“Cod, haddock and bass,” replied the fishmonger, who seemed as lean and well starved as his horse, which was of a light sorrel color, and presented so pitiable a pack of bones that no real philanthropist could have looked upon him without shedding many tears.  The two tradesmen now got down from their respective wagons, and approaching each other with hands extended, presented a corporeal contrast one seldom sees in the rural districts of New England, inasmuch as the fishmonger stood six feet in his grain-leather boots, and was so lean of person that one might easily have imagined him fed on half-tanned leather and Connecticut nutmegs, while the major stood just five feet two in his stockings, measured exactly twenty-seven inches across the broad disc of his trousers, and had a belly equal to that of three turtle-fed aldermen rolled into one.  The major too, had a head very like a Wethersfield squash stunted in the growth, with a broad, florid face, and a spacious mouth, and two small eyes he could see at right angles with.  The fishmonger, on the other hand, was hatchet faced, had a dilating jaw, and a vacant look out of his eyes, which were well nigh obscured by the battered hat slouched down over his parchment colored forehead.

They began at once to raise their wares, to shake each other cordially by the hand, and to exchange salutations of mutual confidence.  Old Battle, who had a deep fellow feeling for his master, must needs imitate the affection he displayed for the fishmonger, and to that end began to make free with his horse, which, after sundry friendly bites of the mane, and otherwise exhibiting himself in a manner very much unbecoming a horse of such good morals, reared and had done serious damage with the bones of the other, but for the interposition of his master, who separated them with the stock of his big whip.  Peace being restored, the animals were removed to a respectful distance, and I was introduced to the fishmonger as the greatest young politician ever known in that part of the country.  The major, it must here be recorded, otherwise this history would be imperfect, was scrupulous not to admit that a young politician, however brilliant his capacity, could be equal to an old one.  In this he differed but little from many other great military politicians of my acquaintance.

As the major seemed not to have a care for any other political campaign than that which elected General Harrison, it was a custom with him to inquire of every new acquaintance how he voted in that event, before engaging in a trade with him.  Having put the question as a preliminary, the fishmonger replied that he had voted as good and square a “Coon ticket” as any citizen in the town where he lived, but that he received two pieces of gold for so doing, and thought it no harm.