University of Virginia Library

11. CHAPTER XI.
THE DAY AFTER THANKSGIVING.

The Squire would probably have expatiated at length
on the topic of slavery, for it was one, in all its bearings
with which he was better acquainted than most of his
neighbors, having been often compelled by the animadversions
of some of his less prosperous neighbors, and
above all, from the fiery abolition zeal of Deacon Jones,
to defend his conduct, in placing Sidney in a slavehold-ing
country; but they were interrupted by the report of
a gun a few paces off, in a wood on their left.

They had heard the same a number of times during
their walk, and Frankford had been on the point of inquiring
the cause of its frequency, but had been prevented,
at the moment, by some conversation which it
was difficult to interrupt. He now inquired, but before
he could receive an answer, a lad appeared issuing from
the wood, his gun supported on his shoulder with one
hand, and in the other was a quantity of game. As he
sprung over a tree which had been blown down, and
which had prevented his seeing the party, he stood directly
before them.

“You are hunting, then, this morning, Luther,” said
the Squire; “do you have good luck?”

“O, pretty considerably good, sir,” replied the youth;
“I have killed these here five squirrels, two patridges
and a blue-jay. I was out as soon as 'twas light, but

the game a'nt half so plenty as 'twas a month ago, when
your Jim and Amos Winter had their squirrel hunt.”

“Are you fond of hunting, young man?” asked Mr.
Frankford, attentively surveying the stripling who was
standing so erect before them. His hat was set smartly
on his head, and he was neatly though plainly dressed;
while the exercise the pastime he was enjoying required,
gave a deeper glow of health to his ruddy countenance,
now lighted up with the keen animation of the
sportsman. But what rendered him most peculiarly an
object of interest to the foreigner was, that air and look
of fearless confidence, blended with an expression of
civility and a willingness to oblige, which, in this land
of equality, distinguishes the poorest of our free citizens
from the peasantry of every other country in the world.

“Fond of hunting?” repeated the youth, “I guess I
am, sir. When my gun is good and game plenty, I
love it better than eating when I am hungry.”

“And how is your gun now?” inquired Sidney, laying
his hand on the neat fowling piece.

The lad instantly resigned it.

“O, it is a capital one,” he replied; “I don't believe
there ever was a better, though my father is always
praising his old Queen Anne rifle, and telling how many
times he fired it without missing at the battle of Bennington,
and how General Stark praised him; but I
tell him I know I could fire this as many times without
missing.”

“You endeavor to keep alive the memory of your
battles, I see,” said the Englishman, turning to the
Squire with a look of affected indifference.

“Why, yes,” replied he, “the war of our revolution
was too important in its consequences to allow its
details to be soon forgotten. We, at least, shall preserve
them.”

“What are you intending to do with your game?”
inquired Frankford, addressing the young hunter; “do
you eat these animals?” and he pointed to the squirrels
and the jay.

“Eat them,” repeated the lad, laughing, yet looking
full in the stranger's face with a glance of keen inquiry,
as if endeavoring to ascertain whether the question were
prompted by pleasantry or contempt; “no, I guess not.
Why, sir, John Watson and I are captains of the hunting
match, and we have agreed to carry all the whole
squirrels we kill; sometimes they carry only the heads,
but then they cheat plaguily, for they'll kill 'em a week
beforehand, sir, and they can keep heads better than
whole squirrels. But we intend to have everything fair
and square, and so we carry whole ones; and every partridge
and blue jay counts one, and the side that is beaten
pays for the supper and toddy.”

Frankford, when asking his question, which was
prompted merely by the wish of changing a conversation
in which he found he could obtain no laurels, little anticipated
such an animated reply; and the effect was entirely
to dispel his chagrin for the allusion to the Bennington
battle; and his countenance, from an expression
of mortified vanity and a little contempt, relaxed during
the harangue of Luther Merrill to the merry pleasantry
of broad good humor, while again addressing Luther.

“You say you are a captain—pray how many men do
you command?”

“We have twelve on each side, sir, besides boys to
carry the game. I engaged a boy to go with me, but he
did'nt come. But yonder comes Harvey—now Squire,
I wish you'd let him go with me.”

This request was eagerly backed by Harvey, who
came bounding up the hill to tell his father he had “done
all the chores himself, for Sam and Oliver went off early
to the shooting match, and now,” continued he, “I want
to go and play, for it is the day after Thanksgiving.”

“Well, go,” said the indulgent father, “but mind my
boy, and keep out of the way of the guns, and take care,
Luther, and do no mischief in your fun.”

