University of Virginia Library

1. CHAPTER I.

In a minute or two the tumult ceased, and a singular
scene presented itself. The church had four separate groups
or parties left in it, besides the Injins, who crowded the
main isle. The chairman, secretary, two ministers and lecturer,
remained perfectly tranquil in their seats, probably
understanding quite well they had nothing to fear from the
intruders. Mr. Warren and Mary were in another corner,
under the gallery, he having disdained flight, and prudently
kept his daughter at his side. My uncle and myself were
the pendants of the two last named, occupying the opposite
corner, also under the gallery. Mr. Hall, and two or three
friends who stuck by him, were in a pew near the wall, but
about half way down the church, the former erect on a seat,
where he had placed himself to speak.

“Proceed with your remarks, sir,” coolly observed the
chairman, who was one of those paradoxical anti-renters
who has nothing to do with the Injins, though he knew all
about them, and, as I have been told, was actually foremost
in collecting and disbursing their pay. At this instant Seneca
Newcome sneaked in at a side door, keeping as far as
possible from the “disguised and armed,” but curious to
ascertain what would come next.

As for Hall, he behaved with admirable self-possession.
He probably knew that his former auditors were collecting

under the windows, and by raising his voice he would be
easily heard. At all events, he did elevate his voice, and
went on as if nothing had happened.

“I was about to say a word, Mr. Chairman, on the natur'
of the two qualities that have, to me, at least, seemed uppermost
in the lecturer's argooment”—yes, this sensible,
well-principled man actually used that detestable sound, just
as I have written it, calling `argument' `argooment'—what
a pity it is that so little attention is paid to the very first
principles of speaking the language well in this country, the
common schools probably doing more harm than they do
good in this respect—“that have, to me, at least, seemed
uppermost in the lecturer's argooment, and they are both
those that God himself has viewed as of so great importance
to our nature as to give his express commandments about
them. He has commanded us not to steal, and he has commanded
us not to covet our neighbour's goods; proof sufficient
that the possession of property is sanctioned by divine
authority, and that it is endowed with a certain sanctity of
privilege. Now for the application.

“You can do nothing as to leases in existence, because
the State can't impair a contract. A great deal is said about
this government's being one of the people, and that the people
ought to do as they please. Now, I 'm a plain man,
and am talking to plain men, and mean to talk plainly.
That this is a government of the people, being a democracy,
or because the sovereign power, in the last resort, resides
in the body of the people, is true; but that this is a government
of the people, in the common signification, or as too
many of the people themselves understand it, is not true.
This very interest, about which there is so much commotion,
or the right to interfere with contracts, is put beyond
the people of the State by a clause in the constitution of the
United States. Now, the constitution of the United States
might be altered, making another provision saying that `no
State shall ever pass any law to do away with the existence
of durable leases,' and every man, woman and child in New
York be opposed to such a change, but they would have to
swallow it. Come, let us see what figures will do. There
are twenty-seven States in actual existence, and soon will
be thirty. I don't care on which number you calculate;

say thirty, if you please, as that is likely to be the number
before the constitution could be altered. Well, twenty-three
of these States can put a clause into the constitution, saying
you shan't meddle with leases. This might leave the seven
most popular States, with every voter, opposed to the change.
I 've made a calculation, and find what the seven most populous
States had in 1840, and I find that more than half of
all the population of the country is contained in them seven
States, which can be made to submit to a minority. Nor
is this all; the alteration may be carried by only one vote
in each of the twenty-three States, and, deducting these from
the electors in the seven dissenting States, you might have
a constitutional change made in the country against a majority
of say two millions! It follows that the people, in
the common meaning, are not as omnipotent as some suppose.
There 's something stronger than the people, after
all, and that 's principles, and if we go to work to tear to
pieces our own—”

