"There he goes, with the boys after him! Ah! ha! ha! Jean-ah Poquelin! Ah! Jean-ah! Aha! aha! Jean-ah Marie! Jean-ah Poquelin! The old villain!" How merrily the swarming Americains echo the spirit of persecution! "The old fraud," they say--"pretends to live in a haunted house, does he?
We'll tar and feather him some day.
Guess we can fix him." He cannot be rowed home along the old canal now; he walks.

He has broken sadly of late, and the street urchins are ever at his heels.

It is like the days when they cried: "Go up, thou bald-head," and the old man now and then turns and delivers ineffectual curses.
To the Creoles--to the incoming lower class of superstitious Germans, Irish, Sicilians, and others--he became an omen and embodiment of public and private ill-fortune.

Upon him all the vagaries of their superstitions gathered and grew.

If a house caught fire, it was imputed to his machinations.