About ten years ago my wife was in poor health, and our family doctor,
in whose skill and honesty I had implicit confidence, advised a change
of climate. I was engaged in grape-culture in northern Ohio, and decided
to look for a locality suitable for carrying on the same business
in some Southern State. I wrote to a cousin who had gone into the
turpentine business in central North Carolina, and he assured me that no
better place could be found in the South than the State and neighborhood
in which he lived: climate and soil were all that could be asked for,
and land could be bought for a mere song. A cordial invitation to visit
him while I looked into the matter was accepted. We found the weather
delightful at that season, the end of the summer, and were most
hospitably entertained. Our host placed a horse and buggy at our
disposal, and himself acted as guide until I got somewhat familiar with
the country.
I went several times to look at a place which I thought might suit me.
It had been at one time a thriving plantation, but shiftless cultivation
had well-night exhausted the soil. There had been a vineyard of some
extent on the place, but it had not been attended to since the war,
and had fallen into utter neglect. The vines--here partly supported
by decayed and broken-down arbors, there twining themselves among the
branches of the slender saplings which had sprung up among them--grew in
wild and unpruned luxuriance, and the few scanty grapes which they bore
were the undisputed prey of the first comer. The site was admirably
adapted to grape-raising; the soil, with a little attention, could not
have been better; and with the native grape, the luscious scuppernong,
mainly to rely upon, I felt sure that I could introduce and cultivate
successfully a number of other varieties.
One day I went over with my wife, to show her the place. We drove
between the decayed gate-posts--the gate itself had long since
disappeared--and up the straight, sandy lane to the open space where a
dwelling-house had once stood. But the house had fallen a victim to the
fortunes of war, and nothing remained of it except the brick pillars
upon which the sills had rested. We alighted, and walked about the place
for a while; but on Annie's complaining of weariness I led the way back
to the yard, where a pine log, lying under a spreading elm, formed a
shady though somewhat hard seat. One end of the log was already occupied
by a venerable-looking colored man. He held on his knees a hat full of
grapes, over which he was smacking his lips with great gusto, and a pile
of grape-skins near him indicated that the performance was no new thing.
He respectfully rose as we approached, and was moving away, when I
begged him to keep his seat.
"Don't let us disturb you," I said. "There's plenty of room for us all."
He resumed his seat with somewhat of embarrassment.
"Do you live around here?" I asked, anxious to put him at his ease.
"Yas, suh. I lives des ober yander, behine de nex' san'-hill, on de
Lumberton plank-road."
"Do you know anything about the time when this vineyard was cultivated?"
"Lawd bless yer, suh, I knows all about it. Dey ain' na'er a man in dis
settlement w'at won' tell yer ole Julius McAdoo 'uz bawn an' raise' on
dis yer same plantation. Is you de Norv'n gemman w'at's gwine ter buy de
ole vimya'd?"
"I am looking at it," I replied; "but I don't know that I shall care to
buy unless I can be reasonably sure of making something out of it."
"Well, suh, you is a stranger ter me, en I is a stranger ter you, en we
is bofe strangers ter one anudder, but 'f I 'uz in yo' place, I wouldn'
buy dis vimya'd."
"Why not?" I asked.
"Well, I dunner whe'r you b'lieves in cunj'in er not,--some er de w'ite
folks don't, er says dey don't,--but de truf er de matter is dat dis yer
ole vimya'd is goophered."
"Is what?" I asked, not grasping the meaning of this unfamiliar word.
"Is goophered, cunju'd, bewitch'."
He imparted this information with such solemn earnestness, and with such
an air of confidential mystery, that I felt somewhat interested, while
Annie was evidently much impressed, and drew closer to me.
"How do you know it is bewitched?" I asked.
"I wouldn' spec' fer you ter b'lieve me 'less you know all 'bout de
fac's. But ef you en young miss dere doan' min' lis'n'in' ter a ole
nigger run on a minute er two w'ile you er restin', I kin 'splain to yer
how it all happen'."
We assured him that we would be glad to hear how it all happened, and
he began to tell us. At first the current of his memory--or
imagination--seemed somewhat sluggish; but as his embarrassment wore
off, his language flowed more freely, and the story acquired perspective
and coherence. As he became more and more absorbed in the narrative,
his eyes assumed a dreamy expression, and he seemed to lose sight of his
auditors, and to be living over again in monologue his life on the old
plantation.
