No man writeth Slave!

Brother looks on equal brother,

Manhood looks on men—

Be thy future, oh our mother,

As thy past hath been—

Heavenward, like thy mountain-guardians,

With their star-crowns deck'd,

And thy watchword, like Katahdin's

Cloud-swept pine, 'Erect!'"

Then followed the "yarn." Now "Nick," as we familiarly called him, was a tall, sinewy man, the exact counterpart of Hobbs in physical proportions, full of fire, and fond of adventure. He had spent much of his life in the woods, and in different parts of the country, somewhat apt in his observations, and off-hand in his style of conversation.