"Sarved him just right; keep on, Colonel!" exclaims Mr. M'Fadden. He
takes the man by the arm, pushes him aside, and makes a slight bow
to Mr. Scranton. He would have him go on.
"Great Britain-feller citizens, I say-was first to commence the
warfare against nigger slavery; and now she is joining the north to
seek its permanent overthrow. She is a monster tyrant wherever she
sets her foot-I say! (Three cheers for that.) She contributed to
fasten the curse upon us; and now she wants to destroy us by taking
it away according to the measures of the northern
abolitionists-fanaticism! Whatever the old school southerner
neglects to do for the preservation of the peculiar institution, we
must do for him! And we, who have lived at the north, can, with your
independent support, put the whole thing through a course of
political crooks." Again Mr. Scranton pauses; surveys his assembly
of free and independent citizens.
"That we can: I knows what fanatics down east be!" rejoins Mr.
M'Fadden, shaking his head very knowingly. He laughs with an air of
great satisfaction, as much as to say that, with such northern
philosophers to do the championism of slavery in the south, all the
commercial relations for which northern merchants are under so many
obligations to slave-labour, will be perfectly safe. But Mr.
Scranton has drawn out his speech to such an uncommon length, that
the loquacious M'Fadden is becoming decidedly wearied. His eyes
begin to glow languid, and the lids to close,--and now he nods assent
to all Mr.
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