“Well, well! he was one of the great men; I was a poor plebeian, whose chief misfortune, at that time, consisted in my not having a father or a great-grandfather a better man than myself!  His money did the work, and I was bought and beat out of my election, which I considered certain.  I then acquired knowledge of two things.  I learned duly to estimate the value of the democratic principle, when I beheld the vile slaves, whose votes his money had commanded, laughing in scorn at the miserable creature they had themselves put over them.  They felt not—­not they—­the double shame of their doings.  They felt that he was King Log, but never felt how despicable they were as his subjects.  This taught me, too, the value of money—­its wonderful magic and mystery.  In the mood occasioned by all these things, you found me, for the first time, and in a ready temper for any villany.  You attempted to console me for my defeats, but I heard you not until you spoke of revenge.  I was not then to learn how to be vindictive:  I had always been so.  I knew, by instinct, how to lap blood; you only taught me how to scent it!  My first great crime proved my nature.  Performed under your direction, though without your aid, it was wantonly cruel in its execution, since the prize desired might readily have been obtained without the life of its possessor.  You, more merciful than myself, would have held me back, and arrested my stroke; but that would have been taking from the repast its finish:  the pleasure, for it was such to me in my condition of mind, would have been lost entirely.  It may sound strangely even in your ears when I say so, but I could no more have kept my knife from that man’s throat than I could have taken wing for the heavens.  He was a poor coward; made no struggle, and begged most piteously for his life; had the audacity to talk of his great possessions, his rank in society, his wife and children.  These were enjoyments all withheld from me; these were the very things the want of which had made me what I was—­what I am—­and furiously I struck my weapon into his mouth, silencing his insulting speech.  Should such a mean spirit as his have joys which were denied to me?  I spurned his quivering carcass with my foot.  At that moment I felt myself; I had something to live for.  I knew my appetite, and felt that it was native.  I had acquired a knowledge of a new luxury, and ceased to wonder at the crimes of a Nero and a Caligula.  Think you, Munro, that the thousands who assemble at the execution of a criminal trouble themselves to inquire into the merits of his case—­into the justice of his death and punishment?  Ask they whether he is the victim of justice or of tyranny?  No! they go to see a show—­they love blood, and in this way have the enjoyment furnished to their hands, without the risk which must follow the shedding of it for themselves.”

“There is one thing, Guy, upon which I never thought to ask you.  What became of that beautiful young girl from Carolina, on a visit to the village, when you lost your election?  You were then cavorting about her in great style, and I could see that you were well nigh as much mad after her as upon the loss of the seat.”