"Ole Mars Dugal' McAdoo bought dis place long many years befo' de wah,
en I 'member well w'en he sot out all dis yer part er de plantation
in scuppernon's. De vimes growed monst'us fas', en Mars Dugal' made a
thousan' gallon er scuppernon' wine eve'y year.
"Now, ef dey's an'thing a nigger lub, nex' ter 'possum, en chick'n,
en watermillyums, it's scuppernon's. Dey ain' nuffin dat kin stan' up
side'n de scuppernon' fer sweetness; sugar ain't a suckumstance ter
scuppernon'. W'en de season is nigh 'bout ober, en de grapes begin ter
swivel up des a little wid de wrinkles er ole age,--w'en de skin git
sof' en brown,--den de scuppernon' make you smack yo' lip en roll yo'
eye en wush fer mo'; so I reckon it ain' very 'stonishin' dat niggers
lub scuppernon'.
"Dey wuz a sight er niggers in de naberhood er de vimya'd. Dere wuz ole
Mars Henry Brayboy's niggers, en ole Mars Dunkin McLean's niggers, en
Mars Dugal's own niggers; den dey wuz a settlement er free niggers
en po' buckrahs down by de Wim'l'ton Road, en Mars Dugal' had de only
vimya'd in de naberhood. I reckon it ain' so much so nowadays, but befo'
de wah, in slab'ry times, er nigger didn' mine goin' fi' er ten mile in
a night, w'en dey wuz sump'n good ter eat at de yuther een.
"So atter a w'ile Mars Dugal' begin ter miss his scuppernon's. Co'se he
'cuse' de niggers er it, but dey all 'nied it ter de las'. Mars Dugal'
sot spring guns en steel traps, en he en de oberseah sot up nights
once't er twice't, tel one night Mars Dugal'--he 'uz a monst'us keerless
man--got his leg shot full er cow-peas. But somehow er nudder dey
couldn' nebber ketch none er de niggers. I dunner how it happen, but it
happen des like I tell yer, en de grapes kep' on a-goin des de same.
"But bimeby ole Mars Dugal' fix' up a plan ter stop it. Dey 'uz a cunjuh
'ooman livin' down mongs' de free niggers on de Wim'l'ton Road, en all
de darkies fum Rockfish ter Beaver Crick wuz feared uv her. She could
wuk de mos' powerfulles' kind er goopher,--could make people hab fits er
rheumatiz, er make 'em des dwinel away en die; en dey say she went out
ridin' de niggers at night, for she wuz a witch 'sides bein' a cunjuh
'ooman. Mars Dugal' hearn 'bout Aun' Peggy's doin's, en begun ter 'flect
whe'r er no he couldn' git her ter he'p him keep de niggers off'n de
grapevimes. One day in de spring er de year, ole miss pack' up a basket
er chick'n en poun'-cake, en a bottle er scuppernon' wine, en Mars
Dugal' tuk it in his buggy en driv ober ter Aun' Peggy's cabin. He tuk
de basket in, en had a long talk wid Aun' Peggy. De nex' day Aun' Peggy
come up ter de vimya'd. De niggers seed her slippin' 'roun', en dey soon
foun' out what she 'uz doin' dere. Mars Dugal' had hi'ed her ter goopher
de grapevimes. She sa'ntered 'roun' mongs' de vimes, en tuk a leaf fum
dis one, en a grape-hull fum dat one, en a grape-seed fum anudder one;
en den a little twig fum here, en a little pinch er dirt fum dere,--en
put it all in a big black bottle, wid a snake's toof en a speckle' hen's
gall en some ha'rs fum a black cat's tail, en den fill' de bottle wid
scuppernon' wine. W'en she got de goopher all ready en fix', she tuk 'n
went out in de woods en buried it under de root uv a red oak tree, en
den come back en tole one er de niggers she done goopher de grapevimes,
en a'er a nigger w'at eat dem grapes 'ud be sho ter die inside'n twel'
mont's.