It was impossible to hear another word that the speaker
said. The idea that the people are not omnipotent, was one
little likely to find favour among any portion of the population
that fancies themselves to be peculiarly the people. So
much accustomed to consider themselves invested with the
exercise of a power which, in any case, can be rightfully
exercised by only the whole people, have local assemblages
got to be, that they often run into illegal excesses, fancying
even their little fragment of the body politic infallible, as
well as omnipotent, in such matters at least. To have it
openly denied, therefore, that the popular fabric of American
institutions is so put together, as to leave it in the power of
a decided minority to change the organic law, as is unquestionably
the fact in theory, however little likely to occur in
practice, sounded in the ears of Mr. Hall's auditors like
political blasphemy. Those under the windows groaned,
while the gang in the aisle whooped and yelled, and that in
a fashion that had all the exaggeration of a caricature. It
was very apparent that there was an end of all the deliberative
part of the proceedings of the day.

Hall seemed neither surprised nor uneasy. He wiped his
face very coolly, and then took his seat, leaving the Injins
to dance about the church, flourishing their rifles and knives,

in a way that might have frightened one less steady. As
for Mr. Warren, he led Mary out, though there was a movement
that threatened to stop him. My uncle and myself
followed, the whooping and screaming being really unpleasant
to the ear. As to the chairman, the secretary, and the
two ministers of the gospel, they kept their stations on the
stage, entirely self-possessed and unmolested. No one went
near them, a forbearance that must have been owing to the
often alleged fact that the real anti-renters, the oppressed
tenantry of New York, and these vile masqueraders, had
nothing to do with each other!

One of the astounding circumstances of the times, is the
general prevalence of falsehood among us, and the almost
total suppression of truth. No matter what amount of evidence
there may be to contradict a statement, or how often
it has been disproved, it is reaffirmed, with just as much
assurance, as if the matter had never been investigated; ay,
and believed, as if its substance were uncontradicted. I am
persuaded there is no part of the world, in which it is more
difficult to get a truth into the public mind, when there is a
motive to suppress it, than among ourselves. This may
seem singular, when it is remembered how many journals
there are, which are uttered with the avowed purpose to
circulate information. Alas! the machinery which can be
used to give currency to truth, is equally efficient in giving
currency to falsehood. There are so many modes, too, of
diluting truth, in addition to the downright lies which are
told, that I greatly question if one alleged fact, out of twenty
that goes the rounds of the public prints, those of the commoner
sort excepted, is true in all its essentials. It requires
so much integrity of purpose, so much discrimination, such
a sensitiveness of conscience, and often so large a degree of
self-sacrifice in men to speak nothing but truth, that one is
not to expect that their more vulgar and irresponsible agents
are to possess a quality that is so very rare among the very
best of the principals.

If I was glad to get out of the church myself, the reader
may depend on it, I was rejoiced when I saw Mr. Warren
leading Mary towards the place where I had left his wagon,
as if about to quit a scene that now promised nothing but
clamour and wrangling, if not something more serious.

Uncle Ro desired me to bring out the wagon in which we
had left the farm; and, in the midst of a species of general
panic, in which the women, in particular, went flying about
in all directions, I proceeded to comply. It was at this
moment that a general pause to all movements was produced
by the gang of Injins pouring out of the church,
bringing in their centre the late speaker, Mr. Hall. As the
chairman, secretary, lecturer, and the two “ministers of the
gospel,” followed, it was conclusive as to the termination of
anything like further discussion.

My uncle called me back, and I thought was disposed to
assist Hall, who, manfully supported by the two or three
friends that had stood by him the whole day, was now
moving towards us, surrounded by a cluster of wrangling
and menacing Injins; the whole party bearing no little
resemblance to a pack of village curs that sets upon the
strange dog that has ventured in among them.

Oaths and threats filled the air; and poor Hall's ears
were offended by an imputation that, I dare say, they then
heard for the first time. He was called a “d—d aristocrat.”
and a hireling in the pay of “d—d aristocrats.” To
all this, however, the sturdy and right-thinking blacksmith
was very indifferent; well knowing there was not a fact
connected with his existence, or a sentiment of his moral
being, that would justify any such charge. It was in answer
to this deadly imputation, that I first heard him speak
again, after he had been interrupted in the church.

