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diff --git a/7823-h/7823-h.htm b/7823-h/7823-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e619210 --- /dev/null +++ b/7823-h/7823-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10777 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Attache, by Thomas Chandler Haliburton + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Attache, by Thomas Chandler Haliburton + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Attache + or, Sam Slick in England, Complete + +Author: Thomas Chandler Haliburton + +Release Date: July 23, 2009 [EBook #7823] +Last Updated: October 26, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ATTACHE *** + + + + +Produced by Gardner Buchanan, and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE ATTACHE + </h1> + <h2> + or, SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Thomas Chandler Haliburton + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + (Greek Text)—GREEK PROVERB. + </p> + <p> + Tell you what, report my speeches if you like, but if you put my talk in, + I’ll give you the mitten, as sure as you are born.—SLICKVILLE + TRANSLATION + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + London, July 3rd, 1843. + </p> + <p> + MY DEAR HOPKINSON, + </p> + <p> + I have spent so many agreeable hours at Edgeworth heretofore, that my + first visit on leaving London, will be to your hospitable mansion. In the + meantime, I beg leave to introduce to you my “Attache,” who will precede + me several days. His politics are similar to your own; I wish I could say + as much in favour of his humour. His eccentricities will stand in need of + your indulgence; but if you can overlook these, I am not without hopes + that his originality, quaint sayings, and queer views of things in + England, will afford you some amusement. At all events, I feel assured you + will receive him kindly; if not for his own merits, at least for the sake + of + </p> + <p> + Yours always, + </p> + <p> + THE AUTHOR. + </p> + <p> + To EDMUND HOPKINSON ESQ. Edgeworth, Gloucestershire. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <big><b>THE ATTACHE; OR SAM SLICK IN + ENGLAND.</b></big> </a><br /><br /> <big><b>FIRST VOLUME</b></big> <br /><br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> UNCORKING A BOTTLE + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> A JUICY + DAY IN THE COUNTRY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> TYING + A NIGHT-CAP <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a> HOME + AND THE SEA <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> T’OTHER + EEND OF THE GUN <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a> SMALL + POTATOES AND FEW IN A HILL <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER + VII. </a> A GENTLEMAN AT LARGE <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> SEEING LIVERPOOL + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a> CHANGING + A NAME <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a> THE + NELSON MONUMENT <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a> COTTAGES + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a> STEALING + THE HEARTS OF THE PEOPLE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER + XIII. </a> NATUR’ <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> THE SOCDOLAGER <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a> DINING OUT <br /><br /><br /> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> <big><b>THE SECOND VOLUME.</b></big> </a><br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER I. </a> THE NOSE OF A SPY + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER II. </a> THE + PATRON; OR, THE COW’S TAIL <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER + III. </a> ASCOT RACES <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0019"> + CHAPTER IV. </a> THE GANDER PULLING <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER V. </a> THE BLACK STOLE <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER VI. </a> THE PRINCE DE + JOINVILLE’S HORSE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER VII. </a> LIFE + IN THE COUNTRY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> BUNKUM + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER IX. </a> THROWING + THE LAVENDER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER X. </a> AIMING + HIGH <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XI. </a> A + SWOI-REE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XII. </a> TATTERSALL’S + OR, THE ELDER AND THE GRAVE DIGGER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0028"> + CHAPTER XIII. </a> LOOKING BACK <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> CROSSING THE BORDER + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XV. </a> THE + IRISH PREFACE <br /><br /> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h1> + THE ATTACHE; OR SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. UNCORKING A BOTTLE. + </h2> + <p> + We left New York in the afternoon of — day of May, 184-, and + embarked on board of the good Packet ship “Tyler” for England. Our party + consisted of the Reverend Mr. Hopewell, Samuel Slick, Esq., myself, and + Jube Japan, a black servant of the Attache. + </p> + <p> + I love brevity—I am a man of few words, and, therefore, + constitutionally economical of them; but brevity is apt to degenerate into + obscurity. Writing a book, however, and book-making, are two very + different things: “spinning a yarn” is mechanical, and book-making savours + of trade, and is the employment of a manufacturer. The author by + profession, weaves his web by the piece, and as there is much competition + in this branch of trade, extends it over the greatest possible surface, so + as to make the most of his raw material. Hence every work of fancy is made + to reach to three volumes, otherwise it will not pay, and a manufacture + that does not requite the cost of production, invariably and inevitably + terminates in bankruptcy. A thought, therefore, like a pound of cotton, + must be well spun out to be valuable. It is very contemptuous to say of a + man, that he has but one idea, but it is the highest meed of praise that + can be bestowed on a book. A man, who writes thus, can write for ever. + </p> + <p> + Now, it is not only not my intention to write for ever, or as Mr. Slick + would say “for everlastinly;” but to make my bow and retire very soon from + the press altogether. I might assign many reasons for this modest course, + all of them plausible, and some of them indeed quite dignified. I like + dignity: any man who has lived the greater part of his life in a colony is + so accustomed to it, that he becomes quite enamoured of it, and wrapping + himself up in it as a cloak, stalks abroad the “observed of all + observers.” I could undervalue this species of writing if I thought + proper, affect a contempt for idiomatic humour, or hint at the employment + being inconsistent with the grave discharge of important official duties, + which are so distressingly onerous, as not to leave me a moment for + recreation; but these airs, though dignified, will unfortunately not avail + me. I shall put my dignity into my pocket, therefore, and disclose the + real cause of this diffidence. + </p> + <p> + In the year one thousand eight hundred and fourteen, I embarked at Halifax + on board the Buffalo store-ship for England. She was a noble teak built + ship of twelve or thirteen hundred tons burden, had excellent + accommodation, and carried over to merry old England, a very merry party + of passengers, <i>quorum parva pars fui</i>, a youngster just emerged from + college. + </p> + <p> + On the banks of Newfoundland we were becalmed, and the passengers amused + themselves by throwing overboard a bottle, and shooting at it with ball. + The guns used for this occasion, were the King’s muskets, taken from the + arm-chest on the quarter-deck. The shooting was execrable. It was hard to + say which were worse marksmen, the officers of the ship, or the + passengers. Not a bottle was hit: many reasons were offered for this + failure, but the two principal ones were, that the muskets were bad, and + that it required great skill to overcome the difficulty occasioned by + both, the vessel and the bottle being in motion at the same time, and that + motion dissimilar. + </p> + <p> + I lost my patience. I had never practised shooting with ball; I had + frightened a few snipe, and wounded a few partridges, but that was the + extent of my experience. I knew, however, that I could not by any + possibility shoot worse than every body else had done, and might by + accident shoot better. + </p> + <p> + “Give me a gun, Captain,” said I, “and I will shew you how to uncork that + bottle.” + </p> + <p> + I took the musket, but its weight was beyond my strength of arm. I was + afraid that I could not hold it out steadily, even for a moment, it was so + very heavy—I threw it up with a desperate effort and fired. The neck + of the bottle flew up in the air a full yard, and then disappeared. I was + amazed myself at my success. Every body was surprised, but as every body + attributed it to long practice, they were not so much astonished as I was, + who knew it was wholly owing to chance. It was a lucky hit, and I made the + most of it; success made me arrogant, and boy-like, I became a boaster. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said I coolly, “you must be born with a rifle in your hand, Captain, + to shoot well. Every body shoots well in America. I do not call myself a + good shot. I have not had the requisite experience; but there are those + who can take out the eye of a squirrel at a hundred yards.” + </p> + <p> + “Can you see the eye of a squirrel at that distance?” said the Captain, + with a knowing wink of his own little ferret eye. + </p> + <p> + That question, which raised a general laugh at my expense, was a puzzler. + The absurdity of the story, which I had heard a thousand times, never + struck me so forcibly. But I was not to be pat down so easily. + </p> + <p> + “See it!” said I, “why not? Try it and you will find your sight improve + with your shooting. Now, I can’t boast of being a good marksman myself; my + studies” (and here I looked big, for I doubted if he could even read, much + less construe a chapter in the Greek Testament) “did not leave me much + time. A squirrel is too small an object for all but an experienced man, + but a “<i>large</i>” mark like a quart bottle can easily be hit at a + hundred yards—that is nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “I will take you a bet,” said he, “of a doubloon, you do not do it again?” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” I replied with great indifference: “I never bet, and besides, + that gun has so injured my shoulder, that I could not, if I would.” + </p> + <p> + By that accidental shot, I obtained a great name as a marksman, and by + prudence I retained it all the voyage. This is precisely my case now, + gentle reader. I made an accidental hit with the Clockmaker: when he + ceases to speak, I shall cease to write. The little reputation I then + acquired, I do not intend to jeopardize by trying too many experiments. I + know that it was chance—many people think it was skill. If they + choose to think so, they have a right to their opinion, and that opinion + is fame. I value this reputation too highly not to take care of it. + </p> + <p> + As I do not intend then to write often, I shall not wire-draw my subjects, + for the mere purpose of filling my pages. Still a book should be perfect + within itself, and intelligible without reference to other books. Authors + are vain people, and vanity as well as dignity is indigenous to a colony. + Like a pastry-cook’s apprentice, I see so much of both their sweet things + around me daily, that I have no appetite for either of them. + </p> + <p> + I might perhaps be pardoned, if I took it for granted, that the dramatis + personae of this work were sufficiently known, not to require a particular + introduction. Dickens assumed the fact that his book on America would + travel wherever the English language was spoken, and, therefore, called it + “Notes for General Circulation.” Even Colonists say, that this was too + bad, and if they say so, it must be so. I shall, therefore, briefly state, + who and what the persons are that composed our travelling party, as if + they were wholly unknown to fame, and then leave them to speak for + themselves. + </p> + <p> + The Reverend Mr. Hopewell is a very aged clergyman of the Church of + England, and was educated at Cambridge College, in Massachusetts. + Previously to the revolution, he was appointed rector of a small parish in + Connecticut. When the colonies obtained their independence, he remained + with his little flock in his native land, and continued to minister to + their spiritual wants until within a few years, when his parishioners + becoming Unitarians, gave him his dismissal. Affable in his manners and + simple in his habits, with a mind well stored with human lore, and a heart + full of kindness for his fellow-creatures, he was at once an agreeable and + an instructive companion. Born and educated in the United States, when + they were British dependencies, and possessed of a thorough knowledge of + the causes which led to the rebellion, and the means used to hasten the + crisis, he was at home on all colonial topics; while his great experience + of both monarchical and democratical governments, derived from a long + residence in both, made him a most valuable authority on politics + generally. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Samuel Slick is a native of the same parish, and received his + education from Mr. Hopewell. I first became acquainted with him while + travelling in Nova Scotia. He was then a manufacturer and vendor of wooden + clocks. My first impression of him was by no means favourable. He forced + himself most unceremoniously into my company and conversation. I was + disposed to shake him off, but could not. Talk he would, and as his talk + was of that kind, which did not require much reply on my part, he took my + silence for acquiescence, and talked on. I soon found that he was a + character; and, as he knew every part of the lower colonies, and every + body in them, I employed him as my guide. + </p> + <p> + I have made at different times three several tours with him, the results + of which I have given in three several series of a work, entitled the + “Clockmaker, or the Sayings and Doings of Mr. Samuel Slick.” Our last tour + terminated at New York, where, in consequence of the celebrity he obtained + from these “Sayings and Doings” he received the appointment of Attache to + the American Legation at the Court of St. James’s. The object of this work + is to continue the record of his observations and proceedings in England. + </p> + <p> + The third person of the party, gentle reader, is your humble servant, + Thomas Poker, Esquire, a native of Nova Scotia, and a retired member of + the Provincial bar. My name will seldom appear in these pages, as I am + uniformly addressed by both my companions as “Squire,” nor shall I have to + perform the disagreeable task of “reporting my own speeches,” for + naturally taciturn, I delight in listening rather than talking, and + modestly prefer the duties of an amanuensis, to the responsibilities of + original composition. + </p> + <p> + The last personage is Jube Japan, a black servant of the Attache. + </p> + <p> + Such are the persons who composed the little party that embarked at New + York, on board the Packet ship “Tyler,” and sailed on the — of May, + 184-, for England. + </p> + <p> + The motto prefixed to this work + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + (Greek Text) +</pre> + <p> + sufficiently explains its character. Classes and not individuals have been + selected for observation. National traits are fair subjects for satire or + for praise, but personal peculiarities claim the privilege of exemption in + right of that hospitality, through whose medium they have been alone + exhibited. Public topics are public property; every body has a right to + use them without leave and without apology. It is only when we quit the + limits of this “common” and enter upon “private grounds,” that we are + guilty of “a trespass.” This distinction is alike obvious to good sense + and right feeling. I have endeavoured to keep it constantly in view; and + if at any time I shall be supposed to have erred (I say “supposed,” for I + am unconscious of having done so) I must claim the indulgence always + granted to involuntary offences. + </p> + <p> + Now the patience of my reader may fairly be considered a “private right.” + I shall, therefore, respect its boundaries and proceed at once with my + narrative, having been already quite long enough about “uncorking a + bottle.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. A JUICY DAY IN THE COUNTRY. + </h2> + <p> + All our preparations for the voyage having been completed, we spent the + last day at our disposal, in visiting Brooklyn. The weather was uncommonly + fine, the sky being perfectly clear and unclouded; and though the sun + shone out brilliantly, the heat was tempered by a cool, bracing, + westwardly wind. Its influence was perceptible on the spirits of every + body on board the ferry-boat that transported us across the harbour. + </p> + <p> + “Squire,” said Mr. Slick, aint this as pretty a day as you’ll see atween + this and Nova Scotia?—You can’t beat American weather, when it + chooses, in no part of the world I’ve ever been in yet. This day is a + tip-topper, and it’s the last we’ll see of the kind till we get back agin, + <i>I</i> know. Take a fool’s advice, for once, and stick to it, as long as + there is any of it left, for you’ll see the difference when you get to + England. There never was so rainy a place in the univarse, as that, I + don’t think, unless it’s Ireland, and the only difference atween them two + is that it rains every day amost in England, and in Ireland it rains every + day and every night too. It’s awful, and you must keep out of a + country-house in such weather, or you’ll go for it; it will kill you, + that’s sartain. I shall never forget a juicy day I once spent in one of + them dismal old places. I’ll tell you how I came to be there. + </p> + <p> + “The last time I was to England, I was a dinin’ with our consul to + Liverpool, and a very gentleman-like old man he was too; he was appointed + by Washington, and had been there ever since our glorious revolution. + Folks gave him a great name, they said he was a credit to us. Well, I met + at his table one day an old country squire, that lived somewhere down in + Shropshire, close on to Wales, and says he to me, arter cloth was off and + cigars on, ‘Mr. Slick,’ says he, ‘I’ll be very glad to see you to Norman + Manor,’ (that was the place where he staid, when he was to home). ‘If you + will return with me I shall be glad to shew you the country in my + neighbourhood, which is said to be considerable pretty.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Well,’ says I, ‘as I have nothin’ above particular to see to, I don’t + care if I do go.’ + </p> + <p> + “So off we started; and this I will say, he was as kind as he cleverly + knew how to be, and that is sayin’ a great deal for a man that didn’t know + nothin’ out of sight of his own clearin’ hardly. + </p> + <p> + “Now, when we got there, the house was chock full of company, and + considerin’ it warn’t an overly large one, and that Britishers won’t stay + in a house, unless every feller gets a separate bed, it’s a wonder to me, + how he stowed away as many as he did. Says he, ‘Excuse your quarters, Mr. + Slick, but I find more company nor I expected here. In a day or two, some + on ‘em will be off, and then you shall be better provided.’ + </p> + <p> + “With that I was showed up a great staircase, and out o’ that by a + door-way into a narrer entry and from that into an old T like looking + building, that stuck out behind the house. It warn’t the common company + sleepin’ room, I expect, but kinder make shifts, tho’ they was good enough + too for the matter o’ that; at all events I don’t want no better. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I had hardly got well housed a’most, afore it came on to rain, as + if it was in rael right down airnest. It warn’t just a roarin’, racin’, + sneezin’ rain like a thunder shower, but it kept a steady travellin’ gait, + up hill and down dale, and no breathin’ time nor batin’ spell. It didn’t + look as if it would stop till it was done, that’s a fact. But still as it + was too late to go out agin that arternoon, I didn’t think much about it + then. I hadn’t no notion what was in store for me next day, no more nor a + child; if I had, I’d a double deal sooner hanged myself, than gone + brousing in such place as that, in sticky weather. + </p> + <p> + “A wet day is considerable tiresome, any where or any way you can fix it; + but it’s wus at an English country house than any where else, cause you + are among strangers, formal, cold, gallus polite, and as thick in the + head-piece as a puncheon. You hante nothin’ to do yourself and they never + have nothin’ to do; they don’t know nothin’ about America, and don’t want + to. Your talk don’t interest them, and they can’t talk to interest nobody + but themselves; all you’ve got to do, is to pull out your watch and see + how time goes; how much of the day is left, and then go to the winder and + see how the sky looks, and whether there is any chance of holdin’ up or + no. Well, that time I went to bed a little airlier than common, for I felt + considerable sleepy, and considerable strange too; so as soon as I + cleverly could, I off and turned in. + </p> + <p> + “Well I am an airly riser myself. I always was from a boy, so I waked up + jist about the time when day ought to break, and was a thinkin’ to get up; + but the shutters was too, and it was as dark as ink in the room, and I + heer’d it rainin’ away for dear life. ‘So,’ sais I to myself, ‘what the + dogs is the use of gittin’ up so airly? I can’t get out and get a smoke, + and I can’t do nothin’ here; so here goes for a second nap.’ Well I was + soon off agin in a most a beautiful of a snore, when all at once I heard + thump-thump agin the shutter—and the most horrid noise I ever heerd + since I was raised; it was sunthin’ quite onairthly. + </p> + <p> + “‘Hallo!’ says I to myself, ‘what in natur is all this hubbub about? Can + this here confounded old house be harnted? Is them spirits that’s + jabbering gibberish there, or is I wide awake or no?’ So I sets right up + on my hind legs in bed, rubs my eyes, opens my ears and listens agin, when + whop went every shutter agin, with a dead heavy sound, like somethin’ or + another thrown agin ‘em, or fallin’ agin ‘em, and then comes the unknown + tongues in discord chorus like. Sais I, ‘I know now, it’s them cussed + navigators. They’ve besot the house, and are a givin’ lip to frighten + folks. It’s regular banditti.’ + </p> + <p> + “So I jist hops out of bed, and feels for my trunk, and outs with my + talkin’ irons, that was all ready loaded, pokes my way to the winder—shoves + the sash up and outs with the shutter, ready to let slip among ‘em. And + what do you think it was?—Hundreds and hundreds of them nasty, + dirty, filthy, ugly, black devils of rooks, located in the trees at the + back eend of the house. Old Nick couldn’t have slept near ‘em; caw caw, + caw, all mixt up together in one jumble of a sound, like “jawe.” + </p> + <p> + “You black, evil-lookin’, foul-mouthed villains,’ sais I, ‘I’d like no + better sport than jist to sit here, all this blessed day with these + pistols, and drop you one arter another, <i>I</i> know.’ But they was + pets, was them rooks, and of course like all pets, everlastin’ nuisances + to every body else. + </p> + <p> + “Well, when a man’s in a feeze, there’s no more sleep that hitch; so I + dresses and sits up; but what was I to do? It was jist half past four, and + as it was a rainin’ like every thing, I know’d breakfast wouldn’t be ready + till eleven o’clock, for nobody wouldn’t get up if they could help it—they + wouldn’t be such fools; so there was jail for six hours and a half. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I walked up and down the room, as easy as I could, not to waken + folks; but three steps and a round turn makes you kinder dizzy, so I sits + down again to chaw the cud of vexation. + </p> + <p> + “‘Ain’t this a handsum fix?’ sais I, ‘but it sarves you right, what + busniss had you here at all? you always was a fool, and always will be to + the eend of the chapter.—‘What in natur are you a scoldin’ for?’ + sais I: ‘that won’t mend the matter; how’s time? They must soon be a + stirrin’ now, I guess.’ Well, as I am a livin’ sinner, it was only five + o’clock; ‘oh dear,’ sais I, ‘time is like women and pigs the more you want + it to go, the more it won’t. What on airth shall I do?—guess, I’ll + strap my rasor.’ + </p> + <p> + “Well, I strapped and strapped away, until it would cut a single hair + pulled strait up on eend out o’ your head, without bendin’ it—take + it off slick. ‘Now,’ sais I, ‘I’ll mend my trowsers I tore, a goin’ to see + the ruin on the road yesterday; so I takes out Sister Sall’s little + needle-case, and sows away till I got them to look considerable jam agin; + ‘and then,’ sais I, ‘here’s a gallus button off, I’ll jist fix that,’ and + when that was done, there was a hole to my yarn sock, so I turned too and + darned that. + </p> + <p> + “‘Now,’ sais I, ‘how goes it? I’m considerable sharp set. It must be + gettin’ tolerable late now.’ It wanted a quarter to six. ‘My! sakes,’ sais + I, ‘five hours and a quarter yet afore feedin’ time; well if that don’t + pass. What shall I do next?’ ‘I’ll tell you what to do,’ sais I, ‘smoke, + that will take the edge of your appetite off, and if they don’t like it, + they may lump it; what business have they to keep them horrid screetchin’ + infarnal, sleepless rooks to disturb people that way?’ Well, I takes a + lucifer, and lights a cigar, and I puts my head up the chimbly to let the + smoke off, and it felt good, I promise <i>you</i>. I don’t know as I ever + enjoyed one half so much afore. It had a rael first chop flavour had that + cigar. + </p> + <p> + “‘When that was done,’ sais I, ‘What do you say to another?’ ‘Well, I + don’t know,’ sais I, ‘I should like it, that’s a fact; but holdin’ of my + head crooked up chimbly that way, has a’ most broke my neck; I’ve got the + cramp in it like.’ + </p> + <p> + “So I sot, and shook my head first a one side and then the other, and then + turned it on its hinges as far as it would go, till it felt about right, + and then I lights another, and puts my head in the flue again. + </p> + <p> + “Well, smokin’ makes, a feller feel kinder good-natured, and I began to + think it warn’t quite so bad arter all, when whop went my cigar right out + of my mouth into my bosom, atween the shirt and the skin, and burnt me + like a gally nipper. Both my eyes was fill’d at the same time, and I got a + crack on the pate from some critter or another that clawed and scratched + my head like any thing, and then seemed to empty a bushel of sut on me, + and I looked like a chimbly sweep, and felt like old Scratch himself. My + smoke had brought down a chimbly swaller, or a martin, or some such + varmint, for it up and off agin’ afore I could catch it, to wring its + infarnal neck off, that’s a fact. + </p> + <p> + “Well, here was somethin’ to do, and no mistake: here was to clean and + groom up agin’ till all was in its right shape; and a pretty job it was, I + tell you. I thought I never should get the sut out of my hair, and then + never get it out of my brush again, and my eyes smarted so, they did + nothing but water, and wink, and make faces. But I did; I worked on and + worked on, till all was sot right once more. + </p> + <p> + “‘Now,’ sais I, ‘how’s time?’ ‘half past seven,’ sais I, ‘and three hours + and a half more yet to breakfast. Well,’ sais I, ‘I can’t stand this—and + what’s more I won’t: I begin to get my Ebenezer up, and feel wolfish. I’ll + ring up the handsum chamber-maid, and just fall to, and chaw her right up—I’m + savagerous.‘* ‘That’s cowardly,’ sais I, ‘call the footman, pick a quarrel + with him and kick him down stairs, speak but one word to him, and let that + be strong enough to skin the coon arter it has killed him, the noise will + wake up folks <i>I</i> know, and then we shall have sunthin’ to eat.’ + </p> + <p> + [* Footnote: The word “savagerous” is not of “Yankee” but of “Western + origin.”—Its use in this place is best explained by the following + extract from the Third Series of the Clockmaker. “In order that the sketch + which I am now about to give may be fully understood, it may be necessary + to request the reader to recollect that Mr. Slick is a <i>Yankee</i>, a + designation the origin of which is now not very obvious, but it has been + assumed by, and conceded by common consent to, the inhabitants of New + England. It is a name, though sometimes satirically used, of which they + have great reason to be proud, as it is descriptive of a most cultivated, + intelligent, enterprising, frugal, and industrious population, who may + well challenge a comparison with the inhabitants of any other country in + the world; but it has only a local application. + </p> + <p> + “The United States cover an immense extent of territory, and the + inhabitants of different parts of the Union differ as widely in character, + feelings, and even in appearance, as the people of different countries + usually do. These sections differ also in dialect and in humour, as much + as in other things, and to as great, if not a greater extent, than the + natives of different parts of Great Britain vary from each other. It is + customary in Europe to call all Americans, Yankees; but it is as much a + misnomer as it would be to call all Europeans Frenchmen. Throughout these + works it will be observed, that Mr. Slick’s pronunciation is that of the + Yankee, or an inhabitant of the <i>rural districts</i> of New England. His + conversation is generally purely so; but in some instances he uses, as his + countrymen frequently do from choice, phrases which, though Americanisms, + are not of Eastern origin. Wholly to exclude these would be to violate the + usages of American life; to introduce them oftener would be to confound + two dissimilar dialects, and to make an equal departure from the truth. + Every section has its own characteristic dialect, a very small portion of + which it has imparted to its neighbours. The dry, quaint humour of New + England is occasionally found in the west, and the rich gasconade and + exaggerative language of the west migrates not unfrequently to the east. + This idiomatic exchange is perceptibly on the increase. It arises from the + travelling propensities of the Americans, and the constant intercourse + mutually maintained by the inhabitants of the different States. A droll or + an original expression is thus imported and adopted, and, though not + indigenous, soon becomes engrafted on the general stock of the language of + the country.”—3rd Series, p. 142.] + </p> + <p> + “I was ready to bile right over, when as luck would have it, the rain + stopt all of a sudden, the sun broke out o’ prison, and I thought I never + seed any thing look so green and so beautiful as the country did. ‘Come,’ + sais I, ‘now for a walk down the avenue, and a comfortable smoke, and if + the man at the gate is up and stirrin’, I will just pop in and breakfast + with him and his wife. There is some natur there, but here it’s all cussed + rooks and chimbly swallers, and heavy men and fat women, and lazy helps, + and Sunday every day in the week.’ So I fills my cigar-case and outs into + the passage. + </p> + <p> + “But here was a fix! One of the doors opened into the great staircase, and + which was it? ‘Ay,’ sais I, ‘which is it, do you know?’ ‘Upon my soul, I + don’t know,’ sais I; ‘but try, it’s no use to be caged up here like a + painter, and out I will, that’s a fact.’ + </p> + <p> + “So I stops and studies, ‘that’s it,’ sais I, and I opens a door: it was a + bedroom—it was the likely chambermaid’s. + </p> + <p> + “‘Softly, Sir,’ sais she, a puttin’ of her finger on her lip, ‘don’t make + no noise; Missus will hear you.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Yes,’ sais I, ‘I won’t make no noise;’ and I outs and shuts the door too + arter me gently. + </p> + <p> + “‘What next?’ sais I; ‘why you fool, you,’ sais I, ‘why didn’t you ax the + sarvant maid, which door it was?’ ‘Why I was so conflastrigated,’ sais I, + ‘I didn’t think of it. Try that door,’ well I opened another, it belonged + to one o’ the horrid hansum stranger galls that dined at table yesterday. + When she seed me, she gave a scream, popt her head onder the clothes, like + a terrapin, and vanished—well I vanished too. + </p> + <p> + “‘Ain’t this too bad?’ sais I; ‘I wish I could open a man’s door, I’d lick + him out of spite; I hope I may be shot if I don’t, and I doubled up my + fist, for I didn’t like it a spec, and opened another door—it was + the housekeeper’s. ‘Come,’ sais I, ‘I won’t be balked no more.’ She sot up + and fixed her cap. A woman never forgets the becomins. + </p> + <p> + “‘Anything I can do for you, Sir?’ sais she, and she raelly did look + pretty; all good natur’d people, it appears to me, do look so. + </p> + <p> + “‘Will you be so good as to tell me, which door leads to the staircase, + Marm?’ sais I. + </p> + <p> + “‘Oh, is that all?’ sais she, (I suppose, she thort I wanted her to get up + and get breakfast for me,) ‘it’s the first on the right, and she fixed her + cap agin’ and laid down, and I took the first on the right and off like a + blowed out candle. There was the staircase. I walked down, took my hat, + onbolted the outer door, and what a beautiful day was there. I lit my + cigar, I breathed freely, and I strolled down the avenue. + </p> + <p> + “The bushes glistened, and the grass glistened, and the air was sweet, and + the birds sung, and there was natur’ once more. I walked to the lodge; + they had breakfasted had the old folks, so I chatted away with them for a + considerable of a spell about matters and things in general, and then + turned towards the house agin’. ‘Hallo!’ sais I, ‘what’s this? warn’t that + a drop of rain?’ I looks up, it was another shower by Gosh. I pulls foot + for dear life: it was tall walking you may depend, but the shower wins, + (comprehens<i>ive</i> as my legs be), and down it comes, as hard as all + possest. ‘Take it easy, Sam,’ sais I, ‘your flint is fixed; you are wet + thro’—runnin’ won’t dry you,’ and I settled down to a careless walk, + quite desperate. + </p> + <p> + “‘Nothin’ in natur’, unless it is an Ingin, is so treacherous as the + climate here. It jist clears up on purpose I do believe, to tempt you out + without your umbreller, and jist as sure as you trust it and leave it to + home, it clouds right up, and sarves you out for it—it does indeed. + What a sight of new clothes I’ve spilte here, for the rain has a sort of + dye in it. It stains so, it alters the colour of the cloth, for the smoke + is filled with gas and all sorts of chemicals. Well, back I goes to my + room agin’ to the rooks, chimbly swallers, and all, leavin’ a great + endurin’ streak of wet arter me all the way, like a cracked pitcher that + leaks; onriggs, and puts on dry clothes from head to foot. + </p> + <p> + “By this time breakfast is ready; but the English don’t do nothin’ like + other folks; I don’t know whether it’s affectation, or bein’ wrong in the + head—a little of both I guess. Now where do you suppose the solid + part of breakfast is, Squire? Why, it’s on the side-board—I hope I + may be shot if it ain’t—well, the tea and coffee are on the table, + to make it as onconvenient as possible. + </p> + <p> + “Says I, to the lady of the house, as I got up to help myself, for I was + hungry enough to make beef ache I know. ‘Aunty,’ sais I, ‘you’ll excuse + me, but why don’t you put the eatables on the table, or else put the tea + on the side-board? They’re like man and wife, they don’t ought to be + separated, them two.’ + </p> + <p> + “She looked at me, oh what a look of pity it was”, as much as to say, + ‘Where have you been all your born days, not to know better nor that?—but + I guess you don’t know better in the States—how could you know any + thing there?’ But she only said it was the custom here, for she was a very + purlite old woman, was Aunty. + </p> + <p> + “Well sense is sense, let it grow where it will, and I guess we raise + about the best kind, which is common sense, and I warn’t to be put down + with short metre, arter that fashion. So I tried the old man; sais I, + ‘Uncle,’ sais I, ‘if you will divorce the eatables from the drinkables + that way, why not let the servants come and tend. It’s monstrous + onconvenient and ridikilous to be a jumpin’ up for everlastinly that way; + you can’t sit still one blessed minit.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘We think it pleasant,’ said he, ‘sometimes to dispense with their + attendance.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Exactly,’ sais I, ‘then dispense with sarvants at dinner, for when the + wine is in, the wit is out.’ (I said that to compliment him, for the + critter had no wit in at no time,) ‘and they hear all the talk. But at + breakfast every one is only half awake, (especially when you rise so airly + as you do in this country,’ sais I, but the old critter couldn’t see a + joke, even if he felt it, and he didn’t know I was a funnin’.) ‘Folks are + considerably sharp set at breakfast,’ sais I, ‘and not very talkat<i>ive</i>. + That’s the right time to have sarvants to tend on you.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘What an idea!’ said he, and he puckered up his pictur, and the way he + stared was a caution to an owl. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we sot and sot till I was tired, so thinks I, ‘what’s next?’ for + it’s rainin’ agin as hard as ever.’ So I took a turn in the study to sarch + for a book, but there was nothin’ there, but a Guide to the Sessions, + Burn’s Justice, and a book of London club rules, and two or three novels. + He said he got books from the sarkilatin’ library. + </p> + <p> + “‘Lunch is ready.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘What, eatin’ agin? My goody!’ thinks I, ‘if you are so fond of it, why + the plague don’t you begin airly? If you’d a had it at five o’clock this + morning, I’d a done justice to it; now I couldn’t touch it if I was to + die.’ + </p> + <p> + “There it was, though. Help yourself, and no thanks, for there is no + sarvants agin. The rule here is, no talk no sarvants—and when it’s + all talk, it’s all sarvants. + </p> + <p> + “Thinks I to myself, ‘now, what shall I do till dinner-time, for it rains + so there is no stirrin’ out?—Waiter, where is eldest son?—he + and I will have a game of billiards, I guess.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘He is laying down, sir.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Shows his sense,’ sais I, ‘I see, he is not the fool I took him to be. + If I could sleep in the day, I’de turn in too. Where is second son?