. Has won the love of her teacher and schoolmates by her amiable deportment and faithful application to her various studies. Horr, Teacher. If any such testimonial was ever awarded to Little Sam, diligent search has failed to reveal it.
If he won the love of his teacher and playmates it was probably for other reasons. Yet he must have learned, somehow, for he could read presently and was soon regarded as a good speller for his years. His spelling came as a natural gift, as did most of his attainments, then and later. It has already been mentioned that Miss Horr opened her school with prayer and Scriptural readings. Little Sam did not especially delight in these things, but he respected them.
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Not to do so was dangerous. Flames were being kept brisk for little boys who were heedless of sacred matters; his home teaching convinced him of that. The little girl sat in front of him, but always until that morning had kept the gingerbread out of sight. Now, however, when he finished his prayer and looked up, a small morsel of the precious food lay in front of him.
Perhaps the little girl could no longer stand that hungry look in his eyes. He decided to pray for everything he wanted, but when he tried the gingerbread supplication next morning it had no result. Grieved, but still unshaken, he tried next morning again; still no gingerbread; and when a third and fourth effort left him hungry he grew despairing and silent, and wore the haggard face of doubt.
His mother said:. Then he broke down and cried on her lap and told her, for it was a serious thing in that day openly to repudiate faith. Jane Clemens gathered him to her heart and comforted him. Prosperity came laggingly enough to the Clemens household. The year brought hard times: the business venture paid little or no return; law practice was not much more remunerative. Judge Clemens ran for the office of justice of the peace and was elected, but fees were neither large nor frequent.
A Methodist minister in Hannibal sold a negro child at the same time to another minister who took it to his home farther South. We are prone to consider these things harshly now, when slavery has been dead for nearly half a century, but it was a sacred institution then, and to sell a child from its mother was little more than to sell to-day a calf from its lowing dam. One could be sorry, of course, in both instances, but necessity or convenience are matters usually considered before sentiment.
Mark Twain once said of his mother:. She had never heard it assailed in any pulpit, but had heard it defended and sanctified in a thousand. As far as her experience went, the wise, the good, and the holy were unanimous in the belief that slavery was right, righteous, sacred, the peculiar pet of the Deity, and a condition which the slave himself ought to be daily and nightly thankful for. Yet Jane Clemens must have had qualms at times — vague, unassembled doubts that troubled her spirit. After Jennie was gone a little black chore-boy was hired from his owner, who had bought him on the east shore of Maryland and brought him to that remote Western village, far from family and friends.
He was a cheery spirit in spite of that, and gentle, but very noisy. All day he went about singing, whistling, and whooping until his noise became monotonous, maddening. One day Little Sam said:. He is sold away from his home.
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When he sings it shows maybe he is not remembering. Yet any one in that day who advanced the idea of freeing the slaves was held in abhorrence. An abolitionist was something to despise, to stone out of the community. The children held the name in horror, as belonging to something less than human; something with claws, perhaps, and a tail.
The money received for the sale of Jennie made judge Clemens easier for a time. Business appears to have improved, too, and he was tided through another year during which he seems to have made payments on an expensive piece of real estate on Hill and Main streets. This property, acquired in November, , meant the payment of some seven thousand dollars, and was a credit purchase, beyond doubt. It was well rented, but the tenants did not always pay; and presently a crisis came — a descent of creditors — and John: Clemens at forty-four found himself without business and without means.
He offered everything — his cow, his household furniture, even his forks and spoons — to his creditors, who protested that he must not strip himself. They assured him that they admired his integrity so much they would aid him to resume business; but when he went to St. Louis to lay in a stock of goods he was coldly met, and the venture came to nothing. He now made a trip to Tennessee in the hope of collecting some old debts and to raise money on the Tennessee land.
He took along a negro man named Charlie, whom he probably picked up for a small sum, hoping to make something through his disposal in a better market. The trip was another failure. The man who owed him a considerable sum of money was solvent, but pleaded hard times:. It seems so very hard upon him [John Clemens wrote home] to pay such a sum that I could not have the conscience to hold him to it.
