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Updated: May 26, 2025
Everybody judged me by the filthy shreds on my back; nobody had anything for me to do. "I applied at a grocer's, to sweep his store and go errands. When I told him where I had lived, he shook his head and ordered me away. Knowing I could fill a place not unknown to me, I applied at a butcher's in Mott street; but he pointed his knife-which left a wound in my feelings-and ordered me away.
What was back of it judgment, criticism, disbelief what? Or was it the silence of emptiness? Was Mahaffy dumb merely because he could think of nothing to say, or did his silence cloak his feelings-and what were his feelings? Did his meditations outrun his habitually insulting speech as he bit his under lip and glared at him?
I have been acquainted with many theoretical democrats, and with not a few who tried to be democratic, from kind feelings-and principles of justice; but Friend Hopper and Francis Jackson of Boston are the only two men I ever met, who were born democrats; who could not help it, if they tried; and who would not know how to try; so completely did they, by nature, ignore all artificial distinctions.
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