University of Virginia Library

13. CHAPTER XIII.

After an early breakfast, next morning, the signs of
preparation for a start became very apparent in the family.
Not only Miller, but his wife and daughter, intended to go
down to “Little Neest,” as the hamlet was almost invariably
called in that fragment of the universe, in contradistinction
to the “Neest” proper. I found afterwards that this very circumstance
was cited against me in the controversy, it being
thought lèse majesté for a private residence to monopolize
the major of the proposition, while a hamlet had to put up
with the minor; the latter, moreover, including two taverns,
which are exclusively the property of the public, there being
exclusiveness with the public as well as with aristocrats —
more especially in all things that pertain to power or profit.
As to the two last, even Joshua Brigham was much more of
an aristocrat than I was myself. It must be admitted that
the Americans are a humane population, for they are the

only people who deem that bankruptcy gives a claim to
public favour.[1]

As respects the two “Nests,” had not so much more serious
matter been in agitation, the precedence of the names
might actually have been taken up as a question of moment.
I have heard of a lawsuit in France, touching a name that
has been illustrious in that country for a period so long as
to extend beyond the reach of man — as, indeed, was apparent
by the matter in controversy — and which name has
obtained for itself a high place in the annals of even our
own republic. I allude to the House of Grasse, which was
seated, prior to the revolution, and may be still, at a place
called Grasse, in the southern part of the kingdom, the town
being almost as famous for the manufacture of pleasant
things as the family for its exploits in arms. About a century
since, the Marquis de Grasse is said to have had a
procés with his neighbours of the place, to establish the fact
whether the family gave its name to the town, or the town
gave its name to the family. The Marquis prevailed in the
struggle, but greatly impaired his fortune in achieving that
new victory. As my house, or its predecessor, was certainly
erected and named while the site of Little Nest was
still in the virgin forest, one would think its claims to the
priority of possession beyond dispute; but such might not
prove to be the case on a trial. There are two histories
among us, as relates to both public and private things; the
one being as nearly true as is usual, while the other is invariably
the fruits of the human imagination. Everything
depending so much on majorities, that soon gets to be the
most authentic tradition which has the most believers; for,
under the system of numbers, little regard is paid to superior
advantages, knowledge, or investigation, all depending
on 3 as against 2, which makes 1 majority. I find a great
deal of this spurious history is getting to be mixed up with
the anti-rent controversy, facts coming out daily that long
have lain dormant in the graves of the past. These facts
affect the whole structure of the historical picture of the

State and colony, leaving touches of black where the pencil
had originally put in white, and placing the high lights
where the shadows have before always been understood to
be. In a word, men are telling the stories as best agrees
with their present views, and not at all as they agree with
fact.

It was the intention of Tom Miller to give my uncle Ro
and me a dearborn to ourselves, while he drove his wife,
Kitty and a help, as far as the “Little Neest,” in a two-horse
vehicle that was better adapted to such a freight.
Thus disposed of, then, we all left the place in company,
just as the clock in the farm-house entry struck nine. I
drove our horse myself; and mine he was, in fact, every
hoof, vehicle and farming utensil on the Nest farm, being
as much my property, under the old laws, as the hat on
my head. It is true, the Millers had now been fifty years
or more, nay, nearly sixty, in possession, and by the new
mode of construction it is possible some may fancy that we
had paid them wages so long for working the land, and for
using the cattle and utensils, that the title, in a moral sense,
had passed out of me, in order to pass into Tom Miller. If
use begets a right, why not to a wagon and horse, as well
as to a farm.

As we left the place I gazed wistfully towards the Nest
House, in the hope of seeing the form of some one that I
loved, at a window, on the lawn, or in the piazza. Not a
soul appeared, however, and we trotted down the road a
short distance in the rear of the other wagon, conversing
on such things as came uppermost in our minds. The distance
we had to go was about four miles, and the hour
named for the commencement of the lecture, which was to
be the great affair of the day, had been named at eleven.
This caused us to be in no hurry, and I rather preferred to
coincide with the animal I drove, and move very slowly,
than hurry on, and arrive an hour or two sooner than was
required. In consequence of this feeling on our part, Miller
and his family were soon out of sight, it being their wish to
obtain as much of the marvels of the day as was possible.

