“Yes, it takes a good deal o’ sunshine to set things a startin’ out; sometimes I think I’d as lief be lyin’ down there in the dark as starvin’ up here in the sunshine--leastways the sun don’t always shine, not on me. I’ve been a soldier, marm,” he added with a slightly Irish accent, “and done my duty on many a gory field, and--oh! a--ah!”
He groaned a low guttural sort of groan--his feelings were evidently too much for him; he took out a red cotton handkerchief, shook it out for one moment as though unfurling a battle flag, then buried his face in it and boo-hoo’d behind it till his broad shoulders shook with emotion. I felt embarrassed. I was not sure I should not have that six feet of suffering manhood in another moment grovelling at my feet; but he recovered his mental equilibrium, replaced his handkerchief, shook his hat well forward on his head, and said somewhat irrelevantly but with a mournful intonation--
“‘Tain’t no use trying to cross yer fate. I’ve tried it, and it don’t answer; but one thing always puts me in mind of another; n’ flowers, n’ trees, n’ grass, n’ sich-like strikes me jist now as oncommon like human natur, for the sun o’ charity must shine on the human heart, before it will open up and give out the perfume from its inhuman pockets as it oughter--” There was a momentary and suspicious silence on my part; then my ragged and somewhat poetic philosopher added insinuatingly, “Yer don’t happen to hev a stray quarter hanging about yer clo’es anywheres? ’cause a sight of it would do me a deal o’ good.”
This ancient sinner wheedled the quarter out of my “clo’es,” and fearing lest he might move up his guns for another attack I got up and walked away a poorer and wiser woman, resolved never again to become the prey of a hoary impostor, but to fly from the first wag of his tongue as from the first clash of the tail of a rattlesnake.
We saunter on, and looking from the eastern point of Magnolia we have a magnificent panorama of the city and the clustering vessels afloat in the harbour, while stern and grim Fort Sumter looms in the distance; the white sails flutter to and fro, and dainty vessels curtsey to their own shadows reflected on the placid water; not a ripple stirs its surface, and the sun pours down a flood of silver on this sea of glass, lighting up and brightening the prospect all around, the purple pines and low-lying forts on the surrounding islands forming a charming background to the panoramic scene.