and made the gold eagles he won at the race all jingle agin; that, says he, giving them another wipe with his fist, (and winkin as much as to say do you hear that my boy) that I call independence.  He was in great spirits, the old man, he was so proud of winnin the race, and puttin the leake into the New Yorkers—­he looked all dander.  Let them great hungry, ill favored, long legged bitterns, says he, (only he called them by another name that don’t sound quite pretty) from the outlandish states to Congress, talk about independence; but Sam, said he, (hitting the Shiners agin till be made them dance right up an eend in his pocket) I like to feel it.

No Sam, said be, line the pocket well first, make that independent, and then the spirit will be like a horse turned out to grass in the spring, for the first time, he’s all head and tail, a snortin and kickin and racin and carryin on like mad—­it soon gets independent too.  While it’s in the stall it may hold up, and paw, and whiner, and feel as spry as any thing, but the leather strap keeps it to the manger, and the lead weight to the eend of it makes it hold down its head at last.  No, says he, here’s independence, and he gave the Eagles such a drive with his fist, he bust his pocket and sent a whole raft of them a spinnin down his leg to the ground—­says I, father, (and I swear I could hardly keep from larfin, he looked so peskily vexed) Father, says I, I guess there’s a moral in that are too—­extremes nary way are none O’ the best. Well, well, says he, (kinder snappishly) I suppose you’re half right, Sam, but weve said enough about it, let’s drop the subject, and see if I have picked em all up, for my eyes are none of the best now, I’m near hand to seventy.

No.  XVI

Mr. Slick’s Opinion of the British.

What success had you, said I, in the sale of your Clocks among the Scotch in the eastern part of the Province? do you find them as gullible as the Blue Noses?  Well, said he, you have heerd tell that a Yankee never answers one question, without axing another, havent you?  Did you ever see an English Stage Driver make a bow? because if you hante observed it, I have, and a queer one it is, I swan.  He brings his right arm up, jist across his face, and passes on, with a knowin nod of his head, as much as to say, how do you do? but keep clear o’ my wheels, or I’ll fetch your horses a lick in the mouth as sure as youre born; jist as a bear puts up his paw to fend off the blow of a stick from his nose.  Well, that’s the way I pass them are bare breeched Scotchmen.  Lord, if they were located down in these here Cumberland mashes, how the musquitoes would tickle them up, would’nt they?  They’d set ’em scratching thereabouts, as an Irishman does his head, when he’s in sarch of a lie.  Them are fellers cut their eye teeth