"Now, then," continued the court, "you're to look the evidence all over, and if you b'lieve the plaintiff has slandered the defendant—I say, if you b'lieve it—the court has its own notions on that subject too—but 'tain't for the court to say—I say, if you b'lieve, gentlemen, the plaintiff has slander'd the defendant—if you b'lieve it upon your oaths—you're under oath, gentlemen—you should never forget you're under oath, gentlemen—very solemn duty, gentlemen, you've got-to perform—I say if—after looking all the testimony all over, you b'lieve it on your oaths—why, then, gentlemen, the court tells you, gentlemen, that you must render a verdict for the plaintiff, gentlemen, you must. But if, gentlemen—and here comes the p'int—the great p'int for you to consider, gentlemen, under oath—if you b'lieve the defendant has not slandered the plaintiff, gentlemen—it's a hard charge, slander is, gentlemen—if you b'lieve the defendant has not slandered the plaintiff, why, then, render the verdict for the defendant. Mr. Clerk, swear an officer to take charge of this jury."
The jury retired and deliberated one day and one night—but could not agree. They returned into court, and were again charged on some law points, about which they differed, they said—they retired again, and after quarrelling another half a day, came into court once more, and declared they differed this time about the evidence. The court set them right upon the particular disputed point of testimony, as he understood it, when they appeared a third time, and the foreman announced that they could not agree any way, and they wouldn't go out again for the court, or anybody else—and thus forever was ended the famous trial between Filkins and Beadle.
CHAPTER XXIII.
Amusements in Puddleford.—The Highland Fling.—A Fire-eater comes next.—Runs a Sword down his Throat.—Starts his Ribbon Factory.—Borrows Squire Longbow's Hat.—Boils Eggs in it.—The Squire gets into a Passion.—The Grand Caravan is posted.—Squire Longbow lectures on the Lion.—Bigelow Van Slyek follows on the Ichneumon—The Caravan arrives.—Great Excitement.—Jim Buzzard still himself.—Aunt Sonora in Trouble.—The Band blows away.—The Canvas is raised.—Terrible Press of Puddlefordians.—The Keeper shows up the Lion.—Explains why he has no Hair.—The Ichneumon is found at last—The Monkey Ride.—Breaking up.
The amusements of a new country are on a scale with everything else. As every people are set to some scale, from the most refined and luxurious, to the most rustic and simple, that scale is always preserved in whatever may exist. Puddleford was not without its public amusements. It was not beyond the reach of strolling vagabonds, and impudent mountebanks. These troops, like light, penetrate every quarter of the globe, and, of course, visited Puddleford.
One of the first exhibitions which wormed its way among the Puddlefordians was made up of a drunken Irishman and a vixen of a woman, a cracked fiddle and a greasy fife, all of whom and which performed the "Highland fling" with variations and other tunes as the man declared (there were no bills), in full costume. The Highlander was drunk, and the woman was out of temper; the fiddle was crazy, and the fife could scarcely squeak. The performance opened with the "Highland fling," was succeeded by the "Highland fling," continued by the "Highland fling," and closed by a grand display of the "Highland fling." This exhibition being the first that ever found its way into the settlement, everybody was delighted. Aunt Sonora said, "she didn't b'lieve there war any such Highlanders—nor any such flings nuther—but the music was very purty, say what they would."
After the Irishman and woman departed, and their memory had nearly faded out, a "fire-eater" came on, and positively turned Puddleford nearly topsy-turvy. He was certainly a most ferocious character. He boiled eggs in a hat, hatched chickens, ate tow, and pulled out ribbons from his mouth; swallowed swords, point foremost, burned all the handkerchiefs in the room, and restored them to their owners again; and did divers more astonishing things, which completely upset the brains of the Puddlefordians, and they began to think, before he finished, that he was fresh from the infernal regions, and had been sent on by Satan himself.
There had never been such a crowd collected at Puddleford for any purpose as assembled to see the wonderful performance of this fire-eater. Mrs. Bird, Mrs. Longbow, Mrs. Beagle, Mrs. Swipes, Aunt Sonora, and a few more of the female aristocracy of Puddleford, occupied the front seats, which were covered with green baize, as a mark of respect and distinction. The background was composed of a very miscellaneous sort of people—Jim Buzzard being in the extreme rear, perched upon a barrel.