ch of the nineteen, and made eleven dollars by his
present liberality.

"It is no town at all--only a township," returned the literal Seneca.
"Did you expect it would be a city?"

"Vat cares I? I woult radder sell my vatches to goot, honest, country
men, dan asht to de best burghers in de land."

"You're my man! The right spirit is in you. I hope you're no patroon--no
aristocrat?"

"I don't know vat isht badroon, or vat isht arishtocrat."

"No! You are a happy man in your ignorance. A patroon is a nobleman who
owns another man's land; and an aristocrat is a body that thinks himself
better than his neighbours, friend."

"Well, den, I isht no badroon, for I don't own no land at all, not even
mine own; and I ishn't petter asht no poty at all."

"Yes, you be; you've only to think so, and you'll be the greatest
gentleman of 'em all."

"Well, den, I will dry and dink so, and be petter asht de greatest
shentlemans of dem all. But dat won't do, nudder, as dat vilt make me
petter dan you; for you are one of de greatest of dem all, shentlemans."

"Oh! as for me, let me alone. I scorn being on their level. I go for
'Down with the rent!' and so'll you, too, afore you've been a week in
our part of the country."

"Vat isht de rent dat you vants to git down?"

"It's a thing that's opposed to the spirit of the institutions, as you
can see by my feelin's at this very moment. But no matter! I'll keep the
watch, if you say so, and show you the way into that part of the
country, as your pay."

"Agreet, shentlemans. Vat I vants is atfice, and vat you vants is a
vatch."

Here uncle Ro laughed so much like himself, when he ought clearly to
have laughed in broken English, that I was very much afraid he might
give the alarm to our companion; but he did not. From that time, the
best relations existed between us and Seneca, who, in the course of the
day, recognised us by sundry smiles and winks, though I could plainly
see he did not like the anti-aristocratic principle sufficiently to wish
to seem too intimate with us. Before we reached the islands, however, he
gave us directions where to meet him in the morning, and we parted, when
the boat stopped alongside of the pier at Albany that afternoon, the
best friends in the world.

"Albany! dear, good old Albany!" exclaimed my uncle Ro, as we stopped on
the draw of the bridge to look at the busy scene in the basin, where
literally hundreds of canal-boats were either lying to dischar