“Call me what you please,” he cried, in his clear, full
voice; “I don't mind hard names. There isn't a man
among you who thinks I 'm an aristocrat, or the hireling of
any one; but I hope I am not yet so great a knave as to
wish to rob a neighbour because he happens to be richer
than I am myself.”

“Who gave Hugh Littlepage his land?” demanded one,
in the midst of the gang, speaking without the affectation
of mimicry, though the covering to his head sufficiently
changed his voice. “You know, yourself, it came from
the king.”

“He never worked for an acre of it!” bawled another.
“If he was a hard-working, honest man, like yourself, Tim

Hall, we might bear it; but you know he is not. He 's a
spendthrift and an aristocrat.”

“I know that hard hands don't make a man honest, any
more than soft hands make him a rogue,” answered Tim
Hall, with spirit. “As for the Littlepages, they are gentlemen
in every sense of the word, and always have been.
Their word will pass even now, when the bond of many a
man who sets himself up ag'in them wouldn't be looked at.”

I was grateful and touched with this proof that a character,
which I fully believed to be merited, was not lost on
one of the most intelligent men of his class, in that part of
the country. Envy, and covetousness, and malignancy,
may lie as they will, but the upright recognize the upright;
the truly poor know who most assuage their sorrows and
relieve their wants; and the real lover of liberty understands
that its privileges are not to be interpreted altogether
in his own favour. I did not like the idea of such a man's
being ill-treated by a gang of disguised blackguards — fellows,
who added to the crime of violating a positive law,
the high moral offence of prostituting the sacred principles
of liberty, by professing to drag them into the service of a
cause, which wanted very little, in its range, to include all
the pickpockets and thieves in the land.

“They will do that noble fellow some injury, I fear,” I
whispered to my uncle.

“If it were not for the mortification of admitting our disguise,
I would go forward at once, and attempt to bring him
out of the crowd,” was the answer. “But that will not do,
under the circumstances. Let us be patient, and observe
what is to follow.”

“Tar and feathers!” shouted some one among the Injins;
“Tar and feather him!” “Crop him, and send him home!”
answered others. “Tim Hall has gone over to the enemy,”
added the Injin who asked whence I had my lands.

I fancied I knew that voice, and when its tones had been
repeated two or three times, it struck me it was that of
Seneca Newcome. That Seneca was an anti-renter, was
no secret; but that he, a lawyer, would be guilty of the great
indiscretion of committing felony, was a matter about which
one might well entertain a doubt. To urge others to be
guilty, was a different matter, but to commit himself seemed

unlikely. With a view to keep an eye on the figure I distrusted,
I looked out for some mode by which he might be
known. A patch, or rather goar in the calico, answered
admirably, for on looking at others, I saw that this goar
was accidental, and peculiar to that particular dress, most
probably owing to a deficiency in the material originally
supplied.

All this time, which indeed was but a minute or two, the
tumult continued. The Injins seemed undetermined what
to do; equally afraid to carry out their menaces against
Hall, and unwilling to let him go. At the very instant
when we were looking for something serious, the storm
abated, and an unexpected calm settled on the scene. How
this was effected, I never knew; though it is reasonable to
suppose an order had been communicated to the Injins, by
some signal that was known only to themselves. Of the
result there was no doubt; the crowd around Hall opened,
and that sturdy and uncompromising freeman came out of
it, wiping his face, looking heated and a little angry. He
did not yield, however, remaining near the spot, still supported
by the two or three friends who had accompanied him
from Mooseridge.

My uncle Ro, on reflection, conceived it wisest not to seem
in a hurry to quit the village, and as soon as I had ascertained
that Mr. Warren had come to a similar decision, and
had actually taken refuge in the house of a parishioner, I
`was agreeable,' as the English say. While the pedlar,
therefore, made a new display of his watches, I strolled
round among the crowd, Injins and others intermixed, to see
what could be seen, and to glean intelligence. In the course
of my wanderings, chance brought me close to the side of
the masquer in the dress with the goar. Tickling him gently
on the elbow, I induced him to step a little aside with me,
where our conversation would not be overheard.

