abhorred and proscribed Balthazar, that the patron should return his money
to the headsman, and preclude him from forming one of a party that was so
scrupulous of its association, and, apparently, with so little reason. The
Neapolitan, whose name was Pippo; one of the indigent scholars, for a
century since learning was rather the auxiliary than the foe of
superstition, and a certain Nicklaus Wagner, a fat Bernese, who was the
owner of most of the cheeses in the bark, were the chosen of the multitude
on this occasion. The first owed his election to his vehemence and
volubility, qualities that the ignoble vulgar are very apt to mistake for
conviction and knowledge; the second to his silence and a demureness of
air which pass with another class for the stillness of deep water; and the
last to his substance, as a man of known wealth, an advantage which, in
spite of all that alarmists predict on one side and enthusiasts affirm on
the other, will always carry greater weight with those who are less
fortunate in this respect, than is either reasonable or morally healthful,
provided it is not abused by arrogance or by the assumption of very
extravagant and oppressive privileges. As a matter of course, these
deputed guardians of the common rights were first obliged to submit their
own papers to the eye of the Genevese.[1]

[Footnote 1: As we have so often alluded to this examination, it may be
well to explain, that the present system of gend'armerie and passports
did not then prevail in Europe; taking their rise nearly a century later
than that in which the events of this tale had place. But Geneva was a
small and exposed state, and the regulation to which there is reference
here, was one of the provisions which were resorted to, from time to
time in order to protect those liberties and that independence, of which
its citizens were so unceasingly and so wisely jealous.]

The Neapolitan, than whom an archer knave, or one that had committed more