The road, of course, was perfectly well known to my
uncle and myself; but, had it not been, there was no danger
of missing our way, as we had only to follow the general

direction of the broad valley through which it ran.
Then Miller had considerately told us that we must pass
two churches, or a church and a “meetin'-'us',” the spires
of both of which were visible most of the way, answering
for beacons. Referring to this term of “meeting-house,”
does it not furnish conclusive evidence, of itself, of the inconsistent
folly of that wisest of all earthly beings, man?
It was adopted in contradistinction from, and in direct opposition
to, the supposed idolatrous association connected
with the use of the word “church,” at a time when certain
sects would feel offended at hearing their places of worship
thus styled; whereas, at the present day, those very sectarians
are a little disposed to resent this exclusive appropriation
of the proscribed word by the sects who have always
adhered to it as offensively presuming, and, in a slight degree,
“arisdogradic!” I am a little afraid that your out-and-outers
in politics, religion, love of liberty, and other human
excellences, are somewhat apt to make these circuits
in their eccentric orbits, and to come out somewhere quite
near the places from which they started.

The road between the Nest House and Little Nest, the
hamlet, is rural, and quite as agreeable as is usually found
in a part of the country that is without water-views or mountain
scenery. Our New York landscapes are rarely, nay,
never grand, as compared with the noble views one finds in
Italy, Switzerland, Spain, and the finer parts of Europe;
but we have a vast many that want nothing but a finish to
their artificial accessories to render them singularly agreeable.
Such is the case with the principal vale of Ravensnest,
which, at the very moment we were driving through
it, struck my uncle and myself as presenting a picture of
rural abundance, mingled with rural comfort, that one seldom
sees in the old world, where the absence of enclosures,
and the concentration of the dwellings in villages, leave the
fields naked and with a desolate appearance, in spite of their
high tillage and crops.

“This is an estate worth contending for, now,” said my
uncle, as we trotted slowly on, “although it has not hitherto
been very productive to its owner. The first half century
of an American property of this sort rarely brings much to
its proprietor beyond trouble and vexation.”

“And after that time the tenant is to have it, pretty much
at his own price, as a reward for his own labour!”

“What evidences are to be found, wherever the eye rests,
of the selfishness of man, and his unfitness to be left to the
unlimited control of his own affairs! In England they are
quarrelling with the landlords, who do compose a real aristocracy,
and make the laws, about the manner in which
they protect themselves and the products of their estates;
while here the true owner of the soil is struggling against the
power of numbers, with the people, who are the only aristocrats
we possess, in order to maintain his right of property
in the simplest and most naked form! A common
vice is at the bottom of both wrongs, and that is the vice of
selfishness.”

“But how are abuses like those of which we complain
here — abuses of the most formidable character of any that
can exist, since the oppressors are so many, and so totally
irresponsible by their numbers — to be avoided, if you give
the people the right of self-government?”

“God help the nation where self-government, in its literal
sense, exists, Hugh! The term is conventional, and,
properly viewed, means a government in which the source
of authority is the body of the nation, and does not come
from any other sovereign. When a people that has been
properly educated by experience calmly selects its agents,
and coolly sets to work to adopt a set of principles to form
its fundamental law or constitution, the machine is on the
right track, and will work well enough so long as it is kept
there; but this running off, and altering the fundamental
principles every time a political faction has need of recruits,
is introducing tyranny in its worst form — a tyranny that
is just as dangerous to real liberty as hypocrisy is to religion!”

