Well he stared; says he, I believe you’re right, but I never thought of that afore; (thinks I, nobody ever suspect you of the trick of thinkin that ever I heer’d tell of) some of our great men, said he, laid it all to your folks selling so many Clocks and Polyglot Bibles, they say you have taken off a horrid sight of money; did they, indeed, said I; well, I guess it tante pins and needles that’s the expense of house-keepin, it is something more costly than that.  Well, some folks say its the Banks, says he; better still, says I, perhaps you’ve hearn tell too that greasing the axle, makes a gig harder to draw, for there’s jist about as much sense in that.  Well then, says he, others say its smugglin has made us so poor.  That guess, said I, is most as good as tother one, whoever found out that secret ought to get a patent for it, for its worth knowin.  Then the country has grown poorer, has’nt it, because it has bought cheaper this year, than it did the year before?  Why, your folks are cute chaps, I vow; they’d puzzle a Philadelphia Lawyer, they are so amazin knowin.  Ah, said he, and he rubb’d his hands and smiled like a young doctor, when he gets his first patient; ah, said he, if the timber duties are altered, down comes St. John, body and breeches, it’s built on a poor foundation—­its all show—­they are speculatin like mad—­they’ll ruin themselves.  Says I, if you wait till they’re dead, for your fortin, it will be one while, I tell you, afore you pocket the shiners.  Its no joke waitin for a dead man’s shoes.  Suppose an old feller of 80 was to say when that are young feller dies, I’m to inherit his property, what would you think?  Why, I guess you’d think be was an old fool.  No sir, if the English don’t want their timber we do want it all, we have used ourn up, we hant got a stick even to whittle.  If the British dont offer we will, and St. John, like a dear little weeping widow, will dry up her tears, and take to frolickin agin and accept it right off.  There is’nt at this moment such a location hardly in America, as St. John; for beside all its other advantages, it has this great one, its only rival, Halifax, has got a dose of opium that will send it snoring out of the world, like a feller who falls asleep on the ice of a winter’s night.  It has been asleep so long, I actilly think it never will wake.  Its an easy death too, you may rouse them up if you like, but I vow I wont.  I once brought a feller too that was drowned, and one night he got drunk and quilted me, I could’nt walk for a week; says I, your the last chap I’ll ever save from drowning in all my born days, if that’s all the thanks I get for it.  No Sir, Halifax has lost the run of its custom.  Who does Yarmouth trade with?  St. John.  Who does Annapolis County trade with?  St. John.  Who do all the folks on the Basin of Mines, and Bay shore, trade with?  St John.  Who does Cumberland trade with?  St John.  Well Pictou, Lunenburg and Liverpool, supply themselves, and the rest that aint