"WHAT kind of people have you here?" I asked of one of my first
acquaintances, after becoming a denizen of the pleasant little
village of Moorfield.
"Very clever people, with one or two exceptions," he replied. "I am
sure you will like us very well."
"Who are the exceptions?" I asked. "For I wish to keep all such
exceptions at a distance. Being a stranger, I will, wisely, take a
hint in time. It's an easy matter to shun an acquaintanceship; but
by no means so easy to break it off, after it is once formed."
"Very truly said, Mr. Jones. And I will warn you, in time, of one
man in particular. His name is John Mason. Keep clear of him, if you
wish to keep out of trouble. He's as smooth and oily as a whetstone;
and, like a whetstone, abrades every thing he touches. He's a bad
man, that John Mason."
"Who, or what is he?" I asked.
"He's a lawyer, and one of the principal holders of property in the
township. But money can't gild him over. He's a bad man, that John
Mason, and my advice to you and to every one, is to keep clear of
him. I know him like a book."
"I'm very much obliged to you," said I, "for your timely caution: I
will take care to profit by it."
My next acquaintance bore pretty much the same testimony, and so did
the next. It was plain that John Mason was not the right kind of a
man, and rather a blemish upon the village of Moorfield,
notwithstanding he was one of the principal property-holders in the
township.
"If it wasn't for that John Mason," I heard on this hand, and, "If
it wasn't for that John Mason!" I heard on the other hand, as my
acquaintanceship among the people extended. Particularly bitter
against him was the first individual who had whispered in my ear a
friendly caution; and I hardly ever met with him, that he hadn't
something to say about that John Mason.
About six months after my arrival in Moorfield, I attended a public
meeting, at which the leading men of the township were present. Most
of them were strangers to me. At this meeting, I fell in company
with a very pleasant man, who had several times addressed those
present, and always in such a clear, forcible, and common-sense way,
as to carry conviction to all but a few, who carped and quibbled at
every thing he said, and in a very churlish manner. Several of those
quibblers I happened to know. He represented one set of views, and
they another. His had regard for the public good; theirs looked, it
was plain, to sectional and private interests.
"How do you like our little town, Mr. Jones?" said this individual
to me, after the meeting had adjourned, and little knots of
individuals were formed here and there for conversation.
"Very well," I replied.
"And the people?" he added.
"The people," I answered, "appear to be about a fair sample of what
are to be found everywhere. Good and bad mixed up together."
"Yes. That, I suppose, is a fair general estimate."
"Of course," I added, "we find, in all communities, certain
individuals, who stand out more prominent than the
rest--distinguished for good or evil. This appears to be the case
here, as well as elsewhere."
"You have already discovered, then, that, even in Moorfield, there
are some bad men."
"Oh, yes. There's that John Mason, for instance."
The man looked a little surprised, but remarked, without any change
of tone--"So, you have heard of him, have you?"
"Oh, yes."
"As a very bad man?"
"Yes, very well. Have you ever met him?"
"No, and never wish to."
"You've seen him, I presume?"
"Never. Is he here?"