We were now approaching St. Andrew's church and the
rectory, with its glebe, the latter lying contiguous to the
church-yard, or, as it is an Americanism to say, the “grave-yard.”
There had been an evident improvement around
the rectory since I had last seen it. Shrubbery had been
planted, care was taken of the fences, the garden was neatly
and well worked, the fields looked smooth, and everything
denoted that it was “new lords and new laws.” The last

incumbent had been a whining, complaining, narrow-minded,
selfish and lazy priest, the least estimable of all human characters,
short of the commission of the actual and higher
crimes; but his successor had the reputation of being a devout
and real Christian—one who took delight in the duties
of his holy office, and who served God because he loved
him. I am fully aware how laborious is the life of a country
priest, and how contracted and mean is the pittance he
in common receives, and how much more he merits than he
gets, if his reward were to be graduated by things here. But
this picture, like every other, has its different sides, and occasionally
men do certainly enter the church from motives
as little as possible connected with those that ought to influence
them.

“There is the wagon of Mr. Warren, at his door,” observed
my uncle, as we passed the rectory. “Can it be
that he intends visiting the village also, on an occasion like
this?”

“Nothing more probable, sir, if the character Patt has
given of him be true,” I answered. “She tells me he has
been active in endeavouring to put down the covetous spirit
that is getting uppermost in the town, and has even preached
boldly, though generally, against the principles involved in
the question. The other man, they say, goes for popularity,
and preaches and prays with the anti-renters.”

No more was said, but on we went, soon entering a large
bit of wood, a part of the virgin forest. This wood, exceeding
a thousand acres in extent, stretched down from the
hills along some broken and otherwise little valuable land,
and had been reserved from the axe to meet the wants of
some future day. It was mine, therefore, in the fullest sense
of the word; and, singular as it may seem, one of the
grounds of accusation brought against me and my predecessors
was that we had declined leasing it! Thus, on the
one hand, we were abused for having leased our land, and,
on the other, for not having leased it. The fact is, we, in
common with other extensive landlords, are expected to use
our property as much as possible for the particular benefit
of other people, while those other people are expected to use
their property as much as possible for their own particular
benefit.

There was near a mile of forest to pass before we came
out again in the open country, at about a mile and a half's
distance from the hamlet. On our left this little forest did
not extend more than a hundred rods, terminating at the
edge of the rivulet — or creek, as the stream is erroneously
called, and for no visible reason but the fact that it was only
a hundred feet wide — which swept close under the broken
ground mentioned at this point. On our right, however, the
forest stretched away for more than a mile, until, indeed, it
became lost and confounded with other portions of wood that
had been reserved for the farms on which they grew. As
is very usual in America, in cases where roads pass through
a forest, a second growth had shot up on each side of this
highway, which was fringed for the whole distance with
large bushes of pine, hemlock, chestnut and maple. In some
places these bushes almost touched the track, while in others
a large space was given. We were winding our way through
this wood, and had nearly reached its centre, at a point
where no house was visible — and no house, indeed, stood
within half a mile of us — with the view in front and in
rear limited to some six or eight rods in each direction by
the young trees, when our ears were startled by a low,
shrill, banditti-like whistle. I must confess that my feelings
were anything but comfortable at that interruption, for I remembered
the conversation of the previous night. I thought
by the sudden jump of my uncle, and the manner he instinctively
felt where he ought to have had a pistol, to meet
such a crisis, that he believed himself already in the hands
of the Philistines.

A half minute sufficed to tell us the truth. I had hardly
stopped the horse, in order to look around me, when a line
of men, all armed and disguised, issued in single file from
the bushes, and drew up in the road, at right angles to its
course. There were six of these “Injins,” as they are
called, and, indeed, call themselves, each carrying a ritle,
horn and pouch, and otherwise equipped for the field. The
disguises were very simple, consisting of a sort of loose
calico hunting-shirt and trowsers that completely concealed
the person. The head was covered by a species of hood,
or mask, equally of calico, that was fitted with holes for the
eyes, nose and mouth, and which completed the disguise.

There were no means of recognizing a man thus equipped,
unless it might be by the stature, in cases in which the
party was either unusually tall or unusually short. A middle-sized
man was perfectly safe from recognition, so long
as he did not speak and could keep his equipments. Those
who did speak altered their voices, as we soon found, using
a jargon that was intended to imitate the imperfect English
of the native owners of the soil. Although neither of us
had ever seen one of the gang before, we knew these disturbers
of the public peace to be what in truth they were,
the instant our eyes fell on them. One could not well be
mistaken, indeed, under the circumstances in which we
were placed; but the tomahawks that one or two carried,
the manner of their march, and other pieces of mummery
that they exhibited, would have told us the fact, had we met
them even in another place.

