Happy property in the
hands of a prodigious democrat! happy republicanism that makes
freedom but a privilege! that makes a mockery of itself, and
enslaves the noblest blood of noble freemen! They were happy, the
victims of ignorance, contented with the freedom their country had
given them, bowing beneath the enslaving yoke of justice-boasting
democracy, and ready to be sold and shipped, with an invoice of
freight, at the beckon of an owner.
Mr. M'Fadden questions the people concerning Harry's departure; but
they are as ignorant of his whereabouts as himself. They only
remember that he came to the shed at midnight, whispered some words
of consolation, and of his plain fare gave them to eat;--nothing
more.
"Poor recompense for my goodness!" says Mr. M'Fadden, muttering some
indistinct words as he returns to the tavern, followed by a humorous
negro, making grimaces in satisfaction of "mas'r's" disappointment.
Now friends are gathered together, chuckling in great glee over the
large reward offered for the lost parson, for the capture of which
absconding article they have numerous horses, dogs, confidential
negroes, and a large supply of whiskey, with which very necessary
liquid they will themselves become dogs of one kine. The game to be
played is purely a democratic one; hence the clansmen are ready to
loosen their souls' love for the service. M'Fadden never before
witnessed such satisfactory proofs of his popularity; his tenderest
emotions are excited; he cannot express the fullness of his heart;
he bows, puts his hand to his heart, orders the balance of his
invoice sent to his plantation, mounts his horse, and rides off at
full gallop, followed by his friends.
Pages:
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504