hide you ever seed."

"G-goin' to town meetin' Tuesday--g-goin' to town meetin'
Tuesday--Sam'l?" says Jethro.

"I was callatin' to, Jethro."

"Democrat--hain't ye--Democrat?"

"Callate to be."

"How much store do ye set by that hide?"

Samuel rubs his nose. Then he names a price that the hide might fetch,
under favorable circumstances, in Boston--Jethro does not wince.

"Who d'ye callate to vote for, Sam'l?"

Samuel rubs his nose.

"Heerd they was a-goin' to put up Fletcher and Amos Cuthbert, an' Sam
Price for Moderator." (What a convenient word is they when used
politically!) "Hain't made up my mind, clear," says Samuel.

"C-comin' by the tannery after town meetin'?" inquired Jethro, casually.

"Don't know but what I kin."

"F-fetch the hide--f-fetch the hide."

And Jethro drives off, with Samuel looking after him, rubbing his nose.
"No bill," says the jury--if you can get Samuel into court. But you
can't. Even Moses Hatch can get nothing out of Samuel, who then talks
Jacksonian principles and the nights of an American citizen.

Let us pursue this matter a little farther, and form a committee of
investigation. Where did Mr. Todd learn anything about Jacksonian
principles? From Mr. Samuel Price, whom they have spoken of for
Moderator. And where did Mr. Price learn of these principles? Any one in
Coniston will tell you that Mr. Price makes a specialty of orators and
oratory; and will hold forth at the drop of a hat in Jonah Winch's store
or anywhere else. Who is Mr. Price? He is a tall, sallow young man of
eight and twenty, with a wedge-shaped face, a bachelor and a Methodist,
who farms in a small way on the southern slope, and saves his money. He
has become almost insupportable since they have named him for Moderator.

Get Mr. Sam Price into court. Here is a man who assuredly knows who they
are: if we are, not much mistaken, he is their mouthpiece. Get, an eel
into court. There is only one man in town who can hold an eel, and he
isn't on the jury. Mr. Price will talk plentifully, in his nasal way; but
he won't tell you anything.

Mr. Price has been nominated to fill Deacon Lysander Richardson's shoes
in the following manner: One day in the late autumn a man in a coonskin
cap stops beside Mr. Price's woodpile, where Mr. Price has been chopping
wood, pausing occasionally to stare off through the purple haze at the
south shoulder of Coniston Mountain.

"How be you, Jethro?" says Mr. Price, nasally.