My first impulse was to turn the wagon, and to endeavour
to lash the lazy beast I drove into a run. Fortunately,
before the attempt was made, I turned my head to see if
there was room for such an exploit, and saw six others of
these “Injins” drawn across the road behind us. It was
now so obviously the wisest course to put the best face on
the matter, that we walked the horse boldly up to the party
in front, until he was stopped by one of the gang taking
him by the bridle.

“Sago, sago,” cried one who seemed to act as a chief,
and whom I shall thus designate, speaking in his natural
voice, though affecting an Indian pronunciation. “How
do, how do? — where come from, eh? — where go, eh? —
What you say, too — up rent or down rent, eh?”

“Ve ist two Charmans,” returned uncle Ro, in his most
desperate dialect, the absurdity of men who spoke the same
language resorting to such similar means of deception tempting
me sorely to laugh in the fellows' faces; “Ve ist two
Charmans dat ist goin' to hear a man's sbeak about bayin'
rent, und to sell vatches. Might you buy a vatch, goot
shentlemans.”

Although the fellows doubtless knew who we were, so far
as our assumed characters went, and had probably been
advised of our approach, this bait took, and there was a
general jumping up and down, and a common pow-wowing

among them, indicative of the pleasure such a proposal gave.
In a minute the whole party were around us, with some
eight or ten more who appeared from the nearest bushes.
We were helped out of the wagon with a gentle violence
that denoted their impatience. As a matter of course, I expected
that all the trinkets and watches, which were of little
value, fortunately, would immediately disappear; for who
could doubt that men engaged in attempting to rob on so
large a scale as these fellows were engaged in, would hesitate
about doing a job on one a little more diminutive. I
was mistaken, however; some sort of imperceptible discipline
keeping those who were thus disposed, of whom there
must have been some in such a party, in temporary order.
The horse was left standing in the middle of the highway,
right glad to take his rest, while we were shown the trunk
of a fallen tree, near by, on which to place our box of
wares. A dozen watches were presently in the hands of
as many of these seeming savages, who manifested a good
deal of admiration at their shining appearance. While this
scene, which was half mummery and half nature, was in
the course of enactment, the chief beckoned me to a seat on
the further end of the tree, and, attended by one or two of
his companions, he began to question me as follows:

“Mind tell truth,” he said, making no very expert actor
in the way of imitation. “Dis `Streak o' Lightning,”' laying
his hand on his own breast, that I might not misconceive
the person of the warrior who bore so eminent a title; “no
good lie to him — know ebbery t'ing afore he ask, only ask
for fun — what do here, eh?”

“Ve coomes to see der Injins und der beoples at der village,
dat ve might sell our vatches.”

“Dat all; sartain? — can call `down rent,' eh?”

“Dat ist ferry easy; `down rent, eh?”'

“Sartain Jarman, eh?—you no spy?—you no sent here
by gubbernor, eh?—landlord no pay you, eh?”

“Vhat might I spy? Dere ist nothin' do spy, but mans
vid calico faces. Vhy been you afraid of der governor? —
I dinks der governors be ferry goot frients of der anti-rents.”

“Not when we act this way. Send horse, send foot a'ter
us, den. T'ink good friend, too, when he dare.”

“He be d—d!” bawled out one of the tribe, in as good,
homely, rustic English as ever came out of the mouth of a
clown. “If he 's our friend, why did he send the artillery
and horse down to Hudson? — and why has he had Big
Thunder up afore his infarnal courts? He be d—d!”