“Why might you be Injin—gentleman as you be?” I
asked, with as much of an air of simplicity, as I could
assume.

The start with which this question was met, convinced
me I was right; and I scarce needed farther confirmation
of the justice of my suspicion. If I had, however, it was
afforded.

“Why ask Injin dat?” returned the man with the
goar.

“Vell, dat might do, and it might not do, 'Squire Newcome;
but it might not do wid one as knows you as vell as
I know you. So dell me; vy might you be Injin?”

“Harkee,” said Seneca, in his natural speech, and evidently
much disturbed by my discovery; “you must, on no
account, let it be known who I am. You see, this Injin business
is ticklish work, and the law might—that is—you could
get nothing by mentioning what you know, but as you have
said, as I'm a gentleman, and an attorney at law, it wouldn't
sound well to have it said that I was caught dressed up in
this manner, playing Injin.”

“Ja — ja — I oonderstants — gentlemans might not do
sich dings, und not be laughed at—dat's all.”

“Ye-e-e-s—that's all, as you say, so be careful what you
say, or hint about it. Well, since you've found me out, it's
my treat. What shall 't be?”

This was not very elegant for a `gentleman,' and `an attorney
at law,' certainly, but, as it belonged to the school of
Mr. Newcome, it struck me it might not be prudent for me
to betray that I belonged to one of a different sort. Affecting
contentment, therefore, I told him what he pleased, and
he led me to a store of all business, that was kept by his
brother, and in which, as I afterwards found, he himself
was a partner. Here he generously treated me to a glass
of fiery whiskey, which I managed to spill in a way that
prevented my being choked. This was adroitly enough
effected, as a refusal to drink would have been taken as a
most suspicious circumstance in a German. As respects
Americans of my assumed class, I am happy to say it is now
more possible for one to refuse a glass than to accept it. It
says a good deal in favour of the population of a country,
when even the coachman declines his whet. Nevertheless,
a nation may become perfectly sober, and fall away with
fearful rapidity on other great essentials. On the subject of
sobriety, I agree altogether with my uncle, in thinking that
the Americans drink much less than most, if not less than any
European nation; the common notion that long prevailed to
the contrary in the country, being no more than the fruits
of the general disposition, in other people, to decry democracy,

aided somewhat, perhaps, by the exaggerations that
are so common in all the published statistics of morals.

I remarked that very few even of the Injins drank, though
they now began to circulate freely among the crowd and in
the stores. Seneca left me as soon as he fancied he had
clenched my discretion with a treat, and I stood looking
round at the manner in which the “armed and disguised”
conducted themselves. One fellow, in particular, attracted
my attention; and his deportment may be taken as a specimen
of that of many of his comrades.

I was soon struck by the fact that Orson Newcome, Seneca's
brother and partner, was obviously desirous of having
as little to do with any of the Injins as possible. As
soon as one entered his store, he appeared uneasy; and
whenever one left it, he seemed glad. At first, I was inclined
to think that Orson,—what names will not the great
eastern family adopt, before they have got through with their
catalogue! — really, they seem to select their appellations
as they do so many other things, or to prove that they 'll
do as they please;—but, Orson, I fancied at first, was influenced
by principle, and did not care to conceal the disgust
he felt at such audacious and illegal proceedings. But I
soon discovered my mistake, by ascertaining the true cause
of his distaste for the presence of an Injin.

“Injin want calico, for shirt”—said one of these worthies
significantly, to Orson, who, at first, affected not to hear
him.

The demand was repeated, however, with additional significance,
when the cloth was reluctantly thrown on the
counter.

“Good,” said the Injin, after examining the quality;
“cut Injin twenty yard—good measure, hear!”

The calico was cut, with a sort of desperate submission;
the twenty yards were folded, enveloped, and handed to the
customer, who coolly put the bundle under his arm, saying,
as he turned to leave the store—“Charge it to Down Rent.”

