ne which will, I fear, exist
for some time, unless the citizens of the towns take the law into their
own hands, and execute it in a summary manner, is to be found in the
presence of certain idle ruffians who exist here. The only matter of
surprise to me is, that there are so few of the description, and that in
such a country crime is so rare, where the facility afforded for escape
is great, and where the laws view with such reverence the liberty of the
subject.

One or two anecdotes of recent occurrence will, however, do more to put
the reader in possession of the true state of the case than a volume of
unsupported reasoning.

During the last night I acted in Mobile, whilst on the stage, I heard a
slight noise in the upper boxes; a rush was made to a particular point;
then a moment's scuffle, and all was silent. The ladies in the
dress-boxes had not moved, and very little sensation was communicated to
the crowded pit: the whole thing, in fact, was over in as short a time
as I have occupied in the telling of it.

After the play I accompanied a party of ladies to the house of Mr.
M----e to sup, and here, for the first time, learned, through an inquiry
casually made, that during that slight scuffle a citizen had been killed
by the blow of a knife, given by an intemperate ruffian named M'Crew,
who had quietly descended the stairs afterwards, accompanied by his
brother. These men were from the country, were known disturbers of the
peace, and rarely made their appearance without bloodshed following.

The next morning I inquired as to the result, when it appeared the
homicide was adjudged manslaughter in a chance-medley; and the ruffian,
who had voluntarily appeared before the magistrate, was admitted to
bail. Now here was a case where Lynch law might have been most
beneficially employed: the citizens should have caught both these
ruffians, and hung them at their gates _in terrorem_.

I may add here, that, within a month of this time, these fiends
atrociously murdered the child of a planter, out of revenge for some
real or fancied affront; and, finding the exploit likely to prove
serious, fled to Texas.[2]

My next illustration is of a kind so little in keeping with the year
1835, that it would be a better story if dated from the debateable land,
anno Dom. 1535. The hero of the fight I am about to narrate is as fine a
specimen of an old Irishman as ever I met with, and I have seen him
frequently: his name is Robert Sing