He happens upon Mr. Jonas Academy, an honest cracker, from
Christ's parish, who visits the city on a little business. Jonas is
a person of great originality, is enclosed in loosely-setting
homespun, has a woe-begone countenance, and wears a large-brimmed
felt hat. He is just the person to make the number complete, and is
led in, unconscious of the object for which he finds himself a
captive. Mr. Brien Moon now becomes wondrous grave, mounts a barrel
at the head of the corpse, orders the negro to uncover the body, and
hopes gentlemen will take seats on the benches he has provided for
them, while he proceeds to administer the oath. Three or four yet
retain their cigars: he hopes gentlemen will suspend their smoking
during the inquest. Suddenly it is found that seven out of the
twelve can neither read nor write; and Mr. Jonas Academy makes known
the sad fact that he does not comprehend the nature of an oath,
never having taken such an article in his life. Five of the
gentlemen, who can read and write, are from New England; while Mr.
Jonas Academy declares poor folks in Christ's parish are not fools,
troubled with reading and writing knowledge. He has been told they
have a thing called a college at Columbia; but only haristocrats get
any good of it. In answer to a question from Mr. Moon, he is happy
to state that their parish is not pestered with a schoolmaster.
"Yes, they killed the one we had more nor two years ago, thank Good!
Han't bin trubl'd with one o' the critters since" he adds, with
unmoved nerves.
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