He has his
own occupations, such as running for hacks, which he hires at
fabulous prices; crossing the Potomac in all kinds of weather;
rubbing off Yankee trade-marks and putting English labels in their
stead. He has a currency of his own, slips of green paper, which
have an unvarying and well regulated circulation throughout this
gipsy band.
"He is never satisfied with his pantaloons unless they have a
watch-fob, and never satisfied with his watch-fob unless it
contains a gold watch. Sometimes he has two watch-fobs; sometimes
a score.
"This rosy child of Richmond lives, develops, gets into and out of
scrapes--a merry witness of our social unrealities. He looks on
ready to laugh; ready also for something else, for pocketing
whatever he can lay his hands on. Whoever you are, you that call
yourselves Honor, Justice, Patriotism, Independence, Freedom,
Candour, Honesty, Right, beware of the grinning blockade-runner.
He is growing. He will continue to grow.
"Of what clay is he made? Part Baltimore street-dirt, part James
River mud, best part and worst part sacred soil of Palestine. What
will become of him in the hands of the potter, chance? Heaven
grant that he may be ground into his original powder before he is
stuck up on our mantel-pieces as a costly vase, in which the
choice flowers of our civilization can but wither and die.
Pages:
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330