Southern sentinel. [volume] (Plaquemine, Parish of Iberville [La.]) 1848-1858, 1853-11-26
A STORY OF THE LAST CENTURY
BY WASHINGTON IRVING.

AS Tom waxed old, however, he grew
thoughtful. Having secured the good things OF
| this world he began to feel anxious about those
of the next. He thought with regret on the
bargain he had made with his black friend, and
| put his wits to work to cheat him out Of his
conditions. He because therefore all Of sud
den, a violent church goer. He prayed loudl,
and strenuously as if heaven were to be carried
| 10y force of lungs. Indeed, one might Away
tell when he had sinned most during the wee}
by the clamor Of his Sundays devotion! The
quiet christians who have been modestly an"
steadily travelling Zionward, were struck with
self-reproach at seeing themselves so suddenl
outstrpped in their career by this new made
convert. Tom was an rigid in religion as in
money matters; he was stern supervisor ami
censurer of his eighbors, and seemed to think
every sin entered up to their account becamen
credit on his page. He even talked of the
| expediency of reviving the persecution of the
Quakers and the Anabapsts. In WORD,
Toms zeal became as his riches.
Still, in spite of his strenuous attention tr
forms, Tom had nkiing dread that the devil
after all would have his due. That he nigh,
not be taken unaWares, therefore, it is said he
always carried small bible in his pocket. He
also had great folio bible in his counting
house desk, and would frequently be found
reading when people called on business; OF
such occasion he would lay his green spectacleS
on the book to mark the place, while he turned
around to drive some usurious bargain.
Some say Tom grew little crack brained in
his older days, and that fancying his end ap
preaching, he had his horse new shod, saddled,
and bridled, and buried with his feet uppermost;
because that, at the last day they would be
turned upside down, which case he would find
his horse ready for mounting, and he was detes-
mined at the worst to give his old friend
run for it. This however, is probably mere
old wife's fable. If he really did not take pre-
caution, it was totally superfluous-at least,
so says the authentic old legend, which closes
his story in the following manner
One hot afternoon in the dog days, just as
terrible black gust came up, Tom sat in his
counting house in his white linen cap and Indian
silk morning gown. He was on the point Of
closing mortgage, by which he would COM
plete the ruin of an unhappy speculator for
whom he had professed the greatest friendship.
The poor land -jobber begged him to grant a fow
months indulgence. Tom had grown testy and
irritated, and refused another day.
My family will be ruined and brought up
on the parish,' said the land jobber.
Charity begins al home,' replied Tom; must
take care of myself these hard tines
you have made so much money out of me-
said the speculator ..
Tom lost his patience and his piety. The
devil take me- said he, If have made far
thing!'
Just then there were three loud knocks at
the street door. He stepped out to see who
was there. A black man was holding black
horse, which neighed and stamped with i'm
patience.
tom, you are come for said the black fellow
gruffly. Tom shrunk back, but too late. He
had left his little bible at the bottom Of his coat
pocket, and his big bible on the desk buried
under the mortgage he was aboutto foreclose!
never was sinner taken more unawares. The
black man whisked like child astride the horse
and away he galloped in the midst of thunder
storm. The clerks stuck their pens behind
their ears and stared after him from the win
dows. Away went Tom Walker, dashing most
bng up and down, his morning gown fluttering
the pavement every bound. When the clerks
turned to look for the black mamie had disap"
peared.
Tom Walker never returned to forecose the,
mortgage. A countryman who lived near the
swamp reported that, in the height of the thun-
dor gust, he had heard great ela,tering ofhoofs
and bowling along the road, and that when he
ran to the window he just caught sight Of q
figure such as have described, on q horse that
galloped like mad across the field, over the
hills, and down into the black hemlock swamps
towards the old Indian fort, and that soon after
a thunderbolt fell in that direction, which
seemed to set the whole forest in blaze.
The good people of Boston shook their heads
and shrugged their shoulders. They had been
so accustomed to witches, and goblins and
tricks of the devil in all kinds of shape from
the first settlement of the colony, that they
were not so much horror struck as might have
been expected. Trustees were appointed to
take charge of Toms effects. There was moth
ing however to administer upon. On searching
his Golfers all his bonds and mortgages were
found reduced to cinders In place of gold and
silver, his iron chest was filled with chips and
shayings; two skeletons lay in bis stable instead
of his half starved horses, and the very next
his great house took FIRE and was burned to
the ground.
Such was the end of Tom Walker and his
ill-gotton wealth. Let all gripping money
brokers lay the story well to heart. The truth
is not to be doubted. The very hole under
the oak trees, from whence he dug Kidd's
is to be seen to this day, and the neigh
boring swamp and the old Indian fort is often
haunted in stormy night by a figure on horse
back, in morning gown and white cap, which
is doubtless the troubled spirit Of the usurer.
In fact the story has resolved itself into pro-
verb, and is the origin of the popular saying
prevalent throughout New England, of "the
Devil and Tom Walker"
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