I still have Charlie. After performing the journey to Tennessee, I expect to sell him for whatever he will bring. I do not know what I can commence for a business in the spring. The future, taking its completion from the state of my health or mind, is alternately beaming in sunshine or over-shadowed with clouds; but mostly cloudy, as you may suppose.
I want bodily exercise — some constant and active employment, in the first place; and, in the next place, I want to be paid for it, if possible. This letter is dated January 7, He returned without any financial success, and obtained employment for a time in a commission-house on the levee. The proprietor found some fault one day, and Judge Clemens walked out of the premises.
On his way home he stopped in a general store, kept by a man named Sehns, to make some purchases. When he asked that these be placed on account, Selms hesitated. Judge Clemens laid down a five-dollar gold piece, the last money he possessed in the world, took the goods, and never entered the place again.
When Jane Clemens reproached him for having made the trip to Tennessee, at a cost of two hundred dollars, so badly needed at this time, he only replied gently that he had gone for what he believed to be the best. During a former period of depression, such as this, death had come into the Clemens home. It came again now. Little Benjamin, a sensitive, amiable boy of ten, one day sickened, and died within a week, May 12, He was a favorite child and his death was a terrible blow.
Judge Clemens went back to his law and judicial practice. Clemens decided to take a few boarders. Orion, by this time seventeen and a very good journeyman printer, obtained a place in St. Louis to aid in the family support. The tide of fortune having touched low-water mark, the usual gentle stage of improvement set in. Times grew better in Hannibal after those first two or three years; legal fees became larger and more frequent. Within another two years judge Clemens appears to have been in fairly hopeful circumstances again — able at least to invest some money in silkworm culture and lose it, also to buy a piano for Pamela, and to build a modest house on the Hill Street property, which a rich St.
Louis cousin, James Clemens, had preserved for him. George A. Mahan, and presented to Hannibal for a memorial museum. Near it, toward the corner of Main Street, was his office, and here he dispensed law and justice in a manner which, if it did not bring him affluence, at least won for him the respect of the entire community. One example will serve:. Judge Clemens ran out and found the men down, punishing each other on the pavement. Judge Clemens seized it and, leaning over the combatants, gave the upper one, MacDonald, a smart blow on the head.
That settled it. The second blow was of the sort that made MacDonald roll over, and peace ensued. Judge Clemens haled both men into his court, fined them, and collected his fee. Such enterprise in the cause of justice deserved prompt reward. The Clemens family had made one or two moves since its arrival in Hannibal, but the identity of these temporary residences and the period of occupation of each can no longer be established. Mark Twain once said:. It is not this fact that gives me the date, but the house we lived in.
We were there only a year. We may believe it was the active result of that lie that fixed his memory of the place, for his father seldom punished him. When he did, it was a thorough and satisfactory performance. It was about the period of moving into the new house that the Tom Sawyer days — that is to say, the boyhood of Samuel Clemens — may be said to have begun.
Up to that time he was just Little Sam, a child — wild, and mischievous, often exasperating, but still a child — a delicate little lad to be worried over, mothered, or spanked and put to bed. Not that he was old in spirit or manner — he was never that, even to his death — but he had learned a great number of things, mostly of a kind not acquired at school. They were not always of a pleasant kind; they were likely to be of a kind startling to a boy, even terrifying. Once Little Sam — he was still Little Sam, then — saw an old man shot down on the main street, at noonday.
He saw them carry him home, lay him on the bed, and spread on his breast an open family Bible which looked as heavy as an anvil. He though, if he could only drag that great burden away, the poor, old dying man would not breathe so heavily. He saw a young emigrant stabbed with a bowie-knife by a drunken comrade, and noted the spurt of life-blood that followed; he saw two young men try to kill their uncle, one holding him while the other snapped repeatedly an Allen revolver which failed to go off.
