Mine host wishes M'Fadden, nigger, candidates and all,
a very long distance from his place.
"I s'pose he thinks old Death, with his grim visage, ain't going to
call for him just now. That's ollers the way with northerners, who
lives atween the hope of something above, and the love of makin'
money below: they never feel bad about the conscience, until old
Davy Jones, Esq., the gentleman with the horns and tail, takes them
by the nose, and says-'come!'"
"I have struck an idea," says our worthy host, suddenly striking his
hand on the counter. "I will put up a poster. I will offer a big
reward. T'other property's all safe; there's only the preacher
missing."
"Just the strike! Give us yer hand, squire!" The gentleman reaches
his hand across the counter, and smiles, while cordially embracing
mine host. "Make the reward about two hundred, so I can make a good
week's work for the dogs and me. Got the best pack in the parish;
one on 'em knows as much as most clergymen, he does!" he very
deliberately concludes, displaying a wonderful opinion of his own
nigger-catching philosophy.
And Mr. Jones, such is mine host's name, immediately commenced
exercising his skill in composition on a large, poster, which with a
good hour's labour he completes, and posts upon the ceiling of the
"bar-room," just below an enormously illustrated Circus bill.
"There! now's a chance of some enterprise and some sense. There's a
deuced nice sum to be made at that!" says Mr.
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