The mystery of Orson's sullenness was now explained.
As invariably follows the abandonment of principle, the
fomenters of wrong were suffering smartly through the encroachments
of their own agents. I ascertained, afterwards,
that these very Injins, who had been embodied in hundreds,

with a view to look down law, and right, and the sacred
character of contracts, had begun to carry out their main
principle; and were making all sorts of demands, on the
pockets and property of their very employers, under one
pretence or another, but with very obvious tendencies to-wards
their own benefit. The “Spirit of anti-Rentism” was
beginning to develope itself in this form, under the system
of violence; as, under that of legislative usurpation, and
legislative truckling to numbers, which is most to be feared
from the character of our representatives, it will as certainly
be developed, unless suppressed in the bud, by such
further demands on its complaisant ministers, as will either
compel them to repent of their first false step, will drive the
State to civil war, or will drive all the honest men out of it.

I did not remain long in the store. After quitting it, I
went in quest of Mr. Warren and Mary, anxious to know
if I could be of any service to them. The father thanked
me for this attention, and let me know that he was now
about to quit the village, as he saw others beginning to go
away, among whom were Hall, who was an old and much
valued acquaintance of his, and whom he had invited to stop
at the rectory to dine. He advised us to imitate the example,
as there were strangers among the Injins, who might
be addicted to drinking.

On this information I hunted up my uncle, who had actually
sold most of his trinkets, and all his watches but one,
the secret of his great success being the smallness of his
prices. He sold for what he had bought, and in some instances
for even less, quitting the place with the reputation
of being the most reasonable jewel-pedlar who had ever
appeared in it.

The road was beginning to be lined with vehicles carrying
home the people who had collected to hear the lecture.
As this was the first occasion which offered for witnessing
such an exhibition, since my return, I examined the different
parties we passed, with a view to comparison. There
is a certain air of rusticity, even in the large towns of America,
which one does not meet with in the capitals of the old
world. But the American country is less rustic than any
part of the world with which I am acquainted, England
alone excepted. Of course, in making such a remark, no

allusion is intended to the immediate environs of very large
towns; though I am far from certain that the population of
St. Ouen, the Runnymede of France, and which stands
within a league of the walls of Paris, would not have offered
a more decidedly rustic spectacle, than that which we then
saw. As respects females, this was very strikingly true;
scarce one being visible who had that air of coarseness, and
ignorance, and vulgarity, which denotes a degraded condition
and a life of hardships. There was little apparent that
marked a peasantry in the moral sense of the word; but the
whole population seemed to be at their ease, using neat and
well-kept vehicles; solid, active horses; and being themselves
reasonably well, though not very tastefully clad.
Yet, all this was on a leased estate, under the dire oppression
of a landlord, and beneath the shadow of aristocracy!
A short dialogue which took place between my uncle and
two sturdy weather-beaten husbandmen, who drove their
horses a short distance, on a walk at the side of ours,
made the impression produced by such facts deeper than it
might otherwise have been. I will relate it.

“You are Jarmans, I b'lieve,” commenced the oldest of
the two men, a grey-headed tenant of my own, of the name
of Holmes, who was well known to us both — “Jarmans,
from the old countries, I hear?”

“Ja — we bees from der olt coontries; und dat is a great
vay off.”

“Ye-e-s, I s'pose it is—I 've heern tell of them countries,
often. Doos the landlord system exist there?”

“Ja — dere ist landtlorts all ofer dis worlt, I do dinks;
und denants, deo.”

“Well, and how is the plan liked there; or be folks thinking
of getting red (rid) on't?”

“Nein — how might dey gets red of it? It ist der law,
you might see, und vhat ist der law moost be done.”

This answer puzzled old Holmes a good deal. He passed
a hand over his face, and turned to his companion, one
Tubbs, also a tenant on my estate, as if to ask assistance.
Tubbs was one of the new school; a school that makes
more laws than it respects, and belongs to the movement.
He is a man that fancies the world never knew anything

of principles, facts, or tendencies, until the commencement
of this century.