A widow and her one daughter lived there, and the ruffian woke the whole village with his coarse challenges and obscenities. Sam Clemens and a boon companion, John Briggs, went up there to look and listen. The man was at the gate, and the warren were invisible in the shadow of the dark porch. He replied with a ribald tirade, and she warned that she would count ten — that if he remained a second longer she would fire. She began slowly and counted up to five, with him laughing and jeering.
At six he grew silent, but he did not go. She counted on: seven — eight — nine — The boys watching from the dark roadside felt their hearts stop. There was a long pause, then the final count, followed a second later by a gush of flame. The man dropped, his breast riddled. At the same instant the thunderstorm that had been gathering broke loose. The boys fled wildly, believing that Satan himself had arrived to claim the lost soul. Many such instances happened in a town like that in those days.
And there were events incident to slavery. He saw a slave struck down and killed with a piece of slag for a trifling offense. He saw an abolitionist attacked by a mob, and they would have lynched him had not a Methodist minister defended him on a plea that he must be crazy. He did not remember, in later years, that he had ever seen a slave auction, but he added:. I do vividly remember seeing a dozen black men and women chained together lying in a group on the pavement, waiting shipment to a Southern slave-market.
They had the saddest faces I ever saw. It is not surprising that a boy would gather a store of human knowledge amid such happenings as these. They were wild, disturbing things. They got into his dreams and made him fearful when he woke in the middle of the night. He did not then regard them as an education. In some vague way he set them down as warnings, or punishments, designed to give him a taste for a better life.
He felt that it was his own conscience that made these things torture him. Among other things, he had seen her one day defy a vicious devil of a Corsican — a common terror in the town-who was chasing his grown daughter with a heavy rope in his hand, declaring he would wear it out on her. Cautious citizens got out of her way, but Jane Clemens opened her door wide to the refugee, and then, instead of rushing in and closing it, spread her arms across it, barring the way.
The man swore and threatened her with the rope, but she did not flinch or show any sign of fear. She stood there and shamed him and derided him and defied him until he gave up the rope and slunk off, crestfallen and conquered. Any one who could do that must have a perfect conscience, Sam thought.
In the fearsome darkness he would say his prayers, especially when a thunderstorm was coming, and vow to begin a better life in the morning. He detested Sunday-school as much as day-school, and once Orion, who was moral and religious, had threatened to drag him there by the collar; but as the thunder got louder Sam decided that he loved Sunday-school and would go the next Sunday without being invited. Fortunately there were pleasanter things than these.
There were picnics sometimes, and ferry-boat excursions. Once there was a great Fourth-of-July celebration at which it was said a real Revolutionary soldier was to be present. Some one had discovered him living alone seven or eight miles in the country. But this feature proved a disappointment; for when the day came and he was triumphantly brought in he turned out to be a Hessian, and was allowed to walk home. The hills and woods around Hannibal where, with his playmates, he roamed almost at will were never disappointing.
There was the cave with its marvels; there was Bear Creek, where, after repeated accidents, he had learned to swim. It had cost him heavily to learn to swim. He had seen two playmates drown; also, time and again he had, himself, been dragged ashore more dead than alive, once by a slave-girl, another time by a slaveman — Neal Champ, of the Pavey Hotel. In the end he had conquered; he could swim better than any boy in town of his age. It was the river that meant more to him than all the rest. Its charm was permanent.
It was the path of adventure, the gateway to the world. The river with its islands, its great slow-moving rafts, its marvelous steamboats that were like fairyland, its stately current swinging to the sea! He would sit by it for hours and dream. He would venture out on it in a surreptitiously borrowed boat when he was barely strong enough to lift an oar out of the water.
He learned to know all its moods and phases. He felt its kinship. In some occult way he may have known it as his prototype — that resistless tide of life with its ever-changing sweep, its shifting shores, its depths, its shadows, its gorgeous sunset hues, its solemn and tranquil entrance to the sea. His hunger for the life aboard the steamers became a passion.