"Atter dat de niggers let de scuppernon's 'lone, en Mars Dugal' didn'
hab no 'casion ter fine no mo' fault; en de season wuz mos' gone, w'en
a strange gemman stop at de plantation one night ter see Mars Dugal' on
some business; en his coachman, seein' de scuppernon's growin' so nice
en sweet, slip 'roun' behine de smoke-house, en et all de scuppernon's
he could hole. Nobody didn' notice it at de time, but dat night, on de
way home, de gemman's hoss runned away en kill' de coachman. W'en we
hearn de noos, Aun' Lucy, de cook, she up 'n say she seed de strange
nigger eat'n' er de scuppernon's behine de smoke-house; en den we knowed
de goopher had b'en er wukkin. Den one er de nigger chilluns runned
away fum de quarters one day, en got in de scuppernon's, en died de nex'
week. W'ite folks say he die' er de fevuh, but de niggers knowed it wuz
de goopher. So you k'n be sho de darkies didn' hab much ter do wid dem
scuppernon' vimes.
"W'en de scuppernon' season 'uz ober fer dat year, Mars Dugal' foun' he
had made fifteen hund'ed gallon er wine; en one er de niggers hearn
him laffin' wid de oberseah fit ter kill, en sayin' dem fifteen hund'ed
gallon er wine wuz monst'us good intrus' on de ten dollars he laid
out on de vimya'd. So I 'low ez he paid Aun' Peggy ten dollars fer to
goopher de grapevimes.
"De goopher didn' wuk no mo' tel de nex' summer, w'en 'long to'ds de
middle er de season one er de fiel' han's died; en ez dat lef' Mars
Dugal' sho't er han's, he went off ter town fer ter buy anudder. He
fotch de noo nigger home wid 'im. He wuz er ole nigger, er de color er
a gingy-cake, en ball ez a hoss-apple on de top er his head. He wuz a
peart ole nigger, do', en could do a big day's wuk.
"Now it happen dat one er de niggers on de nex' plantation, one er ole
Mars Henry Brayboy's niggers, had runned away de day befo', en tuk ter
de swamp, en ole Mars Dugal' en some er de yuther nabor w'ite folks had
gone out wid dere guns en dere dogs fer ter he'p 'em hunt fer de nigger;
en de han's on our own plantation wuz all so flusterated dat we fuhgot
ter tell de noo han' 'bout de goopher on de scuppernon' vimes. Co'se he
smell de grapes en see de vimes, an atter dahk de fus' thing he done
wuz ter slip off ter de grapevimes 'dout sayin' nuffin ter nobody. Nex'
mawnin' he tole some er de niggers 'bout de fine bait er scuppernon' he
et de night befo'.
"W'en dey tole 'im 'bout de goopher on de grapevimes, he 'uz dat
tarrified dat he turn pale, en look des like he gwine ter die right in
his tracks. De oberseah come up en axed w'at 'uz de matter; en w'en dey
tole 'im Henry be'n eatin' er de scuppernon's, en got de goopher on 'im,
he gin Henry a big drink er w'iskey, en 'low dat de nex' rainy day he
take 'im ober ter Aun' Peggy's, en see ef she wouldn' take de goopher
off'n him, seein' ez he didn' know nuffin erbout it tel he done et de
grapes.
"Sho nuff, it rain de nex' day, en de oberseah went ober ter Aun'
Peggy's wid Henry. En Aun' Peggy say dat bein' ez Henry didn' know 'bout
de goopher, en et de grapes in ign'ance er de quinseconces, she reckon
she mought be able fer ter take de goopher off'n him. So she fotch out
er bottle wid some cunjuh medicine in it, en po'd some out in a go'd fer
Henry ter drink. He manage ter git it down; he say it tas'e like whiskey
wid sump'n bitter in it. She 'lowed dat 'ud keep de goopher off'n him
tel de spring; but w'en de sap begin ter rise in de grapevimes he ha'
ter come en see her agin, en she tell him w'at e's ter do.
"Nex' spring, w'en de sap commence' ter rise in de scuppernon' vime,
Henry tuk a ham one night. Whar'd he git de ham? I doan know; dey wa'nt
no hams on de plantation 'cep'n' w'at 'uz in de smoke-house, but I never
see Henry 'bout de smoke-house. But ez I wuz a-sayin', he tuk de ham
ober ter Aun' Peggy's; en Aun' Peggy tole 'im dat w'en Mars Dugal' begin
ter prume de grapevimes, he mus' go en take 'n scrape off de sap whar it
ooze out'n de cut een's er de vimes, en 'n'int his ball head wid it; en
ef he do dat once't a year de goopher wouldn' wuk agin 'im long ez he
done it. En bein' ez he fotch her de ham, she fix' it so he kin eat all
de scuppernon' he want.
