hospitality; praising the olden time to the disparagement of the
present; the mortal foe of progressionists and fast people in every
department; above all, a philosopher of his own school, he judged by the
law of Procrustes, and permitted no appeals; opinionated and arbitrary
as the Czar, he was sauced by his negroes, respected and loved by his
neighbors, led by the nose by his wife and daughters, and the abject
slave of his grandchildren.

His house was as big as a barn, and, as his sons and daughters married,
they brought their mates home to the old mansion. "It will be time
enough for them to hive," quoth the Squire, "when the old box is full."

Notwithstanding his contempt for fast men nowadays, he is rather pleased
with any allusion to his own youthful reputation in that line, and not
unfrequently tells a good story on himself. We can not omit one told by
a neighbor, as being characteristic of the times and manners forty years
ago:

At Culpepper Court-house, or some court-house thereabout, Dick Hardy,
then a good-humored, gay young bachelor, and the prime favorite of both
sexes, was called upon to carve the pig at the court dinner. The
district judge was at the table, the lawyers, justices, and everybody
else that felt disposed to dine. At Dick's right elbow sat a militia
colonel, who was tricked out in all the pomp and circumstance admitted
by his rank. He had probably been engaged on some court-martial,
imposing fifty-cent fines on absentees from the last general muster.
Howbeit Dick, in thrusting his fork into the back of the pig,
bespattered the officer's regimentals with some of the superfluous
gravy. "Beg your pardon," said Dick, as he went on with his carving. Now
these were times when the war spirit was high, and chivalry at a