To be even the humblest employee of one of those floating enchantments would be enough; to be an officer would be to enter heaven; to be a pilot was to be a god. He had reached the mature age of nine when he could endure this no longer. One day, when the big packet came down and stopped at Hannibal, he slipped aboard and crept under one of the boats on the upper deck. Presently the signal-bells rang, the steamboat backed away and swung into midstream; he was really going at last.
He crept from beneath the boat and sat looking out over the water and enjoying the scenery. Then it began to rain — a terrific downpour. He crept back under the boat, but his legs were outside, and one of the crew saw him. So he was taken down into the cabin and at the next stop set ashore. It was the town of Louisiana, and there were Lampton relatives there who took him home. Jane Clemens declared that his father had got to take him in hand; which he did, doubtless impressing the adventure on him in the usual way.
These were all educational things; then there was always the farm, where entertainment was no longer a matter of girl-plays and swings, with a colored nurse following about, but of manlier sports with his older boy cousins, who had a gun and went hunting with the men for squirrels and partridges by day, for coons and possums by night. Sometimes the little boy had followed the hunters all night long and returned with them through the sparkling and fragrant morning fresh, hungry, and triumphant just in time for breakfast.
He had even learned to smoke — a little — out there on the farm, and had tried tobacco-chewing, though that was a failure. He had been stung to this effort by a big girl at a school which, with his cousin Puss, he sometimes briefly attended. Degraded and ashamed, he tried to correct his fault, but it only made him very ill; and he did not try again. He had also acquired the use of certain strong, expressive words, and used them, sometimes, when his mother was safely distant. His education had doubtful spots in it, but it had provided wisdom. He was not a particularly attractive lad.
He was not tall for his years, and his head was somewhat too large for his body. Still, he had a fair, delicate complexion, when it was not blackened by grime or tan; a gentle, winning manner; a smile that, with his slow, measured way of speaking, made him a favorite with his companions. He did not speak much, and his mental attainments were not highly regarded; but, for some reason, whenever he did speak every playmate in hearing stopped whatever he was doing and listened.
Perhaps it would be a plan for a new game or lark; perhaps it was something droll; perhaps it was just a commonplace remark that his peculiar drawl made amusing. Whatever it was, they considered it worth while. Henry — a much handsomer lad and regarded as far more promising — did not have it.
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He was a lovable, obedient little fellow whom the mischievous Sam took delight in teasing. Sometimes he charged his mother with partiality. He would say:. His brother Sam always loved him, and fought for him oftener than with him. With the death of Benjamin Clemens, Henry and Sam were naturally drawn much closer together, though Sam could seldom resist the temptation of tormenting Henry. A schoolmate, George Butler he was a nephew of General Butler and afterward fought bravely in the Civil War , had a little blue suit with a leather belt to match, and was the envy of all.
Clemens finally made Sam and Henry suits of blue cotton velvet, and the next Sunday, after various services were over, the two sauntered about, shedding glory for a time, finally going for a stroll in the woods. They walked along properly enough, at first, then just ahead Sam spied the stump of a newly cut tree, and with a wild whooping impulse took a running leap over it. There were splinters on the stump where the tree had broken away, but he cleared them neatly.
UWAGA finally coming soon! You know these guys when you love vinyl You know how we do it: limited copies, no digital promotion, no repress. Edit alert once again with the great many known unknowns, unknown unknowns and who knows what else. All we know is Freddie M would probably groove to this, we've got a Depeche M policy at the front door and also a little something special on the side that will get you busy on the dancefloor.
Get it while it's still here, vinyl only. We are proud to present the first ever Album on the label from a very unique artist we follow for a while now. Please step into the world of ARNO f. Showcasing elegant and fluid rhythms that flow with the effortless grace of water itself. This opening release sees Argentinian prodigy Cerec offer up 3 luxurious cuts, full of warmth and immersive character. The young producer really shines bright here, crafting a magnetic luminance across the Ep that's sure to garner him a ton of new fans.