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Left this mornin’ in the close carriage, sir.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Oh cuss him, it was him then was it?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘What, Sir?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘That woke them confounded rooks up, out o’ their fust nap, and kick’t up + such a bobbery. Where is the Parson?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Which one, Sir?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘The one that’s so fond of fishing.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Ain’t up yet, Sir.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Well, the old boy, that wore breeches.’ + </p> + <p> + “Out on a sick visit to one of the cottages, Sir.’ + </p> + <p> + “When he comes in, send him to me, I’m shockin’ sick.’ + </p> + <p> + “With that I goes to look arter the two pretty galls in the drawin’ room; + and there was the ladies a chatterin’ away like any thing. The moment I + came in it was as dumb as a quaker’s meetin’. They all hauled up at once, + like a stage-coach to an inn-door, from a hand-gallop to a stock still + stand. I seed men warn’t wanted there, it warn’t the custom so airly, so I + polled out o’ that creek, starn first. They don’t like men in the mornin’, + in England, do the ladies; they think ‘em in the way. + </p> + <p> + “‘What on airth, shall I do?’ says I, ‘it’s nothin’ but rain, rain, rain—here + in this awful dismal country. Nobody smokes, nobody talks, nobody plays + cards, nobody fires at a mark, and nobody trades; only let me get thro’ + this juicy day, and I am done: let me get out of this scrape, and if I am + caught agin, I’ll give you leave to tell me of it, in meetin’. It tante + pretty, I do suppose to be a jawin’ with the butler, but I’ll make an + excuse for a talk, for talk comes kinder nateral to me, like suction to a + snipe.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Waiter?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Sir.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Galls don’t like to be tree’d here of a mornin’ do they?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Sir.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘It’s usual for the ladies,’ sais I, ‘to be together in the airly part of + the forenoon here, ain’t it, afore the gentlemen jine them?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Yes, Sir.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘It puts me in mind,’ sais I, ‘of the old seals down to Sable Island—you + know where Sable Isle is, don’t you?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Yes, Sir, it’s in the cathedral down here.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘No, no, not that, it’s an island on the coast of Nova Scotia. You know + where that is sartainly.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘I never heard of it, Sir.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Well, Lord love you! you know what an old seal is?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Oh, yes, sir, I’ll get you my master’s in a moment.’ + </p> + <p> + And off he sot full chisel. + </p> + <p> + “Cus him! he is as stupid as a rook, that crittur, it’s no use to tell him + a story, and now I think of it, I will go and smoke them black imps of + darkness,—the rooks.’ + </p> + <p> + “So I goes up stairs, as slowly as I cleverly could, jist liftin’ one foot + arter another as if it had a fifty-six tied to it, on pupus to spend time; + lit a cigar, opened the window nearest the rooks, and smoked, but oh the + rain killed all the smoke in a minite; it didn’t even make one on ‘em + sneeze. ‘Dull musick this, Sam,’ sais I, ‘ain’t it? Tell you what: I’ll + put on my ile-skin, take an umbreller and go and talk to the stable helps, + for I feel as lonely as a catamount, and as dull as a bachelor beaver. So + I trampousses off to the stable, and says I to the head man, ‘A smart + little hoss that,’ sais I, ‘you are a cleaning of: he looks like a first + chop article that.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Y mae’,’ sais he. + </p> + <p> + “‘Hullo,’ sais I, ‘what in natur’ is this? Is it him that can’t speak + English, or me that can’t onderstand? for one on us is a fool, that’s + sartain. I’ll try him agin. + </p> + <p> + “So I sais to him, ‘He looks,’ sais I, ‘as if he’d trot a considerable + good stick, that horse,’ sais I, ‘I guess he is a goer.’ + </p> + <p> + “Y’ mae, ye un trotter da,’ sais he. + </p> + <p> + “‘Creation!’ sais I, ‘if this don’t beat gineral trainin’. I have heerd in + my time, broken French, broken Scotch, broken Irish, broken Yankee, broken + Nigger, and broken Indgin; but I have hearn two pure gene<i>wine</i> + languages to-day, and no mistake, rael rook, and rael Britton, and I don’t + exactly know which I like wus. It’s no use to stand talkin’ to this + critter. Good-bye,’ sais I. + </p> + <p> + “Now what do you think he said? Why, you would suppose he’d say good-bye + too, wouldn’t you? Well, he didn’t, nor nothin’ like it, but he jist ups, + and sais, ‘Forwelloaugh,’ he did, upon my soul. I never felt so stumpt + afore in all my life. Sais I, ‘Friend, here is half a dollar for you; it + arn’t often I’m brought to a dead stare, and when I am, I am willin’ to + pay for it.’ + </p> + <p> + “There’s two languages, Squire, that’s univarsal: the language of love, + and the language of money; the galls onderstand the one, and the men + onderstand the other, all the wide world over, from Canton to Niagara. I + no sooner showed him the half dollar, than it walked into his pocket, a + plaguy sight quicker than it will walk out, I guess. + </p> + <p> + “Sais I, ‘Friend, you’ve taken the consait out of me properly. Captain + Hall said there warn’t a man, woman, or child, in the whole of the + thirteen united univarsal worlds of our great Republic, that could speak + pure English, and I was a goin’ to kick him for it; but he is right, arter + all. There ain’t one livin’ soul on us can; I don’t believe they ever as + much as heerd it, for I never did, till this blessed day, and there are + few things I haven’t either see’d, or heern tell of. Yes, we can’t speak + English, do you take?’ ‘Dim comrag,’ sais he, which in Yankee, means, + “that’s no English,” and he stood, looked puzzled, and scratched his head, + rael hansum, ‘Dim comrag,’ sais he. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it made me larf spiteful. I felt kinder wicked, and as <i>I</i> had + a hat on, and I couldn’t scratch my head, I stood jist like him, clown + fashion, with my eyes wanderin’ and my mouth wide open, and put my hand + behind me, and scratched there; and I stared, and looked puzzled too, and + made the same identical vacant face he did, and repeated arter him slowly, + with another scratch, mocking him like, ‘Dim comrag.’ + </p> + <p> + “Such a pair o’ fools you never saw, Squire, since the last time you + shaved afore a lookin’ glass; and the stable boys larfed, and he larfed, + and I larfed, and it was the only larf I had all that juicy day. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I turns agin to the door; but it’s the old story over again—rain, + rain, rain; spatter, spatter, spatter,—‘I can’t stop here with these + true Brittons,’ sais I, ‘guess I’ll go and see the old Squire: he is in + his study.’ + </p> + <p> + “So I goes there: ‘Squire,’ sais I, ‘let me offer you a rael gene<i>wine</i> + Havana cigar; I can recommend it to you.’ He thanks me, he don’t smoke, + but plague take him, he don’t say, ‘If you are fond of smokin’, pray smoke + yourself.’ And he is writing I won’t interrupt him. + </p> + <p> + “‘Waiter, order me a post-chaise, to be here in the mornin’, when the + rooks wake.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Yes, Sir.’ + </p> + <p> + “Come, I’ll try the women folk in the drawin’-room, agin’. Ladies don’t + mind the rain here; they are used to it. It’s like the musk plant, arter + you put it to your nose once, you can’t smell it a second time. Oh what + beautiful galls they be! What a shame it is to bar a feller out such a day + as this. One on ‘em blushes like a red cabbage, when she speaks to me, + that’s the one, I reckon, I disturbed this mornin’. Cuss the rooks! I’ll + pyson them, and that won’t make no noise. + </p> + <p> + “She shows me the consarvitery. ‘Take care, Sir, your coat has caught this + geranium,’ and she onhitches it. ‘Stop, Sir, you’ll break this jilly + flower,’ and she lifts off the coat tail agin; in fact, it’s so crowded, + you can’t squeeze along, scarcely, without a doin’ of mischief somewhere + or another. + </p> + <p> + “Next time, she goes first, and then it’s my turn, ‘Stop, Miss,’ sais I, + ‘your frock has this rose tree over,’ and I loosens it; once more, ‘Miss, + this rose has got tangled,’ and I ontangles it from her furbeloes. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder what makes my hand shake so, and my heart it bumps so, it has + bust a button off. If I stay in this consarvitery, I shan’t consarve + myself long, that’s a fact, for this gall has put her whole team on, and + is a runnin’ me off the road. ‘Hullo! what’s that? Bell for dressin’ for + dinner.’ Thank Heavens! I shall escape from myself, and from this + beautiful critter, too, for I’m gettin’ spoony, and shall talk silly + presently. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t like to be left alone with a gall, it’s plaguy apt to set me a + soft sawderin’ and a courtin’. There’s a sort of nateral attraction like + in this world. Two ships in a calm, are sure to get up alongside of each + other, if there is no wind, and they have nothin’ to do, but look at each + other; natur’ does it. “Well, even, the tongs and the shovel, won’t stand + alone long; they’re sure to get on the same side of the fire, and be + sociable; one on ‘em has a loadstone and draws ‘tother, that’s sartain. If + that’s the case with hard-hearted things, like oak and iron, what is it + with tender hearted things like humans? Shut me up in a ‘sarvatory with a + hansum gall of a rainy day, and see if I don’t think she is the sweetest + flower in it. Yes, I am glad it is the dinner-bell, for I ain’t ready to + marry yet, and when I am, I guess I must get a gall where I got my hoss, + in Old Connecticut, and that state takes the shine off of all creation for + geese, galls and onions, that’s a fact. + </p> + <p> + “Well dinner won’t wait, so I ups agin once more near the rooks, to brush + up a bit; but there it is agin the same old tune, the whole blessed day, + rain, rain, rain. It’s rained all day and don’t talk of stoppin’ nother. + How I hate the sound, and how streaked I feel. I don’t mind its huskin’ my + voice, for there is no one to talk to, but cuss it, it has softened my + bones. + </p> + <p> + “Dinner is ready; the rain has damped every body’s spirits, and squenched + ‘em out; even champaign won’t raise ‘em agin; feedin’ is heavy, talk is + heavy, time is heavy, tea is heavy, and there ain’t musick; the only thing + that’s light is a bed room candle—heavens and airth how glad I am + this ‘<i>juicy day</i>’ is over!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. TYING A NIGHT-CAP. + </h2> + <p> + In the preceding sketch I have given Mr. Slick’s account of the English + climate, and his opinion of the dulness of a country house, as nearly as + possible in his own words. It struck me at the time that they were + exaggerated views; but if the weather were unpropitious, and the company + not well selected, I can easily conceive, that the impression on his mind + would be as strong and as unfavourable, as he has described it to have + been. + </p> + <p> + The climate of England is healthy, and, as it admits of much out-door + exercise, and is not subject to any very sudden variation, or violent + extremes of heat and cold, it may be said to be good, though not + agreeable; but its great humidity is very sensibly felt by Americans and + other foreigners accustomed to a dry atmosphere and clear sky. That Mr. + Slick should find a rainy day in the country dull, is not to be wondered + at; it is probable it would be so any where, to a man who had so few + resources, within himself, as the Attache. Much of course depends on the + inmates; and the company at the Shropshire house, to which he alludes, do + not appear to have been the best calculated to make the state of the + weather a matter of indifference to him. + </p> + <p> + I cannot say, but that I have at times suffered a depression of spirits + from the frequent, and sometimes long continued rains of this country; but + I do not know that, as an ardent admirer of scenery, I would desire less + humidity, if it diminished, as I fear it would, the extraordinary verdure + and great beauty of the English landscape. With respect to my own visits + at country houses, I have generally been fortunate in the weather, and + always in the company; but I can easily conceive, that a man situated as + Mr. Slick appears to have been with respect to both, would find the + combination intolerably dull. But to return to my narrative. + </p> + <p> + Early on the following day we accompanied our luggage to the wharf, where + a small steamer lay to convey us to the usual anchorage ground of the + packets, in the bay. We were attended by a large concourse of people. The + piety, learning, unaffected simplicity, and kind disposition of my + excellent friend, Mr. Hopewell, were well known and fully appreciated by + the people of New York, who were anxious to testify their respect for his + virtues, and their sympathy for his unmerited persecution, by a personal + escort and a cordial farewell. + </p> + <p> + “Are all those people going with us, Sam?” said he; “how pleasant it will + be to have so many old friends on board, won’t it?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Sir,” said the Attache, “they are only a goin’ to see you on board—it + is a mark of respect to you. They will go down to the “Tyler,” to take + their last farewell of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that’s kind now, ain’t it?” he replied. “I suppose they thought I + would feel kinder dull and melancholy like, on leaving my native land this + way; and I must say I don’t feel jist altogether right neither. Ever so + many things rise right up in my mind, not one arter another, but all + together like, so that I can’t take ‘em one by one and reason ‘em down, + but they jist overpower me by numbers. You understand me, Sam, don’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “Poor old critter!” said Mr. Slick to me in an under-tone, “it’s no wonder + he is sad, is it? I must try to cheer him up, if I can. Understand you, + minister!” said he, “to be sure I do. I have been that way often and + often. That was the case when I was to Lowel factories, with the galls a + taking of them off in the paintin’ line. The dear little critters kept up + such an everlastin’ almighty clatter, clatter, clatter; jabber, jabber, + jabber, all talkin’ and chatterin’ at once, you couldn’t hear no blessed + one of them; and they jist fairly stunned a feller. For nothin’ in natur’, + unless it be perpetual motion, can equal a woman’s tongue. It’s most a + pity we hadn’t some of the angeliferous little dears with us too, for they + do make the time pass quick, that’s a fact. I want some on ‘em to tie a + night-cap for me to-night; I don’t commonly wear one, but I somehow kinder + guess, I intend to have one this time, and no mistake.” + </p> + <p> + “A night-cap, Sam!” said he; “why what on airth do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I’ll tell you, minister,” said he, “you recollect sister Sall, don’t + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, I do,” said he, “and an excellent girl she is, a dutiful + daughter, and a kind and affectionate sister. Yes, she is a good girl is + Sally, a very good girl indeed; but what of her?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, she was a most a beautiful critter, to brew a glass of whiskey + toddy, as I ever see’d in all my travels was sister Sall, and I used to + call that tipple, when I took it late, a night-cap; apple jack and white + nose ain’t the smallest part of a circumstance to it. On such an occasion + as this, minister, when a body is leavin’ the greatest nation atween the + poles, to go among benighted, ignorant, insolent foreigners, you wouldn’t + object to a night-cap, now would you?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don’t know as I would, Sam,” said he; “parting from friends + whether temporally or for ever, is a sad thing, and the former is typical + of the latter. No, I do not know as I would. We may use these things, but + not abuse them. Be temperate, be moderate, but it is a sorry heart that + knows no pleasure. Take your night-cap, Sam, and then commend yourself to + His safe keeping, who rules the wind and the waves to Him who—” + </p> + <p> + “Well then, minister, what a dreadful awful looking thing a night-cap is + without a tassel, ain’t it? Oh! you must put a tassel on it, and that is + another glass. Well then, what is the use of a night-cap, if it has a + tassel on it, but has no string, it will slip off your head the very first + turn you take; and that is another glass you know. But one string won’t + tie a cap; one hand can’t shake hands along with itself: you must have two + strings to it, and that brings one glass more. Well then, what is the use + of two strings if they ain’t fastened? If you want to keep the cap on, it + must be tied, that’s sartain, and that is another go; and then, minister, + what an everlastin’ miserable stingy, ongenteel critter a feller must be, + that won’t drink to the health of the Female Brewer. Well, that’s another + glass to sweethearts and wives, and then turn in for sleep, and that’s + what I intend to do to-night. I guess I’ll tie the night-cap this hitch, + if I never do agin, and that’s a fact.