"Well, squire, did you ever see a live Yankee?"

The youth smiled, answering affirmatively.

"He's a pedler, you know, and that means a chap what can wheedle the
eyes out of your head, the soul out of your body, the gould out of your
pocket, and give you nothing but brass, and tin, and copper, in the
place of 'em. Well, all the hubbub you hear is jest now about one of
these same Yankee pedlers. The regilators have caught the varmint--one
Jared Bunce, as he calls himself--and a more cunning, rascally,
presumptious critter don't come out of all Connecticut. He's been a
cheating and swindling all the old women round the country. He'll pay
for it now, and no mistake. The regilators caught him about three hours
ago, and they've brought him here for judgment and trial. They've got a
jury setting on his vartues, and they'll hammer the soul out of him
afore they let him git out from under the iron. I don't reckon they kin
cure him, for what's bred in the bone, you know, won't come out of the
flesh; but they'll so bedevil bone and flesh, that I reckon he'll be the
last Yankee that ever comes to practice again in this Chestatee country.
Maybe, he ain't deserving of much worse than they kin do. Maybe, he
ain't a scamp of the biggest wethers. His rascality ain't to be
measured. Why, he kin walk through a man's pockets, jest as the devil
goes through a crack or a keyhole, and the money will naterally stick to
him, jest as ef he was made of gum turpentine. His very face is a sort
of kining [coining] machine. His look says dollars and cents; and its
always your dollars and cents, and he kines them out of your hands into
his'n, jest with a roll of his eye, and a mighty leetle turn of his
finger. He cheats in everything, and cheats everybody. Thar's not an old
woman in the country that don't say her prayers back'ards when she
thinks of Jared Bunce. Thar's his tin-wares and his wood-wares--his