University of Virginia Library

20. CHAPTER XX.
OPINIONS AND SENTIMENTS.

The court resumed its session after dinner, having
a prospect of concluding its business before noon
the next day; and Meriwether was obliged to remain
for the night. Neither Ned nor myself regretted
the pretext this furnished us for the same delay.

During the afternoon many of the older inhabitants
had taken to horse; and the crowd of the court
room was sensibly diminished. Still the out-door
bustle assumed a more active and noisy character.
The loiterers about the verge of the court had less
business, but more to say. Indeed, it seemed to be
difficult to keep those in attendance whose presence
was necessary to the affairs of justice; for the crier
of the court might be frequently heard summoning
the absentees, as they were wanted, in his slender
and shrill voice, by distinctly repeating thrice the
name of each, from the court house door, where he
stood bare headed and with his hand shading his
eyes.

The sun began, at last, to throw a merciless blaze
upon the broken window-panes in the western fronts
of some old buildings, whose raggedness was thus
rendered painfully public. The ducks and geese of

the village were already trooping homeward, from a
small brook hard by, in their sober evening march,
and with a sedate under-gabble, like that of old
burghers in conversation. The departing squadrons
of horsemen became more frequent; and the alacrity
with which these retreating bodies sprang forward
from their starting points, showed that their temporary
sojourn had been attended with an increase of
animal spirits. At this hour the court put an end
to its labours; and the throng that had been occupied
there, all day, were now gathering about the
doors of the two taverns.

Our host was an imperturbable, pleasant-faced,
old fellow, with a remarkably accommodating temper,
which exhibited itself in lavish promises, though he
was allowed to be very incommensurate in performance.
He was unwieldy in bulk, and pertinacious
in the enjoyment of his ease; and, to save the trouble
of forming opinions, he gave an invariable answer
to every speculation that was addressed to him.
This was conveyed in the words “quite likely,”
no matter how inconsistent the averments to which
they had reference. Ned and myself had put him,
in the course of the afternoon, to some severe trials,
but without being able either to ruffle his temper or
enlarge his vocabulary.

The large room of the inn had a bar partitioned off
at one corner; and this was the principal centre of
reinforcement to the inhabitants of these precincts.
As the shades of evening thickened this resort became
more crowded. The remnants, or more properly

speaking, the sediment of the population, whose
occasions had brought them to the court house, had
repaired hither to enjoy the compotations and arguments
that are apt to abound in such assemblages.
Some were in the middle of the floor, accompanying
their diatribes with violent gestures; others were
strewed around the room wherever seats were to be
obtained. At a small table, lighted by a single candle
in a most unsightly candlestick, sat a gentleman
in a loose calico robe, with a dirty shirt, engaged at
backgammon with a robust, well-knit man who
wore his hat drawn low over his eyes: the first was
the Galen of the country side, and the other a deputy
sheriff. Our friend Toll Hedges was a conspicuous
personage in this checkered assembly. He had
shaken off the dullness of the morning, and was now
playing a part that seemed more native to his disposition,
that of a familiar, confident, loud talking interlocutor,
who called every man by his christian
name, swore roundly after a pedantic fashion, had
some knowledge of every man's business, and bore
himself with the peremptoriness of one whose character
partook in equal degrees of the wag and the
brawler. He was sarcastic, shrewd and popular;
and to all these, it may be added, that before bedtime
he was in no small degree flustered. In this
crowd might also be observed one or two other members
of the bar, of a graver demeanor, and even
some of the justices holding more sedate conversations,
apparently on matters connected with their
business. In one corner sat a quiet, neighbourly
shoemaker in an arm chair, contentedly taking a
stiff beverage of whiskey and water about once in
fifteen minutes, and saying nothing to any body.

Our host himself was a sober man, God wot, and
a discreet! He stood at his post the whole evening,
with a wooden pestle in his hand—the symbol of his
calling; one while laughing with a civil good nature
at the rough jokes that were aimed at himself, and
at another mixing toddy to meet the numberless demands
of his thirsty customers. Amidst this edifying
display of toss-pot eloquence and genial uproar,
my attention was particularly attracted to the behaviour
of this exemplary publican. Though scant in
speech, he laboured like a man who had the good of
his family at heart; and bore himself through the tumultuary
scene with the address of a wily statesman
who is anxious to win the applause of all parties.
The tide was in his favour, and his aim was to
float smoothly upon it. In times of great excitement,
it may be observed that the party in power gain
many advantages by a show of moderation. With
regard to them the maxim applies, “where the least
is said it is soonest mended.” Now, our good landlord
stood pretty much in this predicament; for the
whole assemblage had fallen into an inflammatory
discussion of some ticklish points of politics, in
which he might have lost friends by an inconsiderate
participation. Whilst, therefore, the tempest
raged he played the part of moderator, and was perpetually
crying out—“Now, gentlemen!—if you
please,—remember;—we are all friends!” and such

like gentle admonitions; and as often as he was taken
by the button by one of the speakers, and pinned
up against the wall, so that it seemed impossible
for him to escape committing himself, I could hear
his old equivocation—“quite likely”—given forth
with an impregnable composure of nerve. In fact,
a sober observer could have been at no loss to perceive
that the cautious landlord had all the ambidexterity
of a practised public servant.

As the evening waned the disputants began to
leave the field; and Hedges being thrown by chance
into the bar-room, alone with his good natured host,
addressed him very seriously upon the subject of the
countenance he had given to certain heresies that
had been uttered in his presence, and, seemingly, with
his concurrence. “Lord! Mr. Hedges,” said he, in
a quiet tone, and looking round to see who was
within hearing,—“you know my ideas long ago
about all that matter!—It isn't my business to break
with customers, or to be setting up against them.
What signifies opinions this way or that! But,” he
continued, erecting his figure to its full height and
putting on a look of extraordinary determination,
“sentiments is another thing! Let any man ask me
my sentiments!—that's all;—Thar's no flinch in
me, you may depend upon it!”

Having learned this distinction between sentiments
and opinions, I retired to my chamber.

The next morning, after a short delay in court,
Meriwether was released from his judicial cares,
and we made preparations for our return to Swallow

Barn. Philly Wart, who had been an active and
conspicuous personage in the transactions of the
term, and who is hereafter to make some figure in
these annals was to accompany us. About noon
we were all mounted, Philly being perched upon a
tall, raw-boned, grey steed, that seemed to have
parted with his flesh in the severe duties of the circuit,
but who was distinguished for his easy and regular
pace. As to Philly himself it is necessary that
I should give him a chapter.

By the usual dinner hour, we were all comfortably
seated at Swallow Barn.