minutes, when in rushed to the town-council the eternal enemy of the mayor—Mr. Deputy Recorder. The large goose’s liver, the largest, perhaps, that for some centuries had been bred and born in B, and which was destined this very night to have solemnized the anniversary of Mrs. Deputy Recorder’s birth; this liver, and no other, had been piratically attacked, boarded, and captured, in the very sanctuary of the kitchen, “by that flibustier (said he) that buccaneer—that Paul Jones of a Juno.” Dashing the tears from his eyes, Mr. Deputy Recorder went on to perorate; “I ask,” said he, “whether such a Kentucky marauder ought not to be outlawed by all nations, and put to the ban of civilized Europe? If not”—and then Mr. Deputy paused for effect, and struck the table with his fist—“if not, and such principles of jacobinism and French philosophy are to be tolerated; then, I say, there is an end to social order and religion: Sansculotterie, Septemberising, and red night-caps, will flourish over once happy Europe; and the last and best of kings, and our most shining lights, will follow into the same bottomless abyss, which has already swallowed up (and his voice faltered)—my liver.”
“Lights and liver!” said Mr. Schnackenberger; “I suppose you mean liver and lights; but, lord! Mr. Recorder, what a bilious view you take of the case! Your liver weighs too much in this matter; and where that happens, a man’s judgment is sure to be jaundiced.”
However, the council thought otherwise: Mr. Deputy’s speech had produced a deep impression; and, upon his motion, they adjudged that, in twelve hours, Juno should be conducted to the frontiers of the city lands, and there solemnly outlawed: after which it should be free to all citizens of B to pursue her with fire and sword; and even before that period, if she were met without a responsible guide. Mr. Schnackenberger pleaded earnestly for an extension of the armistice: but then arose, for the second time, with Catonic severity of aspect, Mr. Deputy Recorder; he urged so powerfully the necessity of uncompromising principle in these dangerous times, insisted so cogently on the false humanity of misplaced lenity, and wound up the whole by such a pathetic array of the crimes committed by Juno—of the sausages she had robbed, the rabbits she had strangled, the porcelain she had fractured, the raspberry-vinegar she had spilt, the mutton she had devoted to chops (“her own ‘chops,’ remember,” said Mr. Schnackenberger), the Brussels’ veil, and the Mechlin lace, which she had swallowed, the domestic harmony which she had disturbed, the laws of the land which she had insulted and outraged, the peace of mind which she had invaded, and, finally,” (said he) “as if all this were not enough, the liver—the goose’s liver—my liver—my unoffending liver—(“and lights,” said Mr. Schnackenberger) “which she has burglariously and inhumanly immolated to her brutal propensities:” on all this Mr. Deputy executed such a bravura, and the sins of Juno chased each other so rapidly, and assumed so scarlet a hue, that the council instantly negatived her master’s proposition; the single dissentient voice being that of Mr. Mayor, who, with tears in his eyes, conjured Mr. Schnackenberger not to confound the innocent with the guilty.
CHAPTER XXIII.
In which Misfortune empties her last Vial upon the Head of Mr. Schnackenberger.
Exhausted by the misfortunes of the day, towards evening Mr. Jeremiah was reposing at his length, and smoking in the window-seat of his room. Solemn clouds of smoke expressed the gloomy vapours which rested on his brain. The hours of Juno’s life, it seemed to him, were numbered; every soul in B was her sworn foe—bipeds and quadrupeds, men, women, dogs, cats, children, kittens, deputy-recorders, rabbits, cooks, legs of mutton, to say nothing of goose-livers, sausages, haunches of venison, and “quilts.”—If he were to take country-lodgings for her, and to send her out of B, what awaited her there? Whither could she go, but some butcher—some butter-woman—some rough-rider or other had a private account to settle with her?—“Un-
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