There was no mistaking this outpouring of the feelings;
and so “Streak o' Lightning” seemed to think too, for he
whispered one of the tribe, who took the plain-speaking Injin
by the arm and led him away, grumbling and growling, as
the thunder mutters in the horizon after the storm has
passed on. For myself, I made several profitable reflections
concerning the inevitable fate of those who attempt
to “serve God and Mammon.” This anti-rentism is a question
in which, so far as a governor is concerned, there is
but one course to pursue, and that is to enforce the laws by
suppressing violence, and leaving the parties to the covenants
of leases to settle their differences in the courts, like
the parties to any other contracts. It is a poor rule that
will not work both ways. Many a landlord has made a
hard bargain for himself; and I happen to know of one
case in particular, in which a family has long been, and is
still, kept out of the enjoyment of a very valuable estate, as
to any benefit of importance, purely by the circumstance
that a weak-minded possessor of the property fancied he
was securing souls for paradise by letting his farms on leases
for ninety-nine years, at nominal rents, with a covenant that
the tenant should go twice to a particular church! Now,
nothing is plainer than that it is a greater hardship to the citizen
who is the owner of many farms so situated, than to the
citizen who is the lessee of only one with a hard covenant;
and, on general principles, the landlord in question would
be most entitled to relief, since one man who suffers a good
deal is more an object of true commiseration than many who
suffer each a little. What would a governor be apt to say
if my landlord should go with his complaints to the foot of
the executive chair, and tell him that the very covenant
which had led his predecessor into the mistake of thus wasting
his means was openly disregarded; that farms worth
many thousands of dollars had now been enjoyed by the
tenants for near a century for mere nominal rents, and that
the owner of the land in fee had occasion for his property,

&c. &c. Would the governor recommend legislative action
in that case? Would the length of such leases induce
him to recommend that no lease should exceed five years in
duration? Would the landlords who should get up a corps
of Injins to worry their tenants into an abandonment of their
farms be the objects of commiseration?—and would the law
slumber for years over their rebellions and depredations,
until two or three murders aroused public indignation? Let
them answer that know. As a landlord, I should be sorry
to incur the ridicule that would attend even a public complaint
of the hardships of such a case. A common sneer
would send me to the courts for my remedy, if I had one,
and the whole difference between the “if and ifs” of the two
cases would be that a landlord gives but one vote, while his
tenants may be legion.[2]

“He be d—d,” muttered the plain-speaking Injin, as
long as I could hear him. As soon as released from his
presence, Streak of Lightning continued his examination,
though a little vexed at the undramatical character of the
interruption.

“Sartain no spy, eh? — sartain gubbernor no send him,
eh? — sartain come to sell watch, eh?”

“I coomes, as I tell ye, to see if vatches might be solt,
und not for der gobbernor; I neffer might see der mans.”

As all this was true, my conscience felt pretty easy on
the score of whatever there might be equivocal about it.

“What folks think of Injin down below, eh?—what folks
say of anti-rent, eh?—hear him talk about much?”

“Vell, soome does dink anti-rent ist goot, und soome
does dink anti-rent ist bad. Dey dinks as dey wishes.”

Here a low whistle came down the road, or rather down
the bushes, when every Injin started up; each man very
fairly gave back the watch he was examining, and in less
than half a minute we were alone on the log. This movement
was so sudden that it left us in a little doubt as to the
proper mode of proceeding. My uncle, however, coolly set
about replacing his treasures in their box, while I went to

the horse, which had shaken off his head-stall, and was quietly
grazing along the road-side. A minute or two might
have been thus occupied, when the trotting of a horse and
the sound of wheels announced the near approach of one
of those vehicles which have got to be almost national; a
dearborn, or a one-horse wagon. As it came out from behind
a screen of bushes formed by a curvature in the road,
I saw that it contained the Rev. Mr. Warren and his sweet
daughter.

The road being narrow, and our vehicle in its centre, it
was not possible for the new-comers to proceed until we got
out of the way, and the divine pulled up as soon as he
reached the spot where we stood.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” said Mr. Warren, cordially,
and using a word that, in his mouth, I felt meant all it expressed.
“Good morning, gentlemen. Are you playing
Handel to the wood nymphs, or reciting eclogues?”