"So Henry 'n'int his head wid de sap out'n de big grapevime des ha'f way
'twix' de quarters en de big house, en de goopher nebber wuk agin him
dat summer. But de beatenes' thing you eber see happen ter Henry. Up
ter dat time he wuz ez ball ez a sweeten' 'tater, but des ez soon ez de
young leaves begun ter come out on de grapevimes de ha'r begun ter grow
out on Henry's head, en by de middle er de summer he had de bigges' head
er ha'r on de plantation. Befo' dat, Henry had tol'able good ha'r 'roun
de aidges, but soon ez de young grapes begun ter come Henry's ha'r begun
ter quirl all up in little balls, des like dis yer reg'lar grapy ha'r,
en by de time de grapes got ripe his head look des like a bunch er
grapes. Combin' it didn' do no good; he wuk at it ha'f de night wid er
Jim Crow [1], en think he git it straighten' out, but in de mawnin' de
grapes 'ud be dere des de same. So he gin it up, en tried ter keep de
grapes down by havin' his ha'r cut sho't."
[Footnote 1: A small card, resembling a curry-comb in construction, and
used by negroes in the rural districts instead of a comb.]
"But dat wa'nt de quares' thing 'bout de goopher. When Henry come ter de
plantation, he wuz gittin' a little ole an stiff in de j'ints. But
dat summer he got des ez spry en libely ez any young nigger on de
plantation; fac' he got so biggity dat Mars Jackson, de oberseah, ha'
ter th'eaten ter whip 'im, ef he didn' stop cuttin' up his didos en
behave hisse'f. But de mos' cur'ouses' thing happen' in de fall, when
de sap begin ter go down in de grapevimes. Fus', when de grapes 'uz
gethered, de knots begun ter straighten out'n Henry's h'ar; en w'en de
leaves begin ter fall, Henry's ha'r begin ter drap out; en w'en de vimes
'uz b'ar, Henry's head wuz baller 'n it wuz in de spring, en he begin
ter git ole en stiff in de j'ints ag'in, en paid no mo' tention ter de
gals dyoin' er de whole winter. En nex' spring, w'en he rub de sap on
ag'in, he got young ag'in, en so soopl en libely dat none er de young
niggers on de plantation couldn' jump, ner dance, ner hoe ez much cotton
ez Henry. But in de fall er de year his grapes begun ter straighten out,
en his j'ints ter git stiff, en his ha'r drap off, en de rheumatiz begin
ter wrastle wid 'im.
"Now, ef you'd a knowed ole Mars Dugal' McAdoo, you'd a knowed dat
it ha' ter be a mighty rainy day when he couldn' fine sump'n fer his
niggers ter do, en it ha' ter be a mighty little hole he couldn' crawl
thoo, en ha' ter be a monst'us cloudy night w'en a dollar git by him in
de dahkness; en w'en he see how Henry git young in de spring en ole
in de fall, he 'lowed ter hisse'f ez how he could make mo' money outen
Henry dan by wukkin' him in de cotton fiel'. 'Long de nex' spring, atter
de sap commence' ter rise, en Henry 'n'int 'is head en commence fer ter
git young en soopl, Mars Dugal' up 'n tuk Henry ter town, en sole 'im
fer fifteen hunder' dollars. Co'se de man w'at bought Henry didn' know
nuffin 'bout de goopher, en Mars Dugal' didn' see no 'casion fer ter
tell 'im. Long to'ds de fall, w'en de sap went down, Henry begin ter git
ole again same ez yuzhal, en his noo marster begin ter git skeered
les'n he gwine ter lose his fifteen-hunder'-dollar nigger. He sent fer
a mighty fine doctor, but de med'cine didn' 'pear ter do no good; de
goopher had a good holt. Henry tole de doctor 'bout de goopher, but de
doctor des laff at 'im.
"One day in de winter Mars Dugal' went ter town, en wuz santerin' 'long
de Main Street, when who should he meet but Henry's noo marster. Dey
said 'Hoddy,' en Mars Dugal' ax 'im ter hab a seegyar; en atter dey
run on awhile 'bout de craps en de weather, Mars Dugal' ax 'im, sorter
keerless, like ez ef he des thought of it,--
"'How you like de nigger I sole you las' spring?'
"Henry's marster shuck his head en knock de ashes off'n his seegyar.
