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The Burial of the Guns by Thomas Nelson Page [Virginian Author --
1853-1922.]

[Note on text: Italicized words or phrases are capitalized. Some obvious
errors have been corrected. This etext is transcribed from the 1894
edition published in New York.]

The Burial of the Guns by Thomas Nelson Page

To My Wife

Contents

My Cousin Fanny The Burial of the Guns The Gray Jacket of "No. 4"
Miss Dangerlie's Roses How the Captain made Christmas Little Darby

My Cousin Fanny

We do not keep Christmas now as we used to do in old Hanover. We
have not time for it, and it does not seem like the same thing. Christmas,
however, always brings up to me my cousin Fanny; I suppose because
she always was so foolish about Christmas.
My cousin Fanny was an old maid; indeed, to follow St. Paul's turn of
phrase, she was an old maid of the old maids. No one who saw her a
moment could have doubted it. Old maids have from most people a

feeling rather akin to pity -- a hard heritage. They very often have this
feeling from the young. This must be the hardest part of all -- to see
around them friends, each "a happy mother of children," little ones
responding to affection with the sweet caresses of childhood, whilst
any advances that they, their aunts or cousins, may make are met with
indifference or condescension. My cousin Fanny was no exception. She
was as proud as Lucifer; yet she went through life -- the part that I
knew of -- bearing the pity of the great majority of the people who
knew her.
She lived at an old place called "Woodside", which had been in the
family for a great many years; indeed, ever since before the Revolution.
The neighborhood dated back to the time of the colony, and Woodside
was one of the old places. My cousin Fanny's grandmother had stood in
the door of her chamber with her large scissors in her hand, and defied
Tarleton's red-coated troopers to touch the basket of old
communion-plate which she had hung on her arm.
The house was a large brick edifice, with a pyramidal roof, covered
with moss, small windows, porticos with pillars somewhat out of repair,
a big, high hall, and a staircase wide enough to drive a gig up it if it
could have turned the corners. A grove of great forest oaks and poplars
densely shaded it, and made it look rather gloomy; and the garden, with
the old graveyard covered with periwinkle at one end, was almost in
front, while the side of the wood -- a primeval forest, from which the
place took its name -- came up so close as to form a strong, dark
background. During the war the place, like most others in that
neighborhood, suffered greatly, and only a sudden exhibition of spirit
on Cousin Fanny's part saved it from a worse fate. After the war it went
down; the fields were poor, and grew up in briers and sassafras, and the
house was too large and out of repair to keep from decay, the
ownership of it being divided between Cousin Fanny and other
members of the family. Cousin Fanny had no means whatever, so that it
soon was in a bad condition. The rest of the family, as they grew up,
went off, compelled by necessity to seek some means of livelihood, and
would have taken Cousin Fanny too if she would have gone; but she
would not go. They did all they could for her, but she preferred to hang
around the old place, and to do what she could with her "mammy", and
"old Stephen", her mammy's husband, who alone remained in the

quarters. She lived in a part of the house, locking up the rest, and from
time to time visited among her friends and relatives, who always
received her hospitably. She had an old piece of a mare (which I think
she had bought from Stephen), with one eye, three legs, and no mane or
tail to speak of, and on which she lavished, without the least perceptible
result, care enough to have kept a stable in condition. In a freak of
humor she named this animal "Fashion", after a noted racer of the