“Brothers: O! that the Great Spirit would give the Charming Serpent his voice of thunder—then would he stand upon the highest peak of the Alleghanies, with the forked lightning in his red right hand, and tell a listening and heart-struck world the wrong of his race. And, when all of every tribe of every people had come crouching in the valleys, and had filled up the gorges of the hills, then would the Charming Serpent hurl vengeance on the oppressor. But come,” said he, taking the candle in one hand, and myself by the other, “the Pawnee talks like a squaw. The Charming Serpent will speak with the pale-face, and lead him forth from his wigwam to the great council fire.” Accordingly, the Charming Serpent took me by the hand, and led me up the stairs. His steps were steady, and it was evident that his libations had excited his brain, and, instead of weakening him, given him strength. “What’s your name?” said he to me kindly. “William Russel, sir.” “Do you know me, my little fellow?” “Yes, sir, you’re Mr. Patterson, the great lawyer.” “Ah, ah! they call me a great lawyer, do they! What else do they say?” “That you’re the greatest orator in the country,” I replied—for what I had drank made me bold too. “They do—I know they do, my little fellow—I believe, in fact, that I could have stood up in the Areopagus of old, in favor of human rights, and faced the best of them. Yes, sir, I too could have ‘fulmined over Greece.’ But we are not Grecians now—we are Pawnees.” “Stop, stop, Mr. Pawnee,” called out some one from the crowd, “Short was to go, he is the tallest man.” “The tallest man,” re-echoed Mr. Patterson, speaking in his natural tone. “The judge, sir, has already decided that by just legal construction, Short is short, no matter how long he is; and, if he claims to be long, sir, I can just inform him that Lord Bacon says ‘that tall men are like tall houses, the upper story is the worst furnished.’” Here, every eye was turned on Short, and there was a shout of laughter. “If,” continued Mr. Patterson—and it was evident his potations were doing their work—“if it be true—I’ll just say this to you, sirs. Doctor Watts was a very small man; and, I repeat it for the benefit of all small men— ‘Had I the height to reach the pole Or meet the ocean with my span, I would be measured by my soul— The mind’s the standard of the man.’ “There, gentlemen of the jury; if that be true, I opine that the tallest man in the crowd is now addressing you. But, I forget. I am a Pawnee.