Both promised to be careful, and striking into the
woods, were out of sight in a moment; in the next, the

report of the gun, followed by the loud laugh of Harvey,
and the shout, “he's dead, he's dead, Luther!” justified
the encomiums the latter had bestowed on his fowling
piece.

“Have you any laws for the securing of your game?”
inquired the Englishman; “or do your people hunt
wherever they please?”

“Just where they please,” returned the Squire. “The
beasts of the forest, the birds of the air, and the fish of
the sea, are not protected by our institutions. We, sir,
make laws for freemen, and no statutes assimilating their
condition to that of slaves would be endured.”

“But your laws ensure to every citizen his rights of
property,” rejoined the other. “Now, on my estate, I
consider the game as the most valuable part of my property.”

“That,” returned the Squire, “is because you have
been accustomed to such considerations. But reason, if
we consult it, will tell us that whatever we have bestowed
cost or labor upon, or have received by transmission
from those who possessed by such a right, is the only
property we can rightfully claim the exclusive privilege
of enjoying or transmitting to others. The animals which
own no master, and subsist without any care from man,
being dependent on nature alone, cannot belong to any
individual.”

“Well, if I were the owner of an estate here,” said
Frankford, “I would endeavor to have some regulations,
giving me the exclusive right to game on my own estate.
Do you not think such a statute, if enacted, could be
enforced?”

“No, not for any length of time.”

“What! would your Yankees take the field and oppose
it with their rifles?”

“No, I think not; but with weapons you would find
quite as efficient—with their votes at the poll. You
gentlemen, accustomed to monarchical institutions, are
apt to confound our liberty with licentiousness; but no
people, as a people, are more submissive to the laws than

the freemen of our United States; every good citizen
holding himself responsible for the execution of those
wholesome regulations he has either directly or indirectly
contributed to make, and for the observance of the constitution.
No, sir, I do not think there would be any
hostile measures used until we had exhausted all pacific
ones. We should probably forbear trespassing on your
grounds till the next meeting of the legislature; taking
good care, in the meantime, to elect such members as
would, then and there, repeal your exclusive statute.”

“Yes, I presume so,” returned the Englishman. “The
rabble here have entirely the ascendancy, and every man
who can contrive to get himself nominated is eligible to
office. I think, in New Hampshire, you require no
qualifications of rank, property, character or religion: a
proper age is all the requisite.”

“We acknowledge no rank,” observed the Squire,
“and perfect liberty of conscience is enjoyed by all;
consequently, the rank or religious creed of an individual
can have no influence on his election. That we pay no
deference to property, is not certainly a reproach: we
cannot be taxed with selling our votes to the highest
bidder; but character is very essential. I do not believe
a man guilty of gross and notorious vices would consent
to become a candidate for any office. The press, sir, is
with us perfectly free; and the opposition would drag
every hidden sin to light; and public opinion, when
rightly directed, exercises a censorship more appalling
to vice than any punishment a tyrant could inflict.”

“And is no mischief to be apprehended from the
expression and influence of popular sentiment? Is the
voice of the people always the voice of justice? You,
sir, are well read in ancient history, and will recollect
Aristides was banished by the vote of the people! In
the hands of upright and intelligent men like yourself,
Squire Romilly, power may be safely trusted: it is the
preponderance of the rabble which will prove your
destruction.”

“While public opinion is enlightened by universal

education,” answered the Squire, “there is but little
cause to fear injustice from popular sentiment, or the
subversion of our institutions. Had all the Athenians
who voted for the banishment of Aristides been capable
of writing their own names on the shells, the ostracism
against him might not have been obtained. Nor have
we, in the New England States, many such persons as
you designate by the appellation of rabble. There may
be, in the cities, a few worthy of that ancient and significant
name; yet not many of these are native-born
American citizens. We are an industrious, sober, quiet
and orderly people, generally reflecting before we act,
and examining before we decide; and this our history,
if you should ever think it worth your examination, will
abundantly prove.”

During this long (and rather dull, is it not?) conversation,
Sidney had remained silent, and apparently absorbed
in no very pleasant meditations; and the anxiety with
which his father frequently regarded him, manifested a
suspicion that all was not well with this still favorite
child.

But the bustling importance with which Mrs. Romilly
welcomed their return, and the anxiety she expressed
lest Mr. Frankford should have caught cold, or be too
much fatigued by his walk, allowed Sidney time to recover
his wonted flow of spirits and usual serenity of
countenance.