“Neider, neider, Herr Pastor; we meet wid coostomers
here, und dey has joost left us,” answered uncle Ro, who
certainly enacted his part with perfect àplomb, and the most
admirable mimicry as to manner. “Guten tag, guten tag
Might der Herr Pastor beein going to der village?”

“We are. I understand there is to be a meeting there
of the misguided men called anti-renters, and that several
of my parishioners are likely to be present. On such an
occasion I conceive it to be my duty to go among my own
particular people, and whisper a word of advice. Nothing
can be farther from my notions of propriety than for a clergyman
to be mingling and mixing himself up with political
concerns in general, but this is a matter that touches morality,
and the minister of God is neglectful of his duty who
keeps aloof when a word of admonition might aid in preventing
some wavering brother from the commission of a
grievous sin. This last consideration has brought me out
to a scene I could otherwise most heartily avoid.”

This might be well enough, I said to myself, but what
has your daughter to do in such a scene? Is the mind of
Mary Warren, then, after all, no better than vulgar minds
in general?—and can she find a pleasure in the excitement
of lectures of this cast, and in that of public meetings? No
surer test can be found of cultivation, than the manner in

which it almost intuitively shrinks from communion unnecessarily
with tastes and principles below its own level;
yet here was the girl with whom I was already half in love—
and that was saying as little as could be said, too—actually
going down to the “Little Neest” to hear an itinerant lecturer
on political economy utter his crudities, and to see
and be seen! I was grievously disappointed, and would at
the moment have cheerfully yielded the best farm on my
estate to have had the thing otherwise. My uncle must
have had some similar notion, by the remark he made.

“Und doost das jung frau go to see der Injins, too; to
bersuade 'em dey ist fery vicked?”

Mary's face had been a little pale for her, I thought, as
the wagon drew up; but it immediately became scarlet. She
even suffered her head to droop a little, and then I perceived
that she cast an anxious and tender glance at her father. I
cannot say whether this look were or were not intended for
a silent appeal, unconsciously made; but the father, without
even seeing it, acted as if he fancied it might be.

“No, no,” he said, hurriedly; “this dear girl is doing
violence to all her feelings but one, in venturing to such a
place. Her filial piety has proved stronger than her fears
and her tastes, and when she found that go I would, no argument
of mine could persuade her to remain at home. I
hope she will not repent it.”

The colour did not quit Mary's face, but she looked grateful
at finding her true motives appreciated; and she even
smiled, though she said nothing. My own feelings underwent
another sudden revulsion. There was no want of
those tastes and inclinations that can alone render a young
woman attractive to any man of sentiment, but there was
high moral feeling and natural affection enough to overcome
them in a case in which she thought duty demanded the
sacrifice! It was very little probable that anything would
or could occur that day to render the presence of Mary
Warren in the least necessary or useful; but it was very
pleasant to me and very lovely in her to think otherwise,
under the strong impulses of her filial attachment.

Another idea, however, and one far less pleasant, suggested
itself to the minds of my uncle and myself, and almost
at the same instant; it was this: the conversation was

carried on in a high key, or loud enough to be heard at
some little distance, the horse and part of the wagon interposing
between the speakers; and there was the physical
certainty that some of those whom we knew to be close at
hand, in the bushes, must hear all that was said, and might
take serious offence at it. Under this apprehension, therefore,
my uncle directed me to remove our own vehicle as
fast as possible, in order that the clergyman might pass.
Mr. Warren, however, was in no hurry to do this, for he
was utterly ignorant of the audience he had, and entertained
that feeling towards us that men of liberal acquirements are
apt to feel when they see others of similar educations reduced
by fortune below their proper level. He was consequently
desirous of manifesting his sympathy with us, and
would not proceed, even after I had opened the way for
him.

“It is a painful thing,” continued Mr. Warren, “to find
men mistaking their own cupidity for the workings of a
love of liberty. To me nothing is more palpable than that
this anti-rent movement is covetousness incited by the father
of evil; yet you will find men among us who fancy they
are aiding the cause of free institutions by joining in it,
when, in truth, they are doing all they can to bring them
into discredit, and to insure their certain downfall, in the
end.”