"'Spec' I made a bad bahgin when I bought dat nigger. Henry done good
wuk all de summer, but sence de fall set in he 'pears ter be sorter
pinin' away. Dey ain' nuffin pertickler de matter wid 'im--leastways de
doctor say so--'cep'n' a tech er de rheumatiz; but his ha'r is all fell
out, en ef he don't pick up his strenk mighty soon, I spec' I'm gwine
ter lose 'im."
"Dey smoked on awhile, en bimeby ole mars say, 'Well, a bahgin's a
bahgin, but you en me is good fren's, en I doan wan' ter see you lose
all de money you paid fer dat digger [sic]; en ef w'at you say is so, en
I ain't 'sputin' it, he ain't wuf much now. I spec's you wukked him
too ha'd dis summer, er e'se de swamps down here don't agree wid de
san'-hill nigger. So you des lemme know, en ef he gits any wusser I'll
be willin' ter gib yer five hund'ed dollars fer 'im, en take my chances
on his livin'.'
"Sho nuff, when Henry begun ter draw up wid de rheumatiz en it look like
he gwine ter die fer sho, his noo marster sen' fer Mars Dugal', en Mars
Dugal' gin him what he promus, en brung Henry home ag'in. He tuk
good keer uv 'im dyoin' er de winter,--give 'im w'iskey ter rub his
rheumatiz, en terbacker ter smoke, en all he want ter eat,--'caze a
nigger w'at he could make a thousan' dollars a year off'n didn' grow on
eve'y huckleberry bush.
"Nex' spring, w'en de sap ris en Henry's ha'r commence' ter sprout, Mars
Dugal' sole 'im ag'in, down in Robeson County dis time; en he kep' dat
sellin' business up fer five year er mo'. Henry nebber say nuffin 'bout
de goopher ter his noo marsters, 'caze he know he gwine ter be tuk good
keer uv de nex' winter, w'en Mars Dugal' buy him back. En Mars Dugal'
made 'nuff money off'n Henry ter buy anudder plantation ober on Beaver
Crick.
"But long 'bout de een' er dat five year dey come a stranger ter stop
at de plantation. De fus' day he 'uz dere he went out wid Mars Dugal' en
spent all de mawnin' lookin' ober de vimya'd, en atter dinner dey spent
all de evenin' playin' kya'ds. De niggers soon 'skiver' dat he wuz a
Yankee, en dat he come down ter Norf C'lina fer ter learn de w'ite folks
how to raise grapes en make wine. He promus Mars Dugal' he cud make de
grapevimes b'ar twice't ez many grapes, en dat de noo wine-press he wuz
a-sellin' would make mo' d'n twice't ez many gallons er wine. En ole
Mars Dugal' des drunk it all in, des 'peared ter be bewitched wit dat
Yankee. W'en de darkies see dat Yankee runnin' 'roun de vimya'd en
diggin' under de grapevimes, dey shuk dere heads, en 'lowed dat dey
feared Mars Dugal' losin' his min'. Mars Dugal' had all de dirt dug away
fum under de roots er all de scuppernon' vimes, an' let 'em stan' dat
away fer a week er mo'. Den dat Yankee made de niggers fix up a mixtry
er lime en ashes en manyo, en po' it roun' de roots er de grapevimes.
Den he 'vise' Mars Dugal' fer ter trim de vimes close't, en Mars Dugal'
tuck 'n done eve'ything de Yankee tole him ter do. Dyoin' all er dis
time, mind yer, 'e wuz libbin' off'n de fat er de lan', at de big house,
en playin' kyards wid Mars Dugal' eve'y night; en dey say Mars Dugal'
los' mo'n a thousan' dollars dyoin' er de week dat Yankee wuz a runnin'
de grapevimes.
"W'en de sap ris nex' spring, ole Henry 'n'inted his head ez yuzhal,
en his ha'r commence' ter grow des de same ez it done eve'y year. De
scuppernon' vimes growed monst's fas', en de leaves wuz greener en
thicker dan dey eber be'n dyowin my rememb'ance; en Henry's ha'r growed
out thicker dan eber, en he 'peared ter git younger 'n younger, en
soopler 'n soopler; en seein' ez he wuz sho't er han's dat spring,
havin' tuk in consid'able noo groun', Mars Dugal' 'cluded he wouldn'
sell Henry 'tel he git de crap in en de cotton chop'. So he kep' Henry
on de plantation.