The day passed pleasantly away; to Sidney and his
family it was rendered exquisitely delightful by the interchange
of interesting communications, and the confidence
of mutual inquiries; to the Englishman it was
unique at least. It displayed human nature in a light
which he had never beheld nor considered probable.

Here was the father of a family living in all the simplicity
of retirement, inuring his children to habits of
prudence and laborious industry; yet cultivating in them
a taste for the refinements of literature and the love of
science, and cherishing in their minds hopes of obtaining
the highest honors and privileges their country could bestow,

by superior merit alone, without the subterfuges
of artifice or the favor of the great.

Squire Romilly was a man exactly calculated to win
on the mind of prejudice, and remove those unfavorable
impressions which arise more from misapprehension than
actual dislike. His good sense and extensive information
on every subject connected with the history and political
situation, not only of his own country, but of Europe,
made his conversation at once interesting and instructive;
but what rendered it more agreeable to the stranger, was
the candor with which he listened to objections Frankford
sometimes urged against particular customs or institutions
of the Americans; the deference and admiration
he expressed for the English character and literature, and
above all, the entire suppression of that boasting spirit
which, to foreigners, is often disgustingly visible in our
countrymen.

The hour for attending the ball, five o'clock, had arrived,
and they were all assembled in the sitting-room,
waiting the coming of the carriage—a stage coach, hired
by the managers for the occasion, and driven round to
collect the company—when Harvey came running, almost
breathless, into the apartment, to tell that the squirrel-hunt
was over, and they had just counted the game.

“And has Captain—I forget his name—conquered?”
asked Frankford.

“O no, no, sir!” replied Harvey, “Luther hunted and
hunted, and killed twenty-nine himself; but his side is
beaten for all that. John Watson has five the most; but
Luther says he knows he cheated, and I know he did.”

“Harvey,” said his father, in a mild but reproachful
tone, “should you like to be accused of cheating?”

The child felt the rebuke; he hung his head and cast
down his bright eyes with a look of shame.

“I guess he cheated,” said he; “I am sure Luther ought
to have beaten.”

“How soon,” said Squire Romilly, turning to Frankford,
“our feelings will warp our sense of justice! Because
Harvey has attended Luther Merrill to-day, he enters

entirely into his interest, and that so warmly, he can
see no merit in his competitor. It is of the first importance
to impress on the minds of children and youth, the
precept of doing as they would be done by—no other
principle will preserve their integrity at the age when
reason is feeble and appetite and passion strong.”

“Yet I cannot much blame my little friend here for
his preference,” said Frankford; “to confess the truth, I
entered very heartily into the interest of that Merrill.
He looked so frank, so confident of success, and so happy,
that I feel really sorry disappointment has overtaken
him.”

“What if we try to mitigate his misfortune,” said Sidney;
“I suppose it is mostly of the pecuniary kind.”

“O no,” replied the Squire; “our young hunters feel
heavily the disgrace of being beaten. Not, perhaps, so
much as your Wellington would have done at Waterloo,
but enough to mortify them very sensibly.”

“He shall feel no other inconvenience at this time,”
said Sidney, taking out his pocket book. “Pray, Harvey,
do you know what the bill for supper was expected
to be?”

“I heard brother Oliver say,” replied the child, “it
would be as much as fifty cents a-piece.”

“And there are twelve of them,” said his father;
“how much, Harvey, will be the amount of the whole
bill?”

“How much?—why, just six dollars, sir,” he replied,
after a moment's hesitation.

“You allow no opportunity of instructing your children
to pass unimproved, I see,” said the Englishman.

“I endeavor to give them advice and information at
the moment they feel its need,” replied the Squire; “they
will then appreciate its value. The formality of lectures
is of but little importance in correcting imprudences of
practice, or imparting practical knowledge.”

Sidney had now taken out his pocket book. “Allow
me to go shares in your liberality,” said the Englishman.

“No, sir, no,” replied Sidney; “I have taken this

affair wholly on myself. We will only, in our behalf,
tax you with a generosity of spirit in judging of our
character and customs; on your purse we need make no
demands.”

He then delivered the money to Harvey, with directions,
and Frankford, notwithstanding Sidney's objections,
would add a crown to defray, he said, any extra expense
which might arise. Harvey having received the cash
and orders, scampered off, happier than ever was a candidate
for political honors in obtaining the object of his
ambition; for his happiness arose solely from the pure
benevolent idea of the felicity he was commissioned to
impart to others.