Portugal based Fragments makes his debut on wax with a stunning cut from the Italian CL-ljud, a warm trippy thru minimal house sounds. Vinyl Only - Limited. It takes you to the world of delayed and filtered chords, pads and arpeggiators with rolling basslines. This solid four-track package contains three deep house jams plus a spacey remix of the track "Not Known" from the well-known Slovak gang Sensoreal. It's a reminiscence and acknowledgement to all who were there and are here now.
The 4th vinyl to be pressed on Vandalism Black Series is delivered by label head, Dubphone and it features One original track and three remixes dropped by Onno plus two breakthrough Artists from Romania, Rares Romanov and Rhem. Entitled Calculator EP, it speaks volumes of his knack for crafting genuinely beguiling techno. It is a concept of community; a brotherhood tailored to anyone who vibrates with the authentic sound of house.
MoodyHouse only believes that music is the magic of life, a universal language that connects us. With this premise, it adapts its format to day or night. Inspired by the urban scene of House like New York or Chicago. The aim behind it is to push new talents and well established forward thinking producers. Expect slamming Underground House, Deep and Jackin cuts from some of the most exciting talent in the scene.
We come back again with a big record from Julenn with 2 original tracks and 2 remixes from the boy of the moment Chris Stussy and our good friend and master Dexter Kane.. The mysterious Lost Desert, real name Patrick Bruyndonx, also provides backing vocals throughout. A deeply contemplative release, Melt conveys a complex blend of warmth, beauty, sadness and melancholy throughout. A place where strangers meet strangers and strangers make new friends. An initial way to bond.
It speaks the same language that's understood by people from far and wide. With it. With others. We both feel that musical music evokes a special kind of magic that instills itself deep in your soul. If you truly connect with it it stays with you forever. It marks a moment or moments that you shared with it and with others on your journey through life. This was one of our motivations when we wrote each track and the album as a full storytelling experience. Long time friend and DMT contributor Lee Holman delivers a deep, atmospheric, dreamy and bewitching three-tracker for Knotweed.
Lee explores the inner depth of his synthesizers and drum machines to come up with some heavy layered pieces of techno. Following our deep and dubby vibe comes our Rumanian friend LOy, same drill, limited edition and no digital promotion. Dancefloors were made for this, quality stuff. Astronaut Music's boss Obrotka is back to make fire with a new project, the City Series: a 6 volumes Compilation dedicated to the cities that Astronaut Music's team visited and loved more.
Each track features live recordings of that city's typical soundscapes, capturing the living essence, the feelings and the moments they lived in a particular place. It's Astronaut Music's way to share their journey and their experiences with their fans. The journey starts with "BCN", a melodic and progressive single dedicated to the city of Barcelona, let Obrotka lead you through the barrios with a solid but gentle groove, and loose yourself in the inspiring mix of different cultures and human warmth that only a welcoming city like Barcelona can give.
On the remix duty you'll find Paul Nazca, electronic music veteran and founder of Scandium Records. He gave his own recognizable touch to the track, providing a melodic and atmospheric remix which perfectly makes the idea of the journey. Austria's Paul Walter comes head to head with Romania's most lyrical imprint, Catren. One track per each side, he doesn't compromise when it comes to quality, emotion and execution. Reminiscent of earlier days Chilean productions which we need not name but will for melancholy's sake, the A side, "Yuil" takes us back to the days of Hireklon and Waiworinao, thought long forgotten and forsaken in favor of cold and austere expressions.
Guitar strings harmonically banded together with minimalistic percussions, handclaps and indescifrable vocals compose what will be remebered as a hall of fame track in the years to come. Switching to "Hacker", a more light hearted third course relying on dub influenced melodies and mid ranged basslines, Paul shows just exactly how versatile he is and the diversity that he is capable of bringing forward. And so we come to "Rio", which makes use of constant atmospheric elements, the same technical expertise and thought out demeanor, strung togheter to finish off what is a somewhat abstract and tender "swan song" of the EP.
Highly recomended and certified classic, vinyl only. As certain as the sun setting across San Antonio Bay each night, throughout every Ibiza season there is a record that becomes the track of the summer. Championed by legendary Ibiza heavyweight Marco Carola for some time now, as well as island tastemakers Andrea Oliva, wAFF and Joey Daniel, there has already been serious demand for the club cut.
