So saying, he bounded to his plough, which stood in the fence about fifty yards beyond the battleground. And would you believe it, gentle reader, his report was true? All that I had heard and seen was nothing more or less than a Lincoln rehearsal, in which the youth who had just left me had played all the parts of all the characters in a Court-House fight. I went to the ground from which he had risen, and there were the prints of his two thumbs plunged up to the balls in the mellow earth, about the distance of a man’s eyes apart, and the ground around was broken up, as if two stags had been engaged upon it. XII. TAKING THE CENSUS. Our next encounter was with an old lady, notorious in her neighbourhood for her garrulity and simple-mindedness. Her loquacity knew no bounds; it was constant, unremitting, interminable, and sometimes laughably silly. She was interested in quite a large Chancery suit, which had been dragging its slow length for several years, and furnished her with a conversational fund, which she drew upon extensively, under the idea that its merits could never be sufficiently discussed. Having been warned of her propensity, and being somewhat hurried when we called upon her, we were disposed to get through business as soon as possible, and without hearing her enumeration of the strong points of her law case. Striding into the house, and drawing our papers: “Taking the census, Ma’am,” quoth we. “Ah, well, yes! bless your soul, take a seat. Now do! Are you the gentlemen that Mr. Fillmore has sent out to take the censis? I wonder—well, good Lord, look down! how was Mr. Fillmore and family when you seed him?” We told her we had never seen the President; didn’t know him from a piece of sole-leather; “we had been written to to take the census.” “Well now, there agin! love your soul! Well, I s’pose Mr. Fillmore writ you a letter, did he? No! Well, God be praised, there’s mighty little _here_ to take down; times is hard, God’s will be done! but looks like people can’t get their rights in this country, and the law is all for the rich, and none for the poor, praise the Lord! Did you ever hear tell of that case my boys has got agin old Simpson? Looks like they will never get to the end on it, glory to His name! The children will suffer, I’m mighty _afeard_, Lord give us grace! Did you ever see Judge B.? Yes! Well, the Lord preserve us! Did you ever hear him say what he’s agwine to do in the boys’ case agin Simpson? No! Good Lord! Well, Squire, will you ax him the next time you see him, and write me word, and tell him what I say? I’m nothing but a poor widow, and my boys has got no larnin’, and old Simpson tuk ’em in. It’s a mighty hard case, and the will ought never to a been broke, but—”