Publisher's Synopsis
On a fine May morning in the year 1764, -that is to say, between the peace at Fontainebleau and the stamp act agitation, which great events have fortunately no connection with the present narrative, -a young man mounted on an elegant horse, and covered from head to foot with lace, velvet, and embroidery, stopped before a small house in the town or city of Williamsburg, the capital of Virginia. Negligently delivering his bridle into the hands of a diminutive negro, the young man entered the open door, ascended a flight of stairs which led to two or three small rooms above, and turning the knob, attempted to enter the room opening upon the street. The door opened a few inches, and then was suddenly closed by a heavy body thrown against it. "Back!" cried a careless and jovial voice, "back! base proctor-this is my castle." "Open! open!" cried the visitor. "Never!" replied the voice. The visitor kicked the door, to the great damage of his Spanish shoes. "Beware!" cried the hidden voice; "I am armed to the teeth, and rather than be captured I will die in defence of my rights-namely, liberty, property, and the pursuit of happiness under difficulties."