I am so happy that Timmo will release his debut album on Terminal M. Here are 3 teaser tracks of his beauftiful work. It was really hard to choose which will be the first release as the whole album is great! Monika Kruse. Chikyu-u Records present for their first physical release the very in-demand Unknown Four distinctive tracks passing through varying shades of minimal, dub techno and deep house. The A1 is a minimal journey through rolling basslines and punchy percussions with floating pads. Following on from that is a slow dub techno workout with dark sonorities.
On the flip, the B1 is a soft deep house tune touched by tropical ambience whilst the B2 is a rhythmic workout with steady stomping drums. It has given visibility to new emerging talents and not just big names. Now they want to show their most exquisite and underground, confirming their prolific inspiration when it comes to their personal label. On the side B. Unknown Collective, Zlatnichi and Daniel Meister. Taking 6 quality cuts to create a versatile Vinyl, once again demonstrating his skills in the studio, is also showing us his most artistic part with his artwork for the cover, with this initiative seeks to capture that magical connection between music and the art.
This nuanced fusion of intellect makes it an innovative product, inspires the senses and creates memorable sensory experiences. It is precisely what Sebastian Ledher wants to achieve. With a polished and blunt bass line. That surround with their elegant and minimalist groove, the tracks are focus on the groovy, which sounds along with deep synthesizers and with a light touch of acid, and atmospheres of pads and sequences of celestial chords that filter into the mix, together with heavy drums contrasted by light snares and voices that come and go with obscenely hypnotic LFO games, that complement them superbly.
The tracks are a roller coaster of emotions. I am happy to present you the new bangers compilation. Volume three includes 4 different tracks, which I chose for different moments on the dancefloor, from heavy peaktime hitters to melodic outdoor tunes. Lisztomania Records is proud to present its first ever vinyl release 'Various Artists - Lisztogrooves Vol.
Infectious riffs, a throbbing beat and enough cowbell to last a lifetime, 'Tender Sun Pin' is an instant classic! Finishing off the release is 'Keep You' by Michael Oberling, a mellow deep house beauty infused with soulful electric piano and trumpet riffs, a catchy bassline and dreamy yet distorted synth lines. A sure fire after hours hit! On the flip side, Odette reveals a beautiful microhouse classic while Vincent pushes us into spacey realms.
Steve and Dave Conner return as Bitstream. Coupled with two new previously unreleased tracks, fierce industrial edged electronics from Northampton UK. Special full sleeve limited edition depicting a recently lost local building. RIP Greyfriars. Artwork by James Smith. Remastered by Simon at The Exchange. For this new album, Gianluigi Di Costanzo, aka Bochum Welt, devoted himself to the pursuit of creating new sounds, using old monster synthesizers to produce original compositions.
This album is an evolution of the electronic style which characterized Bochum Welt's releases on Aphex Twin's Rephlex label. Gianluigi Di Costanzo says of the release: "Since 'Seafire' is an evolution of the electro sound I worked on in the past, it seemed natural to release it with Central Processing Unit, the very cool British record label which is continuing Sheffield's strong electronic music heritage. Cherrymoon Trax were a conglomerate of many different artists over the years, with each contributing their own unique flavour to the sound.
Amidst the deep rumbling basslines and driving beats, a raspy vocal proclaims those iconic lyrics that have resonated through many many tracks since. Rave style synths are morphed into a hypnotic, instantly recognisable hook alongside an infectious cascading arpeggio note. On the flip we find Let There Be House which also became an instant classic having been originally released around the same time as the former.
A full on hard trancer with scathing synths, hypnotic alarms and powered by a pumping drum section. Another contributor to the sound of a generation that still works the floors today. The Lehult Sub series returns with two breezy summer jams by Erobique, Hamburg local legend and renowned keyboard wizard. His live sets are the stuff of mythical tales and his release schedule would be best described as mischievous, being involved in many projects under diverse monikers. This one is full-on Erobique, then: raw, live and spontaneous on a hand-stamped, vinyl only Lehultsub release ready to make a splash.
