The
State possesses many thousands of these people; but few of them can
read, while never having written a stroke in their lives is a boast.
Continually armed with double-barrel guns, to hunt the panting buck
is one of their sports; to torture a runaway negro is another; to
make free with a planter's corn field is the very best. The reader
may imagine this picture of lean, craven faces-unshaven and made
fiercely repulsive by their small, treacherous eyes, if he can. It
can only be seen in these our happy slave states of our happy Union.
The time draws near when the candidates will come forward, address
the sovereign constituency, and declare their free and open
principles-their love of liberal governments, and their undying
affection for the great truths of democracy. The scene, as the time
approaches, becomes more and more animated. All are armed to the
teeth, with the symbol of honour--something so called--beneath their
coarse doublets, or in the waistbands of their pantaloons. The group
evinces so much excitement that belligerents are well nigh coming to
blows; in fact, peace is only preserved by the timely appearance of
the landlord, who proclaims that unless order be preserved until
after the candidates have addressed them, the next barrel of whiskey
will positively "not be tapped." He could not use a more effectual
argument. Mr. M'Fadden, who exercises great authority over the
minions under him, at this announcement mounts the top of an empty
whiskey barrel, and declares he will whip the "whole crowd," if they
do not cease to wage their political arguments.
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