known to rush straight up the
chimney when he moved towards her. Fanny Kemble's expressive description
of the Pennsylvania stage-horses was exactly suited to Reuben's poor
old nag. "His hide resembled an old hair-trunk." Continual whipping and
kicking had made him such a stoic, that no amount of blows could quicken
his pace, and no chirruping could change the dejected drooping of his
head. All his natural language said, as plainly as a horse _could_
say it, that he was a most unhappy beast. Even the trees on Reuben's
premises had a gnarled and knotted appearance. The bark wept little
sickly tears of gum, and the branches grew awry, as if they felt the
continual discord, and made sorry faces at each other behind their
owner's back. His fields were red with sorrel, or run over with mullein.
Every thing seemed as hard and arid as his own visage. Every day, he
cursed the town and the neighborhood, because they poisoned his dogs,
and stoned his hens, and shot his cats. Continual law-suits involved him
in so much expense, that he had neither time nor money to spend on the
improvement of his farm.

Against Joe Smith, a poor laborer in the neighborhood, he had brought
three suits in succession. Joe said he had returned a spade he borrowed,
and Reuben swore he had not. He sued Joe, and recovered damages, for
which he ordered the sheriff to seize his pig. Joe, in his wrath, called
him an old swindler, and a curse to the neighborhood. These remarks were
soon repeated to Reuben. He brought an action for slander, and recovered
twenty-five cents. Provoked at the laugh this occasioned, he watched for
Joe to pass by, and set his big dog upon him, screaming furiously, "Call
me an old swindler again, will you." An evil spirit is more contagious
than the plague. Joe went home and scolded his wife, and boxed little
Joe's ears, and kicked the cat; and not one of them knew what it was
all for. A fortnight after, Reuben's big dog was found dead by poison.
Whereupon he brought another action against Joe Smith, and not being
able to prove him guilty of the charge of dog-murder, he took his
revenge by poisoning a pet lamb belonging to Mrs. Smith. Thus the bad
game went on, with mutual worriment and loss. Joe's temper grew more
and more vindictive, and the love of talking over his troubles at the
grog-shop increased on him. Poor Mrs. Smith cried, and said it was all
owing to Reuben Black; for a better hearted man never lived than her
Joe, when sh