LowMoneyMusicLove presents 4 new dance floor gems from Felon5, a fresh collective from the UK ready to make an entrance. The third installment of Hypnus' Serum-series introduces two wonderfully swirling deep techno cuts from Swedish producer Hardstedt [Under Molnet] with interpretations by Hypnus adepts Luigi Tozzi and Ntogn. The record will be pressed in gram marbled vinyl transparent blue and white ; sheathed inside a hand-stamped and undyed inner sleeve.
It will be limited to copies and released under the July full moon. Yesterday, everyone knew The Beatles. Today, only Jack remembers their songs. Dallera, puts together a compilation of some of the rarest and sought after disco and funk records inspired by the Italian sexy comedy era. Once again the Black Brook Limited Series presents finest techno. Access Control comes like a nightmare when you have got something to hide and you are electrified if all the machines and security agents around you try to uncover your secret.
You will make it while listening to Access Control. This EP is full of energy, a kind of dark energy that helps you out of your misery. Boost yourself with this straight futuristic sounds against the dark forces on earth! Standalone debuts it's first wax release with none other than Laughing Man. Four lucid heavy hitters with a phenomenal collaborative appearance from Kepler make this EP a journey to remember. Level two of LNS' electroid quest on own imprint. As last 12" there are 6 tracks, generously bridging knocking MPC-style Electro, up-tempo video-worlds and melodic but clubby Techno with blends of dub.
A DJ Sotofett remix takes the dubs even further while the bleeped "Lehkist" is an excellently deep manifest of the melodic stance this record carries throughout. To be continued This guy is very productive and it was important for us to keep his bright aspiration, pure emotions in the music for this recording at an early stage of his career.
Music that will be out of time. Yesterday, today and tomorrow. This is Low Tape and his six-tracker story about the next summer of love. The German delivers his introspective release with 5 tracks whose musical universe fluctuates between classic House, Breakbeat and Deep House. With this catchy title 'Sad But Ambitious', the EP succeeds in transmitting the musical sensibility of the producer. It is meant as a tribute track to Clyde Stubblefield the former drummer of James Brown. It comes with a rolling drum pattern with moody pad sounds and a straight forward acid line finished off with some vocal chops on top.
The track has a darker, more melancholic vibe than A1 but is still a dance floor ready tool. The kick drum is used in a different way to create a Breakbeat'ish African touch. The title track of the EP has its name to mark a time in Marc Brauner's life where he felt sad about his life and work situation but still was ambitious enough to keep working on the tracks that are finally getting their release now. It comes with a nostalgic charm invoked by rising pads and classic drums combined with a deep bassline and a tear drop bell melody.
It's a melancholic track, which you can both dance and cry too. It consists of heavenly pads, a driving bassline, tight drums and a dreamy melody. This EP promises a beautiful trip between melancholy sadness and optimism. Has been a bit of a secret weapon for certain DJs for some time. Much of the press was destroyed at the time due to low sales - the mission to resurrect is now complete - took some digging.. Continuing the pursuit of making KAOS and essential label for the contemporary disc-jockey I opened the spectrum a little more with some newcomers on the label and a pioneering veteran.
Mighty D. Dan provides the direct Techno drive. I issue one of the biggest hits of Milimetric which never came on vinyl I'm really looking forward to play this. On the Flip Copenhagen's prodigal son and already well known for being trained to the floor by the KAOS followers, Schacke, delivers one of the freakiest tunes I've ever come across with. Hadone closes with his standard signature rolling extatic melancholia. A lot of chaos, I know.
Danilo was always incredibly young with things. An album under the same name and a string of EPs followed. His understanding of how the parts of a track can work has never been more apparent than on his DJ-Kicks mix. Look at the opening selections of his DJ-Kicks mix to get a glimpse of his amazing ability to fuse totally disparate sound aesthetics into a coherent whole.