This was sufficiently awkward; for, by going near enough
to give a warning in a low voice, and have that warning
followed by a change in the discourse, we should be betraying
ourselves, and might fall into serious danger. At the
very moment the clergyman was thus speaking I saw the
masked head of Streak o' Lightning appearing through an
opening in some small pines that grew a little in the rear of
the wagon, a position that enabled him to hear every syllable
that was uttered. I was afraid to act myself, and trusted
to the greater experience of my uncle. Whether the last
also saw the pretended chief was more than I knew, but he
decided to let the conversation go on, rather leaning to the
anti-rent side of the question, as the course that could do no
serious evil, while it might secure our own safety. It is
scarcely necessary to say all these considerations glanced

through our minds so swiftly as to cause no very awkward
or suspicious pause in the discourse.

“B'rhaps dey doosn't like to bay rent?” put in my uncle,
with a roughness of manner that was in accordance with
the roughness of the sentiment. “Beoples might radder haf
deir landts for nuttin', dan bay rents for dem.”

“In that case, then, let them go and buy lands for themselves;
if they do not wish to pay rent, why did they agree
to pay rent?”

“May be dey changes deir minds. Vhat is good to-day
doosn't always seem goot to-morrow.”

“That may be true; but we have no right to make others
suffer for our own fickleness. I dare say, now, that it might
be better for the whole community that so large a tract of
land as that included in the Manor of Rensselaerwyck, for
instance, and lying as it does in the very heart of the State,
should be altogether in the hands of the occupants, than have
it subject to the divided interest that actually exists; but it
does not follow that a change is to be made by violence, or
by fraudulent means. In either of the latter cases the injury
done the community would be greater than if the present
tenures were to exist a thousand years. I dare say much
the larger portion of those farms can be bought off at a
moderate advance on their actual money-value; and that is
the way to get rid of the difficulty; not by bullying owners
out of their property. If the State finds a political consideration
of so much importance for getting rid of the tenures,
let the State tax itself to do so, and make a liberal offer, in
addition to what the tenants will offer, and I 'll answer for
it the landlords will not stand so much in their own way as
to decline good prices.”

“But, maybes dey won't sell all der landts; dey may
wants to keep some of dem.”

“They have a right to say yes or no, while we have no
right to juggle or legislate them out of their property. The
Legislature of this State has quite lately been exhibiting
one of the most pitiable sights the world has seen in my day.
It has been struggling for months to find a way to get round
the positive provisions of laws and constitutions, in order to

make a sacrifice of the rights of a few, to secure the votes
of the many.”

“Votes ist a goot ding, at election dime — haw, haw,
haw!” exclaimed my uncle.

Mr. Warren looked both surprised and offended. The
coarseness of manner that my uncle had assumed effected
its object with the Injins, but it almost destroyed the divine's
previous good opinion of our characters, and quite upset his
notions of our refinement and principles. There was no
time for explanations, however; for, just as my uncle's
broad and well-acted “haw, haw, haw” was ended, a shrill
whistle was heard in the bushes, and some forty or fifty of
the Injins came whooping and leaping out from their cover,
filling the road in all directions, immediately around the
wagons.

Mary Warren uttered a little scream at this startling
scene, and I saw her arm clinging to that of her father, by
a sort of involuntary movement, as if she would protect him
at all hazards. Then she seemed to rally, and from that
instant her character assumed an energy, an earnestness,
a spirit and an intrepidity that I had least expected in one
so mild in aspect, and so really sweet in disposition.

All this was unnoticed by the Injins. They had their
impulses, too, and the first thing they did was to assist Mr.
Warren and his daughter to alight from their wagon. This
was done, not without decorum of manner, and certainly not
without some regard to the holy office of one of the parties,
and to the sex of the other. Nevertheless, it was done neatly
and expeditiously, leaving us all, Mr. Warren and Mary,
my uncle and myself, with a cluster of some fifty Injins
around us, standing in the centre of the highway.