"But 'long 'bout time fer de grapes ter come on de scuppernon' vimes,
dey 'peared ter come a change ober dem; de leaves wivered en swivel' up,
en de young grapes turn' yaller, en bimeby eve'ybody on de plantation
could see dat de whole vimya'd wuz dyin'. Mars Dugal' tuck 'n water de
vimes en done all he could, but 't wan' no use: dat Yankee done bus' de
watermillyum. One time de vimes picked up a bit, en Mars Dugal' thought
dey wuz gwine ter come out ag'in; but dat Yankee done dug too close
unde' de roots, en prune de branches too close ter de vime, en all
dat lime en ashes done burn' de life outen de vimes, en dey des kep' a
with'in' en a swivelin'.
"All dis time de goopher wuz a-wukkin'. W'en de vimes commence' ter
wither, Henry commence' ter complain er his rheumatiz, en when de leaves
begin ter dry up his ha'r commence' ter drap out. When de vimes fresh up
a bit Henry 'ud git peart agin, en when de vimes wither agin Henry 'ud
git ole agin, en des kep' gittin' mo' en mo' fitten fer nuffin; he des
pined away, en fine'ly tuk ter his cabin; en when de big vime whar he
got de sap ter 'n'int his head withered en turned yaller en died, Henry
died too,--des went out sorter like a cannel. Dey didn't 'pear ter
be nuffin de matter wid 'im, 'cep'n de rheumatiz, but his strenk des
dwinel' away 'tel he didn' hab ernuff lef' ter draw his bref. De goopher
had got de under holt, en th'owed Henry fer good en all dat time.
"Mars Dugal' tuk on might'ly 'bout losin' his vimes en his nigger in de
same year; en he swo' dat ef he could git hold er dat Yankee he'd wear
'im ter a frazzle, en den chaw up de frazzle; en he'd done it, too, for
Mars Dugal' 'uz a monst'us brash man w'en he once git started. He sot de
vimya'd out ober agin, but it wuz th'ee er fo' year befo' de vimes got
ter b'arin' any scuppernon's.
"W'en de wah broke out, Mars Dugal' raise' a comp'ny, en went off ter
fight de Yankees. He saw he wuz mighty glad dat wah come, en he des want
ter kill a Yankee fer eve'y dollar he los' 'long er dat grape-raisin'
Yankee. En I 'spec' he would a done it, too, ef de Yankees hadn'
s'picioned sump'n, en killed him fus'. Atter de s'render ole miss move'
ter town, de niggers all scattered 'way fum de plantation, en de vimya'd
ain' be'n cultervated sence."
"Is that story true?" asked Annie, doubtfully, but seriously, as the old
man concluded his narrative.
"It's des ez true ez I'm a-settin' here, miss. Dey's a easy way ter
prove it: I kin lead de way right ter Henry's grave ober yander in de
plantation buryin'-groun'. En I tell yer w'at, marster, I wouldn' 'vise
yer to buy dis yer ole vimya'd, 'caze de goopher's on it yit, en dey
ain' no tellin' w'en it's gwine ter crap out."
"But I thought you said all the old vines died."
"Dey did 'pear ter die, but a few ov 'em come out ag'in, en is mixed in
mongs' de yuthers. I ain' skeered ter eat de grapes, 'caze I knows de
old vimes fum de noo ones; but wid strangers dey ain' no tellin' w'at
might happen. I wouldn' 'vise yer ter buy dis vimya'd."
I bought the vineyard, nevertheless, and it has been for a long time
in a thriving condition, and is referred to by the local press as a
striking illustration of the opportunities open to Northern capital in
the development of Southern industries. The luscious scuppernong holds
first rank among our grapes, though we cultivate a great many other
varieties, and our income from grapes packed and shipped to the Northern
markets is quite considerable. I have not noticed any developments of
the goopher in the vineyard, although I have a mild suspicion that our
colored assistants do not suffer from want of grapes during the season.
I found, when I bought the vineyard, that Uncle Julius had occupied a
cabin on the place for many years, and derived a respectable revenue
from the neglected grapevines. This, doubtless, accounted for his advice
to me not to buy the vineyard, though whether it inspired the goopher
story I am unable to state. I believe, however, that the wages I pay him
for his services are more than an equivalent for anything he lost by the
sale of the vineyard.