“What sort of a government had you, in your own country?”
demanded Tubbs.

“Bretty goot. Mein coontry was Preussen; und dat might
be t'ought a bretty goot gofernment.”

“Yes, but it 's a kingly government, I take it;—it seems
to me, I have heern tell of kings in that land.”

“Ja, ja—dere ist ein koenig—one king. De last might
be der goet koenig Vilhelm, und now dere ist his son, who
ist a goot koenig, too, as I might dink. Ja, ja—dere ist a
king.”

“That explains it all,” cried Tubbs, with a sort of triumph.
“You see, they have a king, and so they have
tenants; but, here we have no king, and we have no need
of landlords. Every man, in a free country, should be his
own landlord; that 's my doctrine, and to that I 'll stick.

“There is some reason in that, fri'nd; isn't that your
idee?” asked Holmes.

“Vell, I might not oonderstandt. Dost der shentlemans
object to landlordts, in his coontry, because dere might be
landlordts in dem coontries ast might haf kings?”

“That 's it! That 's just the reason on't, and the true
principle!” answered Tubbs. “Kings and liberty can't go
together, and landlords and liberty can't go together.”

“But, might not der law in dis coontry be to haf landlordts,
too? I hear dat it ist so.”

“Yes, that is the law, as it stands; but we mean to alter
it, all. We have got so many votes, now, as to be sure
to have both parties with us, at a gin'ral election; and give
us the governor on our side, with the sartainty of votes
enough to turn an election, and we 're pretty confident of success.
Votes is all that is wanting, in a truly free country,
for men to have things pretty much in their own way.”

“Und dost you mean to haf not'in dat might be in de
coontries ast haf kings?”

“To be sure not. What do we want of any of your
lordly contrivances, to make the rich richer, and the poor
poorer.”

“Vell, you moost alter de law of nature, if de rich vilt

not get riches, und de poor vill not feel dey be poor. De
piple dells us dat de misery of de poor ist deir poverty.”

“Ay, ay, bible talk don't go for much in politics. Sabba'
days are set aside for the bible, and week days for public
and private matters. Now, here is Hugh Littlepage, of the
same flesh and blood as my neighbour Holmes and myself
be—no better and no worse; yes, I 'm willing to allow he 's
no worse, in the main, though in some things I do think we
might claim the preference; but I 'll allow he 's no worse,
for the sake of argooment. Each on us rents a farm of this
Littlepage, of a hundred acres good. Wa-al, this land
we till, and crop, and labour, with our hands, and the hands
of our sons, and hired help, perhaps; and yet we have to
pay fifty dollars a-piece, annually, to that youngster Hugh
Littlepage, for rent; which money he takes and squanders
where he pleases, in riotous livin', for 't we know. Now,
is that right, I ask; and isn't it an onsuitable state of things
for a republican country?”

“Und you dinks yoong Littlebage might spend his money
in riotous lifin' in foreign landts?”

“Sartain—that 's the tale, hereabouts; and I have seen a
man who knows another, that has an acquaintance who has
been in Paris, and who tells the people of his neighbourhood
that he stood at the door of the king's palace one day, and
actually saw both the Littlepages going in to pay `tribute
unto Cæsar,' as it is called—I suppose you know; and they
tell me that all that goes to see a king, has to kneel and kiss
his hand—some say his toe. Do you happen to know how
it is in the old countries?”

“It ist not so; I haf seen more kings as half a dozen,
und dey dost not kneel down and kiss deir hants, except on
sartain business. Dey might not allvays hear what ist true,
in dis coontry.”

“Wa-a-l, I don't know — I never was there to see,” answered
Tubbs, in that peculiar manner, which, whenever it
is used by an American, may safely be interpreted to mean,
“I 'll not contradict you, but I 'll believe what I please.”
That is what I 've heern say. But, why should we pay
rent to young Littlepage to spend in riotous living?”

