"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. "D-Democrats are talkin' some of namin' you Moderator next meetin'," says the man in the coonskin cap. "Want to know!" ejaculates Mr. Price, dropping the axe and straightening up in amazement. For Mr. Price's ambition soared no higher, and he had made no secret of it. "Wal! Whar'd you hear that, Jethro?" "H-heerd it round--some. D-Democrat--hain't you--Democrat?" "Always callate to be." "J-Jacksonian Democrat?" "Guess I be." Silence for a while, that Mr. Price may feel the gavel in his hand, which he does. "Know somewhat about Jacksonian principles, don't ye--know somewhat?" "Callate to," says Mr. Price, proudly. "T-talk 'em up, Sam--t-talk 'em up. C-canvass, Sam."