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh Sam, Sam,” said Mr. Hopewell, “for a man that is wide awake and duly + sober, I never saw one yet that talked such nonsense as you do. You said, + you understood me, but you don’t, one mite or morsel; but men are made + differently, some people’s narves operate on the brain sens<i>itively</i> + and give them exquisite pain or excessive pleasure; other folks seem as if + they had no narves at all. You understand my words, but you don’t enter + into my feelings. Distressing images rise up in my mind in such rapid + succession, I can’t master them, but they master me. They come slower to + you, and the moment you see their shadows before you, you turn round to + the light, and throw these dark figures behind you. I can’t do that; I + could when I was younger, but I can’t now. Reason is comparing two ideas, + and drawing an inference. Insanity is, when you have such a rapid + succession of ideas, that you can’t compare them. How great then must be + the pain when you are almost pressed into insanity and yet retain your + reason? What is a broken heart? Is it death? I think it must be very like + it, if it is not a figure of speech, for I feel that my heart is broken, + and yet I am as sensitive to pain as ever. Nature cannot stand this + suffering long. You say these good people have come to take their last + farewell of me; most likely, Sam, it <i>is</i> a last farewell. I am an + old man now, I am well stricken in years; shall I ever live to see my + native land again? I know not, the Lord’s will be done! If I had a wish, I + should desire to return to be laid with my kindred, to repose in death + with those that were the companions of my earthly pilgrimage; but if it be + ordered otherwise. I am ready to say with truth and meekness, ‘Lord, now + lettest thou thy servant depart in peace.’” + </p> + <p> + When this excellent old man said that, Mr. Slick did not enter into his + feelings—he did not do him justice. His attachment to and veneration + for his aged pastor and friend were quite filial, and such as to do honour + to his head and heart. Those persons who have made character a study, will + all agree, that the cold exterior of the New England man arises from other + causes than a coldness of feeling; much of the rhodomontade of the + attache, addressed to Mr. Hopewell, was uttered for the kind purpose of + withdrawing his attention from those griefs which preyed so heavily upon + his spirits. + </p> + <p> + “Minister,” said Mr. Slick, “come, cheer up, it makes me kinder dismal to + hear you talk so. When Captain McKenzie hanged up them three free and + enlightened citizens of ours on board of the—Somers—he gave + ‘em three cheers. We are worth half a dozen dead men yet, so cheer up. + Talk to these friends of ourn, they might think you considerable starch if + you don’t talk, and talk is cheap, it don’t cost nothin’ but breath, a + scrape of your hind leg, and a jupe of the head, that’s a fact.” + </p> + <p> + Having thus engaged him in conversation with his friends, we proceeded on + board the steamer, which, in a short time, was alongside of the great + “Liner.” The day was now spent, and Mr. Hopewell having taken leave of his + escort, retired to his cabin, very much overpowered by his feelings. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Slick insisted on his companions taking a parting glass with him, and + I was much amused with the advice given him by some of his young friends + and admirers. He was cautioned to sustain the high character of the nation + abroad; to take care that he returned as he went—a true American; to + insist upon the possession of the Oregon Territory; to demand and enforce + his right position in society; to negotiate the national loan; and above + all never to accede to the right of search of slave-vessels; all which + having been duly promised, they took an affectionate leave of each other, + and we remained on board, intending to depart in the course of the + following morning. + </p> + <p> + As soon as they had gone, Mr. Slick ordered materials for brewing, namely: + whisky, hot water, sugar and lemon; and having duly prepared in regular + succession the cap, the tassel, and the two strings, filled his tumbler + again, and said, + </p> + <p> + “Come now, Squire, before we turn in, let us <i>tie the night-cap</i>.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. HOME AND THE SEA. + </h2> + <p> + At eleven o’clock the next day the Tyler having shaken out her pinions, + and spread them to the breeze, commenced at a rapid rate her long and + solitary voyage across the Atlantic. Object after object rose in rapid + succession into distinct view, was approached and passed, until leaving + the calm and sheltered waters of the bay, we emerged into the ocean, and + involuntarily turned to look back upon the land we had left. Long after + the lesser hills and low country had disappeared, a few ambitious peaks of + the highlands still met the eye, appearing as if they had advanced to the + very edge of the water, to prolong the view of us till the last moment. + </p> + <p> + This coast is a portion of my native continent, for though not a subject + of the Republic, I am still an American in its larger sense, having been + born in a British province in this hemisphere. I therefore sympathised + with the feelings of my two companions, whose straining eyes were still + fixed on those dim and distant specks in the horizon. + </p> + <p> + “There,” said Mr. Slick, rising from his seat, “I believe we have seen the + last of home till next time; and this I will say, it is the most glorious + country onder the sun; travel where you will, you won’t ditto it no where. + It is the toploftiest place in all creation, ain’t it, minister?” + </p> + <p> + There was no response to all this bombast. It was evident he had not been + heard; and turning to Mr. Hopewell, I observed his eyes were fixed + intently on the distance, and his mind pre-occupied by painful reflexions, + for tears were coursing after each other down his furrowed but placid + cheek. + </p> + <p> + “Squire,” said Mr. Slick to me, “this won’t do. We must not allow him to + dwell too long on the thoughts of leaving home, or he’ll droop like any + thing, and p’raps, hang his head and fade right away. He is aged and + feeble, and every thing depends on keeping up his spirits. An old plant + must be shaded, well watered, and tended, or you can’t transplant it no + how, you can fix it, that’s a fact. He won’t give ear to me now, for he + knows I can’t talk serious, if I was to try; but he will listen to <i>you</i>. + Try to cheer him up, and I will go down below and give you a chance.” + </p> + <p> + As soon as I addressed him, he started and said, “Oh! is it you, Squire? + come and sit down by me, my friend. I can talk to <i>you</i>, and I assure + you I take great pleasure in doing so I cannot always talk to Sam: he is + excited now; he is anticipating great pleasure from his visit to England, + and is quite boisterous in the exuberance of his spirits. I own I am + depressed at times; it is natural I should be, but I shall endeavour not + to be the cause of sadness in others. I not only like cheerfulness myself, + but I like to promote it; it is a sign of an innocent mind, and a heart in + peace with God and in charity with man. All nature is cheerful, its voice + is harmonious, and its countenance smiling; the very garb in which it is + clothed is gay; why then should man be an exception to every thing around + him? Sour sectarians, who address our fears, rather than our affections, + may say what they please, Sir, but mirth is not inconsistent with + religion, but rather an evidence that our religion is right. If I appear + dull, therefore, do not suppose it is because I think it necessary to be + so, but because certain reflections are natural to me as a clergyman, as a + man far advanced in years, and as a pilgrim who leaves his home at a + period of life, when the probabilities are, he may not be spared to + revisit it. + </p> + <p> + “I am like yourself, a colonist by birth. At the revolution I took no part + in the struggle; my profession and my habits both exempted me. Whether the + separation was justifiable or not, either on civil or religious + principles, it is not now necessary to discuss. It took place, however, + and the colonies became a nation, and after due consideration, I concluded + to dwell among mine own people. There I have continued, with the exception + of one or two short journeys for the benefit of my health, to the present + period. Parting with those whom I have known so long and loved so well, is + doubtless a trial to one whose heart is still warm, while his nerves are + weak, and whose affections are greater than his firmness. But I weary you + with this egotism?” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” I replied, “I am both instructed and delighted by your + conversation. Pray proceed, Sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Well it is kind, very kind of you,” said he, “to say so. I will explain + these sensations to you, and then endeavour never to allude to them again. + America is my birth-place and my home. Home has two significations, a + restricted one and an enlarged one; in its restricted sense, it is the + place of our abode, it includes our social circle, our parents, children, + and friends, and contains the living and the dead; the past and the + present generations of our race. By a very natural process, the scene of + our affections soon becomes identified with them, and a portion of our + regard is transferred from animate to inanimate objects. The streams on + which we sported, the mountains on which we clambered, the fields in which + we wandered, the school where we were instructed, the church where we + worshipped, the very bell whose pensive melancholy music recalled our + wandering steps in youth, awaken in after-years many a tender thought, + many a pleasing recollection, and appeal to the heart with the force and + eloquence of love. The country again contains all these things, the sphere + is widened, new objects are included, and this extension of the circle is + love of country. It is thus that the nation is said in an enlarged sense, + to be our home also. + </p> + <p> + “This love of country is both natural and laudable: so natural, that to + exclude a man from his country, is the greatest punishment that country + can inflict upon him; and so laudable, that when it becomes a principle of + action, it forms the hero and the patriot. How impressive, how beautiful, + how dignified was the answer of the Shunamite woman to Elisha, who in his + gratitude to her for her hospitality and kindness, made her a tender of + his interest at court. ‘Wouldst thou,’ said he, ‘be spoken for to the + king, or to the captain of the host?’—What an offer was that, to + gratify her ambition or flatter her pride!—‘I dwell,’ said she, + ‘among mine own people.’ What a characteristic answer! all history + furnishes no parallel to it. + </p> + <p> + “I too dwell ‘among my own people:’ my affections are there, and there + also is the sphere of my duties; and if I am depressed by the thoughts of + parting from ‘my people,’ I will do you the justice to believe, that you + would rather bear with its effects, than witness the absence of such + natural affection. + </p> + <p> + “But this is not the sole cause: independently of some afflictions of a + clerical nature in my late parish, to which it is not necessary to allude, + the contemplation of this vast and fathomless ocean, both from its novelty + and its grandeur, overwhelms me. At home I am fond of tracing the Creator + in his works. From the erratic comet in the firmament, to the flower that + blossoms in the field; in all animate, and inanimate matter; in all that + is animal, vegetable or mineral, I see His infinite wisdom, almighty + power, and everlasting glory. + </p> + <p> + “But that Home is inland; I have not beheld the sea now for many years. I + never saw it without emotion; I now view it with awe. What an emblem of + eternity!—Its dominion is alone reserved to Him, who made it. + Changing yet changeless—ever varying, yet always the same. How weak + and powerless is man! how short his span of life, when he is viewed in + connexion with the sea! He has left no trace upon it—it will not + receive the impress of his hands; it obeys no laws, but those imposed upon + it by Him, who called it into existence; generation after generation has + looked upon it as we now do—and where are they? Like yonder waves + that press upon each other in regular succession, they have passed away + for ever; and their nation, their language, their temples and their tombs + have perished with them. But there is the Undying one. When man was + formed, the voice of the ocean was heard, as it now is, speaking of its + mysteries, and proclaiming His glory, who alone lifteth its waves or + stilleth the rage thereof. + </p> + <p> + “And yet, my dear friend, for so you must allow me to call you, awful as + these considerations are, which it suggests, who are they that go down to + the sea in ships and occupy their business in great waters? The sordid + trader, and the armed and mercenary sailor: gold or blood is their object, + and the fear of God is not always in them. Yet the sea shall give up its + dead, as well as the grave; and all shall— + </p> + <p> + “But it is not my intention to preach to you. To intrude serious topics + upon our friends at all times, has a tendency to make both ourselves and + our topics distasteful. I mention these things to you, not that they are + not obvious to you and every other right-minded man, or that I think I can + clothe them in more attractive language, or utter them with more effect + than others; but merely to account for my absence of mind and evident air + of abstraction. I know my days are numbered, and in the nature of things, + that those that are left, cannot be many. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, therefore, I pray you, my friend; make allowances for an old + man, unaccustomed to leave home, and uncertain whether he shall ever be + permitted to return to it. I feel deeply and sensibly your kindness in + soliciting my company on this tour, and will endeavour so to regulate my + feelings as not to make you regret your invitation. I shall not again + recur to these topics, or trouble you with any further reflections ‘on + Home and the Sea.’” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. T’OTHER EEND OF THE GUN. + </h2> + <p> + “Squire,” said Mr. Hopewell, one morning when we were alone on the + quarter-deck, “sit down by me, if you please. I wish to have a little + private conversation with you. I am a good deal concerned about Sam. I + never liked this appointment he has received: neither his education, his + habits, nor his manners have qualified him for it. He is fitted for a + trader and for nothing else. He looks upon politics as he does upon his + traffic in clocks, rather as profitable to himself than beneficial to + others. Self is predominant with him. He overrates the importance of his + office, as he will find when he arrives in London; but what is still + worse, he overrates the importance of the opinions of others regarding the + States. + </p> + <p> + “He has been reading that foolish book of Cooper’s ‘Gleanings in Europe,’ + and intends to shew fight, he says. He called my attention, yesterday, to + this absurd passage, which he maintains is the most manly and sensible + thing that Cooper ever wrote: ‘This indifference to the feelings of + others, is a dark spot on the national manners of England. The only way to + put it down, is to become belligerent yourself, by introducing Pauperism, + Radicalism, Ireland, the Indies, or some other sore point. Like all who + make butts of others, they do not manifest the proper forbearance when the + tables are turned. Of this, I have had abundance of proof in my own + experience. Sometimes their remarks are absolutely rude, and personally + offensive, as a disregard of one’s national character, is a disrespect to + his principles; but as personal quarrels on such grounds are to be + avoided, I have uniformly retorted in kind, if there was the smallest + opening for such retaliation.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, every gentleman in the States repudiates such sentiments as these. + My object in mentioning the subject to you, is to request the favour of + you, to persuade Sam not to be too sensitive on these topics; not to take + offence, where it is not intended; and, above all, rather to vindicate his + nationality by his conduct, than to justify those aspersions, by his + intemperate behaviour. But here he comes; I shall withdraw and leave you + together.” + </p> + <p> + Fortunately, Mr. Slick commenced talking upon a topic, which naturally led + to that to which Mr. Hopewell had wished me to direct his attention. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Squire,” said he, “I am glad too, you are a goin’ to England along + with me: we will take a rise out of John Bull, won’t we?—We’ve hit + Blue-nose and Brother Jonathan both pretty considerable tarnation hard, + and John has split his sides with larfter. Let’s tickle him now, by + feeling his own short ribs, and see how he will like it; we’ll soon see + whose hide is the thickest, hisn or ourn, won’t we? Let’s see whether he + will say chee, chee, chee, when he gets to the t’other eend of the gun.” + </p> + <p> + “What is the meaning of that saying?” I asked. “I never heard it before.” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” said he, “when I was a considerable of a grown up saplin of a boy + to Slickville, I used to be a gunnin’ for everlastinly amost in our + hickory woods, a shootin’ of squirrels with a rifle, and I got amazin’ + expart at it. I could take the head off of them chatterin’ little imps, + when I got a fair shot at ‘em with a ball, at any reasonable distance, + a’most in nine cases out of ten. + </p> + <p> + “Well, one day I was out as usual, and our Irish help Paddy Burke was + along with me, and every time he see’d me a drawin’ of the bead fine on + ‘em, he used to say, ‘Well, you’ve an excellent gun entirely, Master Sam. + Oh by Jakers! the squirrel has no chance with that gun, it’s an excellent + one entirely.’ + </p> + <p> + “At last I got tired a hearin’ of him a jawin’ so for ever and a day about + the excellent gun entirely; so, sais I, ‘You fool you, do you think it’s + the gun that does it <i>entirely</i> as you say; ain’t there a little dust + of skill in it? Do you think you could fetch one down?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Oh, it’s a capital gun entirely,’ said he. + </p> + <p> + “‘Well,’ said I, ‘if it ‘tis, try it now, and see what sort of a fist + you’ll make of it.’ + </p> + <p> + “So Paddy takes the rifle, lookin’ as knowin’ all the time as if he had + ever seed one afore. Well, there was a great red squirrel, on the tip-top + of a limb, chatterin’ away like any thing, chee, chee, chee, proper + frightened; he know’d it warn’t me, that was a parsecutin’ of him, and he + expected he’d be hurt. They know’d me, did the little critters, when they + seed me, and they know’d I never had hurt one on ‘em, my balls never + givin’ ‘em a chance to feel what was the matter of them; but Pat they + didn’t know, and they see’d he warn’t the man to handle ‘old Bull-Dog.’ I + used to call my rifle Bull-Dog, cause she always bit afore she barked. + </p> + <p> + “Pat threw one foot out astarn, like a skullin’ oar, and then bent + forrards like a hoop, and fetched the rifle slowly up to the line, and + shot to the right eye. Chee, chee, chee, went the squirrel. He see’d it + was wrong. ‘By the powers!’ sais Pat, ‘this is a left-handed boot,’ and he + brought the gun to the other shoulder, and then shot to his left eye. + ‘Fegs!’ sais Pat, ‘this gun was made for a squint eye, for I can’t get a + right strait sight of the critter, either side.’ So I fixt it for him and + told him which eye to sight by. ‘An excellent gun entirely,’ sais Pat, + ‘but it tante made like the rifles we have.’ + </p> + <p> + “Ain’t they strange critters, them Irish, Squire? That feller never + handled a rifle afore in all his born days; but unless it was to a priest, + he wouldn’t confess that much for the world. They are as bad as the + English that way; they always pretend they know every thing. + </p> + <p> + “‘Come, Pat,’ sais I, ‘blaze away now.’ Back goes the hind leg agin, up + bends the back, and Bull-Dog rises slowly to his shoulder; and then he + stared, and stared, until his arm shook like palsy. Chee, chee, chee, went + the squirrel agin, louder than ever, as much as to say, ‘Why the plague + don’t you fire? I’m not a goin’ to stand here all day, for you this way,’ + and then throwin’ his tail over his back, he jumped on to the next branch. + </p> + <p> + “‘By the piper that played before Moses!’ sais Pat, ‘I’ll stop your chee, + chee, cheein’ for you, you chatterin’ spalpeen of a devil, you’. So he ups + with the rifle agin, takes a fair aim at him, shuts both eyes, turns his + head round, and fires; and “Bull-Dog,” findin’ he didn’t know how to hold + her tight to the shoulder, got mad, and kicked him head over heels, on the + broad of his back. Pat got up, a makin’ awful wry faces, and began to + limp, to show how lame his shoulder was, and to rub his arm, to see if he + had one left, and the squirrel ran about the tree hoppin’ mad, hollerin’ + out as loud as it could scream, chee, chee, chee. + </p> + <p> + “‘Oh bad luck to you,’ sais Pat, ‘if you had a been at t’other eend of the + gun,’ and he rubbed his shoulder agin, and cried like a baby, ‘you + wouldn’t have said chee, chee, chee, that way, I know.’ + </p> + <p> + “Now when your gun, Squire, was a knockin’ over Blue-nose, and makin’ a + proper fool of him, and a knockin’ over Jonathan, and a spilin’ of his + bran-new clothes, the English sung out chee, chee, chee, till all was blue + agin. You had an excellent gun entirely then: let’s see if they will sing + out chee, chee, chee, now, when we take a shot at <i>them</i>. Do you + take?” and he laid his thumb on his nose, as if perfectly satisfied with + the application of his story. “Do you take, Squire? you have an excellent + gun entirely, as Pat says. It’s what I call puttin’ the leake into ‘em + properly. If you had a written this book fust, the English would have said + your gun was no good; it wouldn’t have been like the rifles they had seen. + Lord, I could tell you stories about the English, that would make even + them cryin’ devils the Mississippi crocodiles laugh, if they was to hear + ‘em.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, Mr. Slick,” I said, “this is not the temper with which you + should visit England.” + </p> + <p> + “What is the temper,” he replied with much warmth, “that they visit us in? + Cuss ‘em! Look at Dickens; was there ever a man made so much of, except La + Fayette? And who was Dickens? Not a Frenchman that is a friend to us, not + a native that has a claim on us; not a colonist, who, though English by + name is still an American by birth, six of one and half a dozen of + t’other, and therefore a kind of half-breed brother. No! he was a cussed + Britisher; and what is wus, a British author; and yet, because he was a + man of genius, because genius has the ‘tarnal globe for its theme, and the + world for its home, and mankind for its readers, and bean’t a citizen of + this state or that state, but a native of the univarse, why we welcomed + him, and feasted him, and leveed him, and escorted him, and cheered him, + and honoured him, did he honour us? What did he say of us when he + returned? Read his book. + </p> + <p> + “No, don’t read his book, for it tante worth readin’. Has he said one word + of all that reception in his book? that book that will be read, + translated, and read agin all over Europe—has he said one word of + that reception? Answer me that, will you? Darned the word, his memory was + bad; he lost it over the tafrail when he was sea-sick. But his notebook + was safe under lock and key, and the pigs in New York, and the chap the + rats eat in jail, and the rough man from Kentucky, and the entire raft of + galls emprisoned in one night, and the spittin’ boxes and all that stuff, + warn’t trusted to memory, it was noted down, and printed. + </p> + <p> + “But it tante no matter. Let any man give me any sarce in England, about + my country, or not give me the right <i>po</i>-sition in society, as + Attache to our Legation, and, as Cooper says, I’ll become belligerent, + too, I will, I snore. I can snuff a candle with a pistol as fast as you + can light it; hang up an orange, and I’ll first peel it with ball and then + quarter it. Heavens! I’ll let daylight dawn through some o’ their jackets, + I know. + </p> + <p> + “Jube, you infarnal black scoundrel, you odoriferous nigger you, what’s + that you’ve got there?” + </p> + <p> + “An apple, massa.” + </p> + <p> + “Take off your cap and put that apple on your head, then stand sideways by + that port-hole, and hold steady, or you might stand a smart chance to have + your wool carded, that’s all.” + </p> + <p> + Then taking a pistol out of the side-pocket of his mackintosh, he + deliberately walked over to the other side of the deck, and examined his + priming. + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens, Mr. Slick!” said I in great alarm, “what are you about?” + </p> + <p> + “I am goin’,” he said with the greatest coolness, but at the same time + with equal sternness, “to bore a hole through that apple, Sir.” + </p> + <p> + “For shame! Sir,” I said. “How can you think of such a thing? Suppose you + were to miss your shot, and kill that unfortunate boy?” + </p> + <p> + “I won’t suppose no such thing, Sir. I can’t miss it. I couldn’t miss it + if I was to try. Hold your head steady, Jube—and if I did, it’s no + great matter. The onsarcumcised Amalikite ain’t worth over three hundred + dollars at the furthest, that’s a fact; and the way he’d pyson a shark + ain’t no matter. Are you ready, Jube?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, massa.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall do no such thing, Sir,” I said, seizing his arm with both my + hands. “If you attempt to shoot at that apple, I shall hold no further + intercourse with you. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Ky! massa,” said Jube, “let him fire, Sar; he no hurt Jube; he no foozle + de hair. I isn’t one mossel afeerd. He often do it, jist to keep him hand + in, Sar. Massa most a grand shot, Sar. He take off de ear oh de squirrel + so slick, he neber miss it, till he go scratchin’ his head. Let him appel + hab it, massa.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” said Mr. Slick, “he is a Christian is Jube, he is as good as a + white Britisher: same flesh, only a leetle, jist a leetle darker; same + blood, only not quite so old, ain’t quite so much tarter on the bottle as + a lord’s has; oh him and a Britisher is all one brother—oh by all + means— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Him fader’s hope—him mudder’s joy, + Him darlin little nigger boy. +</pre> + <p> + You’d better cry over him, hadn’t you. Buss him, call him brother, hug + him, give him the “Abolition” kiss, write an article on slavery, like + Dickens; marry him to a white gall to England, get him a saint’s darter + with a good fortin, and well soon see whether her father was a talkin’ + cant or no, about niggers. Cuss ‘em, let any o’ these Britishers give me + slack, and I’ll give ‘em cranberry for their goose, I know. I’d jump right + down their throat with spurs on, and gallop their sarce out.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Slick I’ve done; I shall say no more; we part, and part for ever. I + had no idea whatever, that a man, whose whole conduct has evinced a kind + heart, and cheerful disposition, could have entertained such a revengeful + spirit, or given utterance to such unchristian and uncharitable language, + as you have used to-day. We part”— + </p> + <p> + “No, we don’t,” said he; “don’t kick afore you are spurred. I guess I have + feelins as well as other folks have, that’s a fact; one can’t help being + ryled to hear foreigners talk this way; and these critters are enough to + make a man spotty on the back. I won’t deny I’ve got some grit, but I + ain’t ugly. Pat me on the back and I soon cool down, drop in a soft word + and I won’t bile over; but don’t talk big, don’t threaten, or I curl + directly.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Slick,” said I, “neither my countrymen, the Nova Scotians, nor your + friends, the Americans, took any thing amiss, in our previous remarks, + because, though satirical, they were good natured. There was nothing + malicious in them. They were not made for the mere purpose of shewing them + up, but were incidental to the topic we were discussing, and their whole + tenor shewed that while “we were alive to the ludicrous, we fully + appreciated, and properly valued their many excellent and sterling + qualities. My countrymen, for whose good I published them, had the most + reason to complain, for I took the liberty to apply ridicule to them with + no sparing hand. They understood the motive, and joined in the laugh, + which was raised at their expense. Let us treat the English in the same + style; let us keep our temper. John Bull is a good-natured fellow, and has + no objection to a joke, provided it is not made the vehicle of conveying + an insult. Don’t adopt Cooper’s maxims; nobody approves of them, on either + side of the water; don’t be too thin-skinned. If the English have been + amused by the sketches their tourists have drawn of, the Yankees, perhaps + the Americans may laugh over our sketches of the English. Let us make both + of them smile, if we can, and endeavour to offend neither. If Dickens + omitted to mention the festivals that were given in honour of his arrival + in the States, he was doubtless actuated by a desire to avoid the + appearance of personal vanity. A man cannot well make himself the hero of + his own book.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well,” said he, “I believe the black ox did tread on my toe that + time. I don’t know but what you’re right. Soft words are good enough in + their way, but still they butter no parsnips, as the sayin’ is. John may + be a good-natured critter, tho’ I never see’d any of it yet; and he may be + fond of a joke, and p’raps is, seein’ that he haw-haws considerable loud + at his own. Let’s try him at all events. We’ll soon see how he likes other + folks’ jokes; I have my scruple about him, I must say. I am dubersome + whether he will say ‘chee, chee, chee’ when he gets ‘T’other eend of the + gun.’” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. SMALL POTATOES AND FEW IN A HILL. + </h2> + <p> + “Pray Sir,” said one of my fellow passengers, “can you tell me why the + Nova Scotians are called ‘Blue-noses?’” + </p> + <p> + “It is the name of a potatoe,” said I, “which they produce in great + perfection, and boast to be the best in the world. The Americans have, in + consequence, given them the nick-name of “Blue-noses.’” + </p> + <p> + “And now,” said Mr. Slick,” as you have told the entire stranger, <i>who</i> + a Blue-nose is, I’ll jist up and tell him <i>what</i> he is. + </p> + <p> + “One day, Stranger, I was a joggin’ along into Windsor on Old Clay, on a + sort of butter and eggs’ gait (for a fast walk on a journey tires a horse + considerable), and who should I see a settin’ straddle legs “on the fence, + but Squire Gabriel Soogit, with his coat off, a holdin’ of a hoe in one + hand, and his hat in t’other, and a blowin’ like a porpus proper tired. + </p> + <p> + “‘Why, Squire Gabe,’ sais I, ‘what is the matter of you? you look as if + you couldn’t help yourself; who is dead and what is to pay now, eh?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Fairly beat out,’ said he, ‘I am shockin’ tired. I’ve been hard at work + all the mornin’; a body has to stir about considerable smart in this + country, to make a livin’, I tell you.’ + </p> + <p> + “I looked over the fence, and I seed he had hoed jist ten hills of + potatoes, and that’s all. Fact I assure you. + </p> + <p> + “Sais he, ‘Mr. Slick, tell you what, <i>of all the work I ever did in my + life I like hoein’ potatoes the best, and I’d rather die than do that, it + makes my back ache so</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Good airth” and seas,’ sais I to myself, ‘what a parfect pictur of a + lazy man that is! How far is it to Windsor?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Three miles,’ sais he. I took out my pocket-book purtendin’ to write + down the distance, but I booked his sayin’ in my way-bill. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, <i>that</i> is a <i>Blue-nose</i>; is it any wonder, Stranger, he <i>is + small potatoes and few in a hill</i>?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. A GENTLEMAN AT LARGE. + </h2> + <p> + It is not my intention to record any of the ordinary incidents of a sea + voyage: the subject is too hackneyed and too trite; and besides, when the + topic is seasickness, it is infectious and the description nauseates. <i>Hominem + pagina nostra sapit</i>. The proper study of mankind is man; human nature + is what I delight in contemplating; I love to trace out and delineate the + springs of human action. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Slick and Mr. Hopewell are both studies. The former is a perfect + master of certain chords; He has practised upon them, not for + philosophical, but for mercenary purposes. He knows the depth, and + strength, and tone of vanity, curiosity, pride, envy, avarice, + superstition, nationality, and local and general prejudice. He has learned + the effect of these, not because they contribute to make him wiser, but + because they make him richer; not to enable him to regulate his conduct in + life, but to promote and secure the increase of his trade. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hopewell, on the contrary, has studied the human heart as a + philanthropist, as a man whose business it was to minister to it, to + cultivate and improve it. His views are more sound and more comprehensive + than those of the other’s, and his objects are more noble. They are both + extraordinary men. + </p> + <p> + They differed, however, materially in their opinion of England and its + institutions. Mr. Slick evidently viewed them with prejudice. Whether this + arose from the supercilious manner of English tourists in America, or from + the ridicule they have thrown upon Republican society, in the books of + travels they have published, after their return to Europe, I could not + discover; but it soon became manifest to me, that Great Britain did not + stand so high in his estimation, as the colonies did. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hopewell, on the contrary, from early associations, cherished a + feeling of regard and respect for England; and when his opinion was asked, + he always gave it with great frankness and impartiality. When there was + any thing he could not approve of, it appeared to be a subject of regret + to him; whereas, the other seized upon it at once as a matter of great + exultation. The first sight we had of land naturally called out their + respective opinions. + </p> + <p> + As we were pacing the deck speculating upon the probable termination of + our voyage, Cape Clear was descried by the look-out on the mast-head. + </p> + <p> + “Hallo! what’s that? why if it ain’t land ahead, as I’m alive!” said Mr. + Slick. “Well, come this is pleasant too, we have made amost an everlastin’ + short voyage of it, hante we; and I must say I like land quite as well as + sea, in a giniral way, arter all; but, Squire, here is the first + Britisher. That critter that’s a clawin’ up the side of the vessel like a + cat, is the pilot: now do for goodness gracious sake, jist look at him, + and hear him.” + </p> + <p> + “What port?” + </p> + <p> + “Liverpool.” + </p> + <p> + “Keep her up a point.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you hear that, Squire? that’s English, or what we used to call to + singing school short metre. The critter don’t say a word, even as much as + ‘by your leave’; but jist goes and takes his post, and don’t ask the name + of the vessel, or pass the time o’ day with the Captin. That ain’t in the + bill, it tante paid for that; if it was, he’d off cap, touch the deck + three times with his forehead, and ‘<i>Slam</i>’ like a Turk to his Honour + the Skipper. + </p> + <p> + “There’s plenty of civility here to England if you pay for it: you can buy + as much in five minits, as will make you sick for a week; but if you don’t + pay for it, you not only won’t get it, but you get sarce instead of it, + that is if you are fool enough to stand and have it rubbed in. They are as + cold as Presbyterian charity, and mean enough to put the sun in eclipse, + are the English. They hante set up the brazen image here to worship, but + they’ve got a gold one, and that they do adore and no mistake; it’s all + pay, pay, pay; parquisite, parquisite, parquisite; extortion, extortion, + extortion. There is a whole pack of yelpin’ devils to your heels here, for + everlastinly a cringin’, fawnin’ and coaxin’, or snarlin’, grumblin’ or + bullyin’ you out of your money. There’s the boatman, and tide-waiter, and + porter, and custom-er, and truck man as soon as you land; and the + sarvant-man, and chamber-gall, and boots, and porter again to the inn. And + then on the road, there is trunk-lifter, and coachman, and guard, and + beggar-man, and a critter that opens the coach door, that they calls a + waterman, cause he is infarnal dirty, and never sees water. They are jist + like a snarl o’ snakes, their name is legion and there ain’t no eend to + ‘em. + </p> + <p> + “The only thing you get for nothin’ here is rain and smoke, the rumatiz, + and scorny airs. If you could buy an Englishman at what he was worth, and + sell him at his own valiation, he would realise as much as a nigger, and + would be worth tradin’ in, that’s a fact; but as it is he ain’t worth + nothin’, there is no market for such critters, no one would buy him at no + price. A Scotchman is wus, for he is prouder and meaner. Pat ain’t no + better nother; he ain’t proud, cause he has a hole in his breeches and + another in his elbow, and he thinks pride won’t patch ‘em, and he ain’t + mean cause he hante got nothin’ to be mean with. Whether it takes nine + tailors to make a man, I can’t jist exactly say, but this I will say, and + take my davy of it too, that it would take three such goneys as these to + make a pattern for one of our rael genu<i>wine</i> free and enlightened + citizens, and then I wouldn’t swap without large boot, I tell you. Guess + I’ll go, and pack up my fixing and have ‘em ready to land.” + </p> + <p> + He now went below, leaving Mr. Hopewell and myself on the deck. All this + tirade of Mr. Slick was uttered in the hearing of the pilot, and intended + rather for his conciliation, than my instruction. The pilot was + immoveable; he let the cause against his country go “by default,” and left + us to our process of “inquiry;” but when Mr. Slick was in the act of + descending to the cabin, he turned and gave him a look of admeasurement, + very similar to that which a grazier gives an ox; a look which estimates + the weight and value of the animal, and I am bound to admit, that the + result of that “sizing or laying” as it is technically called, was by no + means favourable to the Attache”. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hopewell had evidently not attended to it; his eye was fixed on the + bold and precipitous shore of Wales, and the lofty summits of the + everlasting hills, that in the distance, aspired to a companionship with + the clouds. I took my seat at a little distance from him and surveyed the + scene with mingled feelings of curiosity and admiration, until a thick + volume of sulphureous smoke from the copper furnaces of Anglesey + intercepted our view. + </p> + <p> + “Squire,” said he, “it is impossible for us to contemplate this country, + that now lies before us, without strong emotion. It is our fatherland. I + recollect when I was a colonist, as you are, we were in the habit of + applying to it, in common with Englishmen, that endearing appellation + “Home,” and I believe you still continue to do so in the provinces. Our + nursery tales, taught our infant lips to lisp in English, and the ballads, + that first exercised our memories, stored the mind with the traditions of + our forefathers; their literature was our literature, their religion our + religion, their history our history. The battle of Hastings, the murder of + Becket, the signature of Runymede, the execution at Whitehall; the + divines, the poets, the orators, the heroes, the martyrs, each and all + were familiar to us. + </p> + <p> + “In approaching this country now, after a lapse of many, many years, and + approaching it too for the last time, for mine eyes shall see it no more, + I cannot describe to you the feelings that agitate my heart. I go to visit + the tombs of my ancestors; I go to my home, and my home knoweth me no + more. Great and good, and brave and free are the English; and may God + grant that they may ever continue so!” + </p> + <p> + “I cordially join in that prayer, Sir,” said I; “you have a country of + your own. The old colonies having ripened into maturity, formed a distinct + and separate family, in the great community of mankind. You are now a + nation of yourselves, and your attachment to England, is of course + subordinate to that of your own country; you view it as the place that was + in days of yore the home of your forefathers; we regard it as the paternal + estate, continuing to call it ‘Home’ as you have just now observed. We owe + it a debt of gratitude that not only cannot be repaid, but is too great + for expression. Their armies protect us within, and their fleets defend + us, and our commerce without. Their government is not only paternal and + indulgent, but is wholly gratuitous. We neither pay these forces, nor feed + them, nor clothe them. We not only raise no taxes, but are not expected to + do so. The blessings of true religion are diffused among us, by the pious + liberality of England, and a collegiate establishment at Windsor, + supported by British friends, has for years supplied the Church, the Bar + and the Legislature with scholars and gentlemen. Where the national funds + have failed, private contribution has volunteered its aid, and means are + never wanting for any useful or beneficial object. + </p> + <p> + “Our condition is a most enviable one. The history of the world has no + example to offer of such noble disinterestedness and such liberal rule, as + that exhibited by Great Britain to her colonies. If the policy of the + Colonial Office is not always good (which I fear is too much to say) it is + ever liberal; and if we do not mutually derive all the benefit we might + from the connexion, <i>we</i>, at least, reap more solid advantages than + we have a right to expect, and more, I am afraid, than our conduct always + deserves. I hope the Secretary for the Colonies may have the advantage of + making your acquaintance, Sir. Your experience is so great, you might give + him a vast deal of useful information, which he could obtain from no one + else. + </p> + <p> + “Minister,” said Mr. Slick, who had just mounted the companion-ladder, + “will your honour,” touching his hat, “jist look at your honour’s plunder, + and see it’s all right; remember me, Sir; thank your honour. This way, + Sir; let me help your honour down. Remember me again, Sir. Thank your + honour. Now you may go and break your neck, your honour, as soon as you + please; for I’ve got all out of you I can squeeze, that’s a fact. That’s + English, Squire—that’s English servility, which they call civility, + and English meanness and beggin’, which they call parquisite. Who was that + you wanted to see the Minister, that I heerd you a talkin’ of when I come + on deck?” + </p> + <p> + “The Secretary of the Colonies,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh for goodness sake don’t send that crittur to him,” said he, “or + minister will have to pay him for his visit, more, p’raps, than he can + afford. John Russell, that had the ribbons afore him, appointed a settler + as a member of Legislative Council to Prince Edward’s Island, a berth that + has no pay, that takes a feller three months a year from home, and has a + horrid sight to do; and what do you think he did? Now jist guess. You give + it up, do you? Well, you might as well, for if you was five Yankees biled + down to one, you wouldn’t guess it. ‘Remember Secretary’s clerk,’ says he, + a touchin’ of his hat, ‘give him a little tip of thirty pound sterling, + your honour.’ Well, colonist had a drop of Yankee blood in him, which was + about one third molasses, and, of course, one third more of a man than + they commonly is, and so he jist ups and says, ‘I’ll see you and your + clerk to Jericho beyond Jordan fust. The office ain’t worth the fee. Take + it and sell it to some one else that has more money nor wit.’ He did, upon + my soul.” + </p> + <p> + “No, don’t send State-Secretary to Minister, send him to me at eleven + o’clock to-night, for I shall be the toploftiest feller about that time + you’ve seen this while past, I tell you. Stop till I touch land once more, + that’s all; the way I’ll stretch my legs ain’t no matter.” + </p> + <p> + He then uttered the negro ejaculation “chah!—chah!” and putting his + arms a-kimbo, danced in a most extraordinary style to the music of a song, + which he gave with great expression: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Oh hab you nebber heerd ob de battle ob Orleens, + Where de dandy Yankee lads gave de Britishers de beans; + Oh de Louisiana boys dey did it pretty slick, + When dey cotch ole Packenham and rode him up a creek. + Wee my zippy dooden dooden dooden, dooden dooden dey, + Wee my zippy dooden dooden dooden, dooden dooden dey. +</pre> + <p> + “Oh yes, send Secretary to me at eleven or twelve to-night, I’ll be in + tune then, jist about up to concart pitch. I’ll smoke with him, or drink + with him, or swap stories with him, or wrastle with him, or make a fool of + him, or lick him, or any thing he likes; and when I’ve done, I’ll rise up, + tweak the fore-top-knot of my head by the nose, bow pretty, and say + ‘Remember me, your honour? Don’t forget the tip?’ Lord, how I long to walk + into some o’ these chaps, and give ‘em the beans! and I will yet afore I’m + many days older, hang me if I don’t. I shall bust, I do expect; and if I + do, them that ain’t drownded will be scalded, I know. Chah!—chah! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Oh de British name is Bull, and de French name is Frog, + And noisy critters too, when a braggin’ on a log,— + But I is an alligator, a floatin’ down stream. + And I’ll chaw both the bullies up, as I would an ice-cream: + Wee my zippy dooden dooden dooden, dooden dooden dee, + Wee my zippy dooden dooden dooden, dooden dooden dee. +</pre> + <p> + “Yes, I’ve been pent up in that drawer-like lookin’ berth, till I’ve + growed like a pine-tree with its branches off—straight up and down. + My legs is like a pair of compasses that’s got wet; they are rusty on the + hinges, and won’t work. I’ll play leapfrog up the street, over every + feller’s head, till I get to the Liners’ Hotel; I hope I may be shot if I + don’t. Jube, you villain, stand still there on the deck, and hold up + stiff, you nigger. Warny once—warny twice—warny three times; + now I come.” + </p> + <p> + And he ran forward, and putting a hand on each shoulder, jumped over him. + </p> + <p> + “Turn round agin, you young sucking Satan, you; and don’t give one mite or + morsel, or you might ‘break massa’s precious neck,’ p’raps. Warny once—warny + twice—warny three times.” + </p> + <p> + And he repeated the feat again. + </p> + <p> + “That’s the way I’ll shin it up street, with a hop, skip and a jump. Won’t + I make Old Bull stare, when he finds his head under my coat tails, and me + jist makin’ a lever of him? He’ll think he has run foul of a snag, <i>I</i> + know. Lord, I’ll shack right over their heads, as they do over a colonist; + only when they do, they never say warny wunst, cuss ‘em, they arn’t civil + enough for that. They arn’t paid for it—there is no parquisite to be + got by it. Won’t I tuck in the Champaine to-night, that’s all, till I get + the steam up right, and make the paddles work? Won’t I have a lark of the + rael Kentuck breed? Won’t I trip up a policeman’s heels, thunder the + knockers of the street doors, and ring the bells and leave no card? Won’t + I have a shy at a lamp, and then off hot foot to the hotel? Won’t I say, + ‘Waiter, how dare you do that?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘What, Sir?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Tread on my foot.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘I didn’t, Sir.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘You did, Sir. Take that!’ knock him down like wink, and help him up on + his feet agin with a kick on his western eend. Kiss the barmaid, about the + quickest and wickedest she ever heerd tell of, and then off to bed as + sober as a judge. ‘Chambermaid, bring a pan of coals and air my bed.’ + ‘Yes, Sir.’ Foller close at her heels, jist put a hand on each short rib, + tickle her till she spills the red hot coals all over the floor, and + begins to cry over ‘em to put ‘em out, whip the candle out of her hand, + leave her to her lamentations, and then off to roost in no time. And when + I get there, won’t I strike out all abroad—take up the room of three + men with their clothes on—lay all over and over the bed, and feel + once more I am a free man and a ‘<i>Gentleman at large</i>.’” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. SEEING LIVERPOOL. + </h2> + <p> + On looking back to any given period of our life, we generally find that + the intervening time appears much shorter than it really is. We see at + once the starting-post and the terminus, and the mind takes in at one view + the entire space. + </p> + <p> + But this observation is more peculiarly applicable to a short passage + across the Atlantic. Knowing how great the distance is, and accustomed to + consider the voyage as the work of many weeks, we are so astonished at + finding ourselves transported in a few days, from one continent to + another, that we can hardly credit the evidence of our own senses. + </p> + <p> + Who is there that on landing has not asked himself the question, “Is it + possible that I am in England? It seems but as yesterday that I was in + America, to-day I am in Europe. Is it a dream, or a reality?” + </p> + <p> + The river and the docks—the country and the town—the people + and their accent—the verdure and the climate are all new to me. I + have not been prepared for this; I have not been led on imperceptibly, by + travelling mile after mile by land from my own home, to accustom my senses + to the gradual change of country. There has been no border to pass, where + the language, the dress, the habits, and outward appearances assimilate. + There has been no blending of colours—no dissolving views in the + retrospect—no opening or expanding ones in prospect. I have no + difficulty in ascertaining the point where one terminates and the other + begins. + </p> + <p> + The change is sudden and startling. The last time I slept on shore, was in + America—to-night I sleep in England. The effect is magical—one + country is withdrawn from view, and another is suddenly presented to my + astonished gaze. I am bewildered; I rouse myself, and rubbing my eyes, + again ask whether I am awake? Is this England? that great country, that + world of itself; Old England, that place I was taught to call home <i>par + excellence</i>, the home of other homes, whose flag, I called our flag? + (no, I am wrong, I have been accustomed to call our flag, the flag of + England; our church, not the Church of Nova Scotia, nor the Colonial nor + the Episcopal, nor the Established, but the Church of England.) Is it then + that England, whose language I speak, whose subject I am, the mistress of + the world, the country of Kings and Queens, and nobles and prelates, and + sages and heroes? + </p> + <p> + I have read of it, so have I read of old Rome; but the sight of Rome, + Caesar and the senate would not astonish me more than that of London, the + Queen and the Parliament. Both are yet ideal; the imagination has sketched + them, but when were its sketches ever true to nature? I have a veneration + for both, but, gentle reader, excuse the confessions of an old man, for I + have a soft spot in the heart yet, <i>I love Old England</i>. I love its + institutions, its literature, its people. I love its law, because, while + it protects property, it ensures liberty. I love its church, not only + because I believe it is the true church, but because though armed with + power, it is tolerant in practice. I love its constitution, because it + combines the stability of a monarchy, with the most valuable peculiarities + of a republic, and without violating nature by attempting to make men + equal, wisely follow its dictates, by securing freedom to all. + </p> + <p> + I like the people, though not all in the same degree. They are not what + they were. Dissent, reform and agitation have altered their character. It + is necessary to distinguish. A <i>real</i> Englishman is generous, loyal + and brave, manly in his conduct and gentlemanly in his feeling. When I + meet such a man as this, I cannot but respect him; but when I find that in + addition to these good qualities, he has the further recommendation of + being a churchman in his religion and a tory in his politics, I know then + that his heart is in the right place, and I love him. + </p> + <p> + The drafts of these chapters were read to Mr. Slick, at his particular + request, that he might be assured they contained nothing that would injure + his election as President of the United States, in the event of the + Slickville ticket becoming hereafter the favourite one. This, he said, was + on the cards, strange as it might seem, for making a fool of John Bull and + turning the laugh on him, would be sure to take and be popular. The last + paragraphs, he said, he affectioned and approbated with all his heart. + </p> + <p> + “It is rather tall talkin’ that,” said he; “I like its patronisin’ tone. + There is sunthin’ goodish in a colonist patronisin’ a Britisher. It’s + turnin’ the tables on ‘em; it’s sarvin’ ‘em out in their own way. Lord, I + think I see old Bull put his eye-glass up and look at you, with a dead + aim, and hear him say, ‘Come, this is cuttin’ it rather fat.’ Or, as the + feller said to his second wife, when she tapped him on the shoulder, + ‘Marm, my first wife was a <i>Pursy</i>, and she never presumed to take + that liberty.’ Yes, that’s good, Squire. Go it, my shirt-tails! you’ll win + if you get in fust, see if you don’t. Patronizin’ a Britisher!!! A critter + that has Lucifer’s pride, Arkwright’s wealth, and Bedlam’s sense, ain’t it + rich? Oh, wake snakes and walk your chalks, will you! Give me your + figgery-four Squire, I’ll go in up to the handle for you. Hit or miss, + rough or tumble, claw or mud-scraper, any way, you damn please, I’m your + man.” + </p> + <p> + But to return to my narrative. I was under the necessity of devoting the + day next after our landing at Liverpool, to writing letters announcing my + safe arrival to my anxious friends in Nova Scotia, and in different parts + of England; and also some few on matters of business. Mr. Slick was very + urgent in his request, that I should defer this work till the evening, and + accompany him in a stroll about the town, and at last became quite peevish + at my reiterated refusal. + </p> + <p> + “You remind me, Squire,” said he, “of Rufus Dodge, our great ile marchant + of Boston, and as you won’t walk, p’raps you’ll talk, so I’ll jist tell + you the story. + </p> + <p> + “I was once at the Cataract House to Niagara. It is jist a short distance + above the Falls. Out of the winders, you have a view of the splendid white + waters, or the rapids of foam, afore the river takes its everlastin’ leap + over the cliff. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Rufus come all the way from Boston to see the Falls: he said he + didn’t care much about them hisself, seein’ that he warn’t in the mill + business; but, as he was a goin’ to England, he didn’t like to say he + hadn’t been there, especially as all the English knowed about America was, + that there was a great big waterfall called Niagara, an everlastin’ + Almighty big river called Mississippi, and a parfect pictur of a wappin’ + big man called Kentuckian there. Both t’other ones he’d seen over and over + agin, but Niagara he’d never sot eyes on. + </p> + <p> + “So as soon as he arrives, he goes into the public room, and looks at the + white waters, and, sais he, ‘Waiter,’ sais he, ‘is them the falls down + there?’ a-pintin’ by accident in the direction where the Falls actilly + was. + </p> + <p> + “‘Yes, Sir,’ sais the waiter. + </p> + <p> + “‘Hem!’ sais Rufe, ‘them’s the Falls of Niagara, eh! So I’ve seen the + Falls at last, eh! Well it’s pretty too: they ain’t bad, that’s a fact. So + them’s the Falls of Niagara! How long is it afore the stage starts?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘An hour, Sir.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Go and book me for Boston, and then bring me a paper.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Yes, Sir.’ + </p> + <p> + “Well he got his paper and sot there a readin’ of it, and every now and + then, he’d look out of the winder and say: ‘So them’s the Falls of + Niagara, eh? Well, it’s a pretty little mill privilege that too, ain’t it; + but it ain’t just altogether worth comin’ so far to see. So I’ve seen the + Falls at last!’ + </p> + <p> + “Arter a while in comes a Britisher. + </p> + <p> + “‘Waiter,’ says he, ‘how far is it to the Falls?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Little over a half a mile, Sir.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Which way do you get there?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Turn to the right, and then to the left, and then go a-head.’ + </p> + <p> + “Rufe heard all this, and it kinder seemed dark to him; so arter cypherin’ + it over in his head a bit, ‘Waiter,’ says he, ‘ain’t them the Falls of + Niagara, I see there?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘No, Sir.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Well, that’s tarnation all over now. Not the Falls?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘No, Sir.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Why, you don’t mean to say, that them are ain’t the Falls?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Yes, I do, Sir.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Heaven and airth! I’ve come hundreds of miles a puppus to see ‘em, and + nothin’ else; not a bit of trade, or speckelation, or any airthly thing + but to see them cussed Falls, and come as near as 100 cents to a dollar, + startin’ off without sein’ ‘em arter all. If it hadn’t a been for that are + Britisher I was sold, that’s a fact. Can I run down there and back in half + an hour in time for the stage?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Yes, Sir, but you will have no time to see them.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘See ‘em, cuss ‘em, I don’t want to see ‘em, I tell you. I want to look + at ‘em, I want to say I was to the Falls, that’s all. Give me my hat, + quick! So them ain’t the Falls! I ha’n’t see’d the Falls of Niagara arter + all. What a devil of a take-in that is, ain’t it?’ And he dove down stairs + like a Newfoundland dog into a pond arter a stone, and out of sight in no + time. + </p> + <p> + “Now, you are as like Rufe, as two peas, Squire. You want to say, you was + to Liverpool, but you don’t want to see nothin’.’ + </p> + <p> + “Waiter.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Is this Liverpool, I see out of the Winder?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Guess I have seen Liverpool then. So this is the great city of Liverpool, + eh? When does the train start for London?” + </p> + <p> + “In half an hour, Sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Book me for London then, for I have been to Liverpool and seen the city. + Oh, take your place, Squire, you have seen Liverpool; and if you see as + much of all other places, as you have of this here one, afore you return + home, you will know most as much of England as them do that never was + there at all. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry too, you won’t go, Squire,” added he, “for minister seems + kinder dull.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t say another word, Mr. Slick,” said I; “every thing shall give way + to him.” And locking up my writing-desk I said: “I am ready.” + </p> + <p> + “Stop, Squire,” said he, “I’ve got a favour to ask of you. Don’t for + gracious sake, say nothin’ before Mr. Hopewell about that ‘ere lark I had + last night arter landin’, it would sorter worry him, and set him off + a-preachin’, and I’d rather he’d strike me any time amost than lectur, for + he does it so tender and kindly, it hurts my feelins <i>like</i>, a + considerable sum. I’ve had a pretty how-do-ye-do about it this mornin’, + and have had to plank down handsum’, and do the thing genteel; but Mister + Landlord found, I reckon, he had no fool to deal with, nother. He comes to + me, as soon as I was cleverly up this mornin’, lookin’ as full of + importance, as Jube Japan did when I put the Legation button on him. + </p> + <p> + “‘Bad business this, Sir,’ says he; ‘never had such a scene in my house + before, Sir; have had great difficulty to prevent my sarvants takin’ the + law of you.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Ah,’ sais I to myself, ‘I see how the cat jumps; here’s a little tid bit + of extortion now; but you won’t find that no go, I don’t think.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘You will have to satisfy them, Sir,’ says he, ‘or take the + consequences.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Sartainly,’ said I, ‘any thin’ you please: I leave it entirely to you; + jist name what you think proper, and I will liquidate it.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘I said, I knew you would behave like a gentleman, Sir,’ sais he, ‘for, + sais I, don’t talk to me of law, name it to the gentleman, and he’ll do + what is right; he’ll behave liberal, you may depend.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘You said right,’ sais I, ‘and now, Sir, what’s the damage?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Fifty pounds, I should think about the thing, Sir,’ said he. + </p> + <p> + “‘Certainly,’ said I, ‘you shall have the fifty pounds, but you must give + me a receipt in full for it.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘By all means,’ said he, and he was a cuttin’ off full chisel to get a + stamp, when I sais, ‘Stop,’ sais I, ‘uncle, mind and put in the receipt, + the bill of items, and charge ‘em separate?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Bill of items? sais he. + </p> + <p> + “‘Yes,’ sais I, ‘let me see what each is to get. Well, there’s the waiter, + now. Say to knockin’ down the waiter and kicking him, so much; then + there’s the barmaid so much, and so on. I make no objection, I am willin’ + to pay all you ask, but I want to include all, for I intend to post a copy + of it in the elegant cabins of each of our splendid New York Liners. This + house convenes the Americans—they all know <i>me</i>. I want them to + know how their <i>Attache</i> was imposed on, and if any American ever + sets foot in this cussed house agin I will pay his bill, and post that up + too, as a letter of credit for him.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘You wouldn’t take that advantage of me, Sir?’ said he. + </p> + <p> + “‘I take no advantage,’ sais I. ‘I’ll pay you what you ask, but you shall + never take advantage agin of another free and enlightened American + citizen, I can tell you.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘You must keep your money then, Sir,’ said he, ‘but this is not a fair + deal; no gentleman would do it.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘What’s fair, I am willin’ to do,’ sais I; ‘what’s onfair, is what you + want to do. Now, look here: I knocked the waiter down; here is two + sovereigns for him; I won’t pay him nothin’ for the kickin’, for that I + give him out of contempt, for not defendin’ of himself. Here’s three + sovereigns for the bar-maid; she don’t ought to have nothin’, for she + never got so innocent a kiss afore, in all her born days I know, for I + didn’t mean no harm, and she never got so good a one afore nother, that’s + a fact; but then <i>I</i> ought to pay, I do suppose, because I hadn’t + ought to treat a lady that way; it was onhansum’, that’s fact; and + besides, it tante right to give the galls a taste for such things. They + come fast enough in the nateral way, do kisses, without inokilatin’ folks + for ‘em. And here’s a sovereign for the scoldin’ and siscerarin’ you gave + the maid, that spilt the coals and that’s an eend of the matter, and I + don’t want no receipt.’ + </p> + <p> + “Well, he bowed and walked off, without sayin’ of a word.” + </p> + <p> + Here Mr. Hopewell joined us, and we descended to the street, to commence + our perambulation of the city; but it had begun to rain, and we were + compelled to defer it until the next day. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it ain’t much matter, Squire,” said Mr. Slick: “ain’t that + Liverpool, I see out of the winder? Well, then I’ve been to Liverpool. + Book me for London. So I have seen Liverpool at last, eh! or, as Rufus + said, I have felt it too, for this wet day reminds me of the rest of his + story. + </p> + <p> + “In about a half hour arter Rufus raced off to the Falls, back he comes as + hard as he could tear, a-puffing and a blowin’ like a sizeable grampus. + You never seed such a figure as he was, he was wet through and through, + and the dry dust stickin’ to his clothes, made him look like a dog, that + had jumped into the water, and then took a roll in the road to dry + hisself; he was a caution to look at, that’s a fact. + </p> + <p> + “‘Well,’ sais I, ‘Stranger, did you see the Falls?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Yes,’ sais he, ‘I have see’d ‘em and felt ‘em too; them’s very wet + Falls, that’s a fact. I hante a dry rag on me; if it hadn’t a been for + that ere Britisher, I wouldn’t have see’d ‘em at all, and yet a thought I + had been there all the time. It’s a pity too, that that winder don’t bear + on it, for then you could see it without the trouble of goin’ there, or + gettin’ ducked, or gettin’ skeered so. I got an awful fright there—I + shall never forget it, if I live as long as Merusalem. You know I hadn’t + much time left, when. I found out I hadn’t been there arter all, so I ran + all the way, right down as hard as I could clip; and, seein’ some folks + comin’ out from onder the Fall, I pushed strait in, but the noise actilly + stunned me, and the spray wet me through and through like a piece of + sponged cloth; and the great pourin’, bilin’ flood, blinded me so I + couldn’t see a bit; and I hadn’t gone far in, afore a cold, wet, clammy, + dead hand, felt my face all over. I believe in my soul, it was the Indian + squaw that went over the Falls in the canoe, or the crazy Englisher, that + tried to jump across it. + </p> + <p> + “‘Oh creation, how cold it was! The moment that spirit rose, mine fell, + and I actilly thought I should have dropt lumpus, I was so skeered. Give + me your hand, said Ghost, for I didn’t see nothin’ but a kinder dark + shadow. Give me your hand. I think it must ha’ been the squaw, for it + begged for all the world, jist like an Indgian. I’d see you hanged fust, + said I; I wouldn’t touch that are dead tacky hand o’ yourn’ for half a + million o’ hard dollars, cash down without any ragged eends; and with + that, I turned to run out, but Lord love you I couldn’t run. The stones + was all wet and slimy, and onnateral slippy, and I expected every minute, + I should heels up and go for it: atween them two critters the Ghost and + the juicy ledge, I felt awful skeered I tell <i>you</i>. So I begins to + say my catechism; what’s your name, sais I? Rufus Dodge. Who gave you that + name? Godfather and godmother granny Eells. What did they promise for you? + That I should renounce the devil and all his works—works—works—I + couldn’t get no farther, I stuck fast there, for I had forgot it. + </p> + <p> + “‘The moment I stopt, ghost kinder jumped forward, and seized me by my + mustn’t-mention’ems, and most pulled the seat out. Oh dear! my heart most + went out along with it, for I thought my time had come. You black + she-sinner of a heathen Indgian! sais I; let me go this blessed minite, + for I renounce the devil and all his works, the devil and all his works—so + there now; and I let go a kick behind, the wickedest you ever see, and + took it right in the bread basket. Oh, it yelled and howled and screached + like a wounded hyaena, till my ears fairly cracked agin. I renounce you, + Satan, sais I; I renounce you, and the world, and the flesh and the devil. + And now, sais I, a jumpin’ on terry firm once more, and turnin’ round and + facin’ the enemy, I’ll promise a little dust more for myself, and that is + to renounce Niagara, and Indgian squaws, and dead Britishers, and the + whole seed, breed and generation of ‘em from this time forth, for + evermore. Amen. + </p> + <p> + “‘Oh blazes! how cold my face is yet. Waiter, half a pint of clear + cocktail; somethin’ to warm me. Oh, that cold hand! Did you ever touch a + dead man’s hand? it’s awful cold, you may depend. Is there any marks on my + face? do you see the tracks of the fingers there?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘No, Sir,’ sais I,’ I can’t say I do.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Well, then I feel them there,’ sais he, ‘as plain as any thing.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Stranger,’ sais I, ‘it was nothin’ but some poor no-souled critter, like + yourself, that was skeered a’most to death, and wanted to be helped out + that’s all.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Skeered!’ said he, ‘sarves him right then; he might have knowed how to + feel for other folks, and not funkify them so peskily; I don’t keer if he + never gets out; but I have my doubts about its bein’ a livin’ human, I + tell <i>you</i>. If I hadn’t a renounced the devil and all his works that + time, I don’t know what the upshot would have been, for Old Scratch was + there too. I saw him as plain as I see you; he ran out afore me, and + couldn’t stop or look back, as long as I said catekism. He was in his old + shape of the sarpent; he was the matter of a yard long, and as thick round + as my arm and travelled belly-flounder fashion; when I touched land, he + dodged into an eddy, and out of sight in no time. Oh, there is no mistake, + I’ll take my oath of it; I see him, I did upon my soul. It was the old + gentleman hisself; he come there to cool hisself. Oh, it was the devil, + that’s a fact.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘It was nothin’ but a fresh water eel,’ sais I; ‘I have seen thousands of + ‘em there; for the crevices of them rocks are chock full of ‘em. How can + you come for to go, for to talk arter that fashion; you are a disgrace to + our great nation, you great lummokin coward, you. An American citizen is + afeerd of nothin’, but a bad spekilation, or bein’ found oat.’ + </p> + <p> + “Well, that posed him, he seemed kinder bothered, and looked down. + </p> + <p> + “‘An eel, eh! well, it mought be an eel,’ sais be, ‘that’s a fact. I + didn’t think of that; but then if it was, it was god-mother granny Eells, + that promised I should renounce the devil and all his works, that took + that shape, and come to keep me to my bargain. She died fifty years ago, + poor old soul, and never kept company with Indgians, or niggers, or any + such trash. Heavens and airth! I don’t wonder the Falls wakes the dead, it + makes such an everlastin’ almighty noise, does Niagara. Waiter, more + cocktail, that last was as weak as water.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Yes, Sir,’ and he swallered it like wink. + </p> + <p> + “‘The stage is ready, Sir.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Is it?’ said he, and he jumped in all wet as he was; for time is money + and he didn’t want to waste neither. As it drove off, I heerd him say, + ‘Well them’s the Falls, eh! So I have seen the Falls of Niagara and felt + ‘em too, eh!’ + </p> + <p> + “Now, we are better off than Rufus Dodge was, Squire; for we hante got + wet, and we hante got frightened, but we can look out o’ the winder and + say, ‘Well, that’s Liverpool, eh! so I have—seen Liverpool.’” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. CHANGING A NAME. + </h2> + <p> + The rain having confined us to the house this afternoon, we sat over our + wine after dinner longer than usual. Among the different topics that were + discussed, the most prominent was the state of the political parties in + this country. Mr. Slick, who paid great deference to the opinions of Mr. + Hopewell, was anxious to ascertain from him what he thought upon the + subject, in order to regulate his conduct and conversation by it + hereafter. + </p> + <p> + “Minister,” said he, “what do you think of the politics of the British?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think about them at all, Sam. I hear so much of such matters at + home, that I am heartily tired of them; our political world is divided + into two classes, the knaves and the dupes. Don’t let us talk of such + exciting, things.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Minister,” said Mr. Slick, “holdin’ the high and dignified station I + do, as Attache, they will be a-pumpin’ me for everlastinly, will the great + men here, and they think a plaguy sight more of our opinion than you are + aware on; we have tried all them things they are a jawin’ about here, and + they naterally want to know the results. Cooper says not one Tory called + on him when he was to England, but Walter Scott; and that I take it, was + more lest folks should think he was jealous of him, than any thing else; + they jist cut him as dead as a skunk; but among the Whigs, he was quite an + oracle on ballot, univarsal suffrage, and all other democratic + institutions.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he was a ninny then, was Cooper, to go and blart it all out to the + world that way; for if no Tory visited him, I should like you to ask him + the next time you see him, how many gentlemen called upon him? Jist ask + him that, and it will stop him from writing such stuff any more.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Minister, jist tell us now, here you are, as a body might say in + England, now what are you?” + </p> + <p> + “I am a man, Sam; <i>Homo sum, humani nihil a me alienum puto</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what’s all that when it’s fried?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, that when away from home, I am a citizen of the world. I belong to + no party, but take an interest in the whole human family.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Minister, if you choose to sing dumb, you can, but I should like to + have you answer me one question now, and if you won’t, why you must jist + do t’other thing, that’s all. Are you a Consarvative?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you a Whig?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “A Radical?” + </p> + <p> + “God forbid!” + </p> + <p> + “What in natur’ are you then?” + </p> + <p> + “A Tory.” + </p> + <p> + “A Tory! well, I thought that a Tory and a Consarvative, were as the + Indgians say, “all same one brudder.” Where is the difference?” + </p> + <p> + “You will soon find that out, Sam; go and talk to a Consarvative as a + Tory, and you will find he is a Whig: go and talk to him again as a Whig, + and you will find he is a Tory. They are, for all the world, like a + sturgeon. There is very good beef steaks in a sturgeon, and very good fish + too, and yet it tante either fish or flesh. I don’t like taking a new + name, it looks amazing like taking new principles, or, at all events, like + loosenin’ old ones, and I hante seen the creed of this new sect yet—I + don’t know what its tenets are, nor where to go and look for ‘em. It + strikes me they don’t accord with the Tories, and yet arn’t in tune with + the Whigs, but are half a note lower than the one, and half a note higher + than t’other. Now, changes in the body politic are always necessary more + or less, in order to meet the changes of time, and the changes in the + condition of man. When they are necessary, make ‘em, and ha’ done with + ‘em. Make ‘em like men, not when you are forced to do so, and nobody + thanks you, but when you see they are wanted, and are proper; but don’t + alter your name. + </p> + <p> + “My wardens wanted me to do that; they came to me, and said ‘Minister,’ + says they, ‘we don’t want <i>you</i> to change, we don’t ask it; jist let + us call you a Unitarian, and you can remain Episcopalian still. We are + tired of that old fashioned name, it’s generally thought unsuited to the + times, and behind the enlightment of the age; it’s only fit for benighted + Europeans. Change the name, you needn’t change any thing else. What is a + name?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Every thing,’ says I, ‘every thing, my brethren; one name belongs to a + Christian, and the other don’t; that’s the difference. I’d die before I + surrendered my name; for in surrenderin’ that, I surrender my + principles.’” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” said Mr. Slick, “that’s what Brother Eldad used to say. ‘Sam,’ + said he, ‘a man with an <i>alias</i> is the worst character in the world; + for takin’ a new name, shows he is ashamed of his old one; and havin’ an + old one, shows his new one is a cheat.’” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Mr. Hopewell, “I don’t like that word Consarvative. Them folks + may be good kind of people, and I guess they be, seein’ that the Tories + support ‘em, which is the best thing I see about them; but I don’t like + changin’ a name.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don’t know,” said Mr. Slick, “p’raps their old name was so + infarnal dry rotted, they wanted to change it for a sound new one. You + recollect when that super-superior villain, Expected Thorne, brought an + action of defamation agin’ me, to Slickville, for takin’ away his + character, about stealing the watch to Nova Scotia; well, I jist pleaded + my own case, and I ups and sais, ‘Gentlemen of the Jury,’ sais I, + “Expected’s character, every soul knows, is about the wust in all + Slickville. If I have taken it away, I have done him a great sarvice, for + he has a smart chance of gettin’ a better one; and if he don’t find a swap + to his mind, why no character is better nor a bad one.’ + </p> + <p> + “Well, the old judge and the whole court larfed right out like any thin’; + and the jury, without stirrin’ from the box, returned a vardict for the + defendant. P’raps now, that mought be the case with the Tories.” + </p> + <p> + “The difference,” said Mr. Hopewell, is jist this:—your friend, Mr. + Expected Thorne, had a name he had ought to have been ashamed of, and the + Tories one that the whole nation had very great reason to be proud of. + There is some little difference, you must admit. My English politics, + (mind you, I say English, for they hare no reference to America,) are + Tory, and I don’t want to go to Sir Robert Peel, or Lord John Russell + either.” + </p> + <p> + “As for Johnny Russell,” said Mr. Slick, “he is a clever little chap that; + he—” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t call him Johnny Russell,” said Mr. Hopewell, “or a little chap, or + such flippant names, I don’t like to hear you talk that way. It neither + becomes you as a Christian nor a gentleman. St. Luke and St. Paul, when + addressing people of rank, use the word ‘[Greek text]’ which, as nearly as + possible, answers to the title of ‘your Excellency.’ Honour, we are told, + should be given to those to whom honour is due; and if we had no such + authority on the subject, the omission of titles, where they are usual and + legal, is, to say the least of it, a vulgar familiarity, ill becoming an + Attache of our embassy. But as I was saying, I do not require to go to + either of those statesmen to be instructed in my politics. I take mine + where I take my religion, from the Bible. ‘Fear God, honour the King, and + meddle not with those that are given to change.’” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Minister,” said Mr. Slick, “you mis’t a figur at our glorious + Revolution, you had ought to have held on to the British; they would have + made a bishop of you, and shoved you into the House of Lords, black apron, + lawn sleeves, shovel hat and all, as sure as rates. ‘The right reverend, + the Lord Bishop of Slickville:’ wouldn’t it look well on the back of a + letter, eh? or your signature to one sent to me, signed ‘Joshua + Slickville.’ It sounds better, that, than ‘Old Minister,’ don’t it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, if you go for to talk that way, Sam, I am done; but I will shew you + that the Tories are the men to govern this great nation. A Tory I may say + ‘<i>noscitur a sociis</i>.’” + </p> + <p> + “What in natur is that, when it’s biled and the skin took off?” asked Mr. + Slick. + </p> + <p> + “Why is it possible you don’t know that? Have you forgotten that common + schoolboy phrase?” + </p> + <p> + “Guess I do know; but it don’t tally jist altogether nohow, as it were. + Known as a Socialist, isn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + “If, Sir,” said Mr. Hopewell, with much earnestness, “if instead of + ornamenting your conversation with cant terms, and miserable slang, picked + up from the lowest refuse of our population, both east and west, you had + cultivated your mind, and enriched it with quotations from classical + writers, you would have been more like an Attache, and less like a + peddling clockmaker than you are.” + </p> + <p> + “Minister,” said Mr. Slick, “I was only in jeest, but you are in airnest. + What you have said is too true for a joke, and I feel it. I was only a + sparrin’; but you took off the gloves, and felt my short ribs in a way + that has given me a stitch in the side. It tante fair to kick that way + afore you are spurred. You’ve hurt me considerable.” + </p> + <p> + “Sam, I am old, narvous, and irritable. I was wrong to speak unkindly to + you, very wrong indeed, and I am sorry for it; but don’t teaze me no more, + that’s a good lad; for I feel worse than you do about it. I beg your + pardon, I—” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Mr. Slick, “to get back to what we was a sayin’, for you do + talk like a book, that’s a fact; ‘<i>noscitur a sociis</i>,’ says you.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, ‘Birds of a feather flock together,’ as the old maxim goes. Now, Sam, + who supported the Whigs?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, let me see; a few of the lords, a few of the gentry, the repealers, + the manufacturin’ folks, the independents, the baptists, the dissentin’ + Scotch, the socialists, the radicals, the discontented, and most of the + lower orders, and so on.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, who supported the Tories?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, the majority of the lords, the great body of landed gentry, the + univarsities, the whole of the Church of England, the whole of the + methodists, amost the principal part of the kirk, the great marchants, + capitalists, bankers, lawyers, army and navy officers, and soon.” + </p> + <p> + “Now don’t take your politics from me, Sam, for I am no politician; but as + an American citizen, judge for yourself, which of those two parties is + most likely to be right, or which would you like to belong to.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I must say,” replied he, “I <i>do</i> think that the larnin’, + piety, property, and respectability, is on the Tory side; and where all + them things is united, right most commonly is found a-joggin’ along in + company.” + </p> + <p> + “Well now, Sam, you know we are a calculatin’ people, a commercial people, + a practical people. Europe laughs at us for it. Perhaps if they attended + better to their own financial affairs, they would be in a better situation + to laugh. But still we must look to facts and results. How did the Tories, + when they went out of office, leave the kingdom?—At peace?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, with all the world.” + </p> + <p> + “How did the Whigs leave it?” + </p> + <p> + “With three wars on hand, and one in the vat a-brewin’ with America. Every + great interest injured, some ruined, and all alarmed at the impendin’ + danger—of national bankruptcy.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, now for dollars and cents. How did the Tories leave the treasury?” + </p> + <p> + “With a surplus revenue of millions.” + </p> + <p> + “How did the Whigs?” + </p> + <p> + “With a deficiency that made the nation scratch their head, and stare + agin.” + </p> + <p> + “I could go through the details with you, as far as my imperfect + information extends, or more imperfect memory would let me; but it is all + the same, and always will be, here, in France, with us, in the colonies, + and everywhere else. Whenever property, talent, and virtue are all on one + side, and only ignorant numbers, with a mere sprinkling of property and + talent to agitate ‘em and make use of ‘em, or misinformed or mistaken + virtue to sanction ‘em on the other side, no honest man can take long to + deliberate which side he will choose. + </p> + <p> + “As to those conservatives, I don’t know what to say, Sam; I should like + to put you right if I could. But I’ll tell you what puzzles me. I ask + myself what is a Tory? I find he is a man who goes the whole figur’ for + the support of the monarchy, in its three orders, of king, lords, and + commons, as by law established; that he is for the connexion of Church and + State and so on; and that as the wealthiest man in England, he offers to + prove his sincerity, by paying the greatest part of the taxes to uphold + these things. Well, then I ask what is Consarvitism? I am told that it + means, what it imports, a conservation of things as they are. Where, then, + is the difference? <i>If there is no difference, it is a mere juggle to + change the name: if there is a difference, the word is worse than a + juggle, for it don’t import any</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell you what,” said Mr. Slick, “I heerd an old critter to Halifax once + describe ‘em beautiful. He said he could tell a man’s politicks by his + shirt. ‘A Tory, Sir,’ said he, for he was a pompious old boy was old + Blue-Nose; ‘a Tory, Sir,’ said he, ‘is a gentleman every inch of him, + stock, lock, and barrel; and he puts a clean frill shirt on every day. A + Whig, Sir,’ says he, ‘is a gentleman every other inch of him, and he puts + an onfrilled one on every other day. A Radical, Sir, ain’t no gentleman at + all, and he only puts one on of a Sunday. But a Chartist, Sir, is a + loafer; he never puts one on till the old one won’t hold together no + longer, and drops off in, pieces.’” + </p> + <p> + “Pooh!” said Mr. Hopewell, “now don’t talk nonsense; but as I was a-goin’ + to say, I am a plain man, and a straightforward man, Sam; what I say, I + mean; and what I mean, I say. Private and public life are subject to the + same rules; and truth and manliness are two qualities that will carry you + through this world much better than policy, or tact, or expediency, or any + other word that ever was devised to conceal, or mystify a deviation from + the straight line. They have a sartificate of character, these + consarvitives, in having the support of the Tories; but that don’t quite + satisfy me. It may, perhaps, mean no more than this, arter all—they + are the best sarvants we have; but not as good as we want. However, I + shall know more about it soon; and when I do, I will give you my opinion + candidly. One thing, however, is certain, a change in the institutions of + a country I could accede to, approve, and support, if necessary and good; + but I never can approve of either an individual or a party—‘<i>changing + a name</i>.’” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. THE NELSON MONUMENT. + </h2> + <p> + The following day being dry, we walked out to view the wonders of this + great commercial city of England, Liverpool. The side-paths were filled + with an active and busy population, and the main streets thronged with + heavily-laden waggons, conveying to the docks the manufactures of the + country, or carrying inward the productions of foreign nations. It was an + animating and busy scene. + </p> + <p> + “This,” said Mr. Hopewell, “is solitude. It is in a place like this, that + you feel yourself to be an isolated being, when you are surrounded by + multitudes who have no sympathy with you, to whom you are not only wholly + unknown, but not one of whom you have ever seen before. + </p> + <p> + “The solitude of the vast American forest is not equal to this. + Encompassed by the great objects of nature, you recognise nature’s God + every where; you feel his presence, and rely on his protection. Every + thing in a city is artificial, the predominant idea is man; and man, under + circumstances like the present, is neither your friend nor protector. You + form no part of the social system here. Gregarious by nature, you cannot + associate; dependent, you cannot attach yourself; a rational being, you + cannot interchange ideas. In seeking the wilderness you enter the abode of + solitude, and are naturally and voluntarily alone. On visiting a city, on + the contrary, you enter the residence of man, and if you are forced into + isolation there, to you it is worse than a desert. + </p> + <p> + “I know of nothing so depressing as this feeling of unconnected + individuality, amidst a dense population like this. But, my friend, there + is One who never forsakes us either in the throng or the wilderness, whose + ear is always open to our petitions, and who has invited us to rely on his + goodness and mercy.” + </p> + <p> + “You hadn’t ought to feel lonely here, Minister,” said Mr. Slick. “It’s a + place we have a right to boast of is Liverpool; we built it, and I’ll tell + you what it is, to build two such cities as New York and Liverpool in the + short time we did, is sunthin’ to brag of. If there had been no New York, + there would have been no Liverpool; but if there had been no Liverpool, + there would have been a New York though. They couldn’t do nothin’ without + us. We had to build them elegant line-packets for ‘em; they couldn’t build + one that could sail, and if she sail’d she couldn’t steer, and if she + sail’d and steer’d, she upsot; there was always a screw loose somewhere. + </p> + <p> + “It cost us a great deal too to build them ere great docks. They cover + about seventy acres, I reckon. We have to pay heavy port dues to keep ‘em + up, and pay interest on capital. The worst of it is, too, while we pay for + all this, we hante got the direction of the works.” + </p> + <p> + “If you have paid for all these things,” said I, “you had better lay claim + to Liverpool. Like the disputed territory (to which it now appears, you + knew you had no legal or equitable claim), it is probable you will have + half of it ceded to you, for the purpose of conciliation. I admire this + boast of yours uncommonly. It reminds me of the conversation we had some + years ago, about the device on your “naval button,” of the eagle holding + an anchor in its claws—that national emblem of ill-directed ambition + and vulgar pretension.” + </p> + <p> + “I thank you for that hint,” said Mr. Slick, “I was in jeest like; but + there is more in it, for all that, than you’d think. It ain’t literal + fact, but it is figurative truth. But now I’ll shew you sunthin’ in this + town, that’s as false as parjury, sunthin that’s a disgrace to this + country and an insult to our great nation, and there is no jeest in it + nother, but a downright lie; and, since you go for to throw up to me our + naval button with its ‘eagle and anchor,’ I’ll point out to you sunthin’ a + hundred thousand million times wus. What was the name o’ that English + admiral folks made such a touss about; that cripple-gaited, one-eyed, + one-armed little naval critter?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean Lord Nelson?” + </p> + <p> + “I do,” said he, and pointing to his monument, he continued, “There he is + as big as life, five feet nothin’, with his shoes on. Now examine that + monument, and tell me if the English don’t know how to brag, as well as + some other folks, and whether they don’t brag too sumtimes, when they + hante got no right to. There is four figures there a representing the four + quarters of the globe in chains, and among them America, a crouchin’ down, + and a-beggin’ for life, like a mean heathen Ingin. Well, jist do the civil + now, and tell me when that little braggin’ feller ever whipped us, will + you? Just tell me the day of the year he was ever able to do it, since his + mammy cut the apron string and let him run to seek his fortin’. Heavens + and airth, we’d a chawed him right up! + </p> + <p> + “No, there never was an officer among you, that had any thing to brag of + about us but one, and he wasn’t a Britisher—he was a despisable + Blue-nose colonist boy of Halifax. When his captain was took below + wounded, he was leftenant, so he jist ups and takes command o’ the + Shannon, and fit like a tiger and took our splendid frigate the + Chesapeake, and that was sumthing to brag on. And what did he get for it? + Why colony sarce, half-pay, and leave to make room for Englishers to go + over his head; and here is a lyin’ false monument, erected to this man + that never even see’d one of our national ships, much less smelt thunder + and lightning out of one, that English like, has got this for what he + didn’t do. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry Mr. Lett [Footnote: This was the man that blew up the Brock + monument in Canada. <i>He was a Patriot</i>.] is dead to Canada, or I’d + give him a hint about this. I’d say, ‘I hope none of our free and + enlightened citizens will blow this lyin’, swaggerin’, bullyin’ monument + up? I should be sorry for ‘em to take notice of such vulgar insolence as + this; for bullies will brag.’ He’d wink and say, ‘I won’t non-concur with + you, Mr. Slick. I hope it won’t be blowed up; but wishes like dreams come + con<i>trary</i> ways sometimes, and I shouldn’t much wonder if it bragged + till it bust some night.’ It would go for it, that’s a fact. For Mr. Lett + has a kind of nateral genius for blowin’ up of monuments. + </p> + <p> + “Now you talk of our Eagle takin’ an anchor in its claws as bad taste. I + won’t say it isn’t; but it is a nation sight better nor this. See what the + little admiral critter is about! why he is a stampin’ and a jabbin’ of the + iron heel of his boot into the lifeless body of a fallen foe! It’s horrid + disgustin’, and ain’t overly brave nother; and to make matters wus, as if + this warn’t bad enough, them four emblem figures, have great heavy iron + chains on ‘em, and a great enormous sneezer of a lion has one part o’ the + chain in its mouth, and is a-growlin’ and a-grinnin’ and a-snarling at ‘em + like mad, as much as to say, ‘if you dare to move the sixteen hundredth + part of an inch, I will fall to and make mincemeat of you, in less than + half no time. I don’t think there never was nothin’ so bad as this, ever + seen since the days of old daddy Adam down to this present blessed day, I + don’t indeed. So don’t come for to go, Squire, to tarnt me with the Eagle + and the anchor no more, for I don’t like it a bit; you’d better look to + your ‘<i>Nelson monument</i>’ and let us alone. So come now!” + </p> + <p> + Amidst much that was coarse, and more that was exaggerated, there was + still some foundation for the remarks of the Attache. + </p> + <p> + “You arrogate a little too much to yourselves,” I observed, “in + considering the United States as all America. At the time these brilliant + deeds were achieved, which this monument is intended to commemorate, the + Spaniards owned a very much greater portion of the transatlantic continent + than you now do, and their navy composed a part of the hostile fleets + which were destroyed by Lord Nelson. At that time, also, you had no navy, + or at all events, so few ships, as scarcely to deserve the name of one; + nor had you won for yourselves that high character, which you now so + justly enjoy, for skill and gallantry. I agree with you, however, in + thinking the monument is in bad taste. The name of Lord Nelson is its own + monument. It will survive when these perishable structures, which the + pride or the gratitude of his countrymen have erected to perpetuate his + fame, shall have mouldered into dust, and been forgotten for ever. If + visible objects are thought necessary to suggest the mention of his name + oftener that it would otherwise occur to the mind, they should be such as + to improve the taste, as well as awaken the patriotism of the beholder. As + an American, there is nothing to which you have a right to object, but as + a critic, I admit that there is much that you cannot approve in the ‘<i>Nelson + Monument</i>.’” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. COTTAGES. + </h2> + <p> + On the tenth day after we landed at Liverpool, we arrived in London and + settled ourselves very comfortably in lodgings at No. 202, Piccadilly, + where every possible attention was paid to us by our landlord and his + wife, Mr. and Mrs. Weeks. We performed the journey in a post-chaise, + fearing that the rapid motion of a rail car might have an unpleasant + effect upon the health of Mr. Hope well. + </p> + <p> + Of the little incidents of travel that occurred to us, or of the various + objects of attraction on the route, it is not my intention to give any + account. Our journey was doubtless much like the journeys of other people, + and every thing of local interest is to be found in Guide Books, or + topographical works, which are within the reach of every body. + </p> + <p> + This book, however imperfect its execution may be, is altogether of + another kind. I shall therefore pass over this and other subsequent + journeys, with no other remark, than that they were performed, until + something shall occur illustrative of the objects I have in view. + </p> + <p> + On this occasion I shall select from my diary a description of the + labourer’s cottage, and the parish church; because the one shews the + habits, tastes, and condition of the poor of this country, in contrast + with that of America—and the other, the relative means of religious + instruction, and its effect on the lower orders. + </p> + <p