“I might not know, oonless you haf hiret his landt, und

agree't to pay him rent; in which case you might do as you
agree't.”

“But when the bargain's of a kingly natur', I say no.
Every country has its natur', and every government has its
natur', and all things should be in conformity with natur'.
Now its ag'in natur' to pay rent in a republican country. We
want nothing here, that's in common with lords and kings.”

“Vell, den, you most alter your whole country. You
might not haf wifes und children; you might not lif in
houses, and plough de landt; you might not eat und drink,
und you might not wear any shirt.”

Tubbs looked a little astonished. Like the Bourgeois
Gentilhomme, he was amazed to find he had been talking
prose all his life without knowing it. There is no question
that laws unsuitable to the institutions of a republic might
exist in a kingdom, but it is equally certain that the law
which compels the tenant to pay for the use of his house, or
farm, is not one of the number. Tubbs, however, had been
so thoroughly persuaded, by dint of talking, there was something
exceedingly anti-republican in one man's paying rent
to another, that he was not disposed to give the matter up
so easily.

“Ay, ay,” he answered, “we have many things in common
with kingdoms, as men, I must allow; but why should
we have anything in common of this aristocratic natur'?
A free country should contain freemen, and how can a man
be free if he doesn't own the land out of which he makes his
living?”

“Und if he makes his lifin' out of anoder man's land, he
might be honest enough to pay for its use, I dinks.”

“But, we hold it ought not to be another man's land, but
the land of him who works it.”

“Dell me dis—dost you efer let out a field to a poor
neighbour on shares?”

“Sartain; we all do that, both to accommodate folks, and
to get crops when we are crowded with work ourselves.”

“Und why might not all dat crop pelong to him dat works
de field?”

“Oh! that's doin' business on a small scale, and can't do
anybody harm. But the American institutions never intended

that there should be a great privileged class among
us, like the lords in Europe.”

“Did you efer haf any difficulty in getting your hire for
a field dat might be so let out?”

“Sartain. There's miserable neighbours as well as them
that isn't. I had to sue the very last chap I had such dealin's
with.”

“Und dit das law let you haf your money?”

“To be sure it did! What would law be good for, if it
didn't help a body to his rights?”

“Und dost den tenants of dis broperty let Hugh Littlebage
haf his rents, ast might be due?”

“That's a different thing, I tell you. Hugh Littlepage
has more than he wants, and spends his money in riotous
livin' in foreign parts.”

“Vell, und sooppose your neighpours might vants to ask
you what you do wit' your tollars after you shall sell your
pork and beef, to see you mate goot use of it—might dat be
liperty?”

“That! Why, who do you think would trouble himself
about my 'arnin's. It's the big fish, only, that folks talk
about, and care about, in such matters.”

“Den folks make Hugh Littlebage a big fish, by dair own
mettlin', und enfy, und cofetousness—is it not so?”

“Harkee, fri'nd, I some think you're leanin' yourself to
kingly ways, and to the idees in which you was brought up.
Take my advice, and abandon all these notions as soon as
you can, for they'll never be popular in this part of the
world.”

Popular! How broad has the signification of this word
got to be! In the eyes of two-thirds of the population it
already means, `what is right.' Vox populi, vox dei. To
what an extent is this little word made to entwine itself
around all the interests of life! When it is deemed expedient
to inculcate certain notions in the minds of the people,
the first argument used is to endeavour to persuade the inhabitants
of New York that the inhabitants of Pennsylvania
are already of that mind. A simulated public opinion is the
strongest argument used, indeed, on every occasion of the
public discussion of any disputed point. He that can count
the most voices is a better man than he who can give the

most reasons; numbers carrying more weight with them,
than facts, or law. It is evident, that, while in some things,
such a system may work well, there are others, and those
of overshadowing importance, in which its tendency is direct
and fearful towards corruption.

As soon as Tubbs had given his admonition, he applied
the whip to his horse, and trotted on, leaving us to follow at
the best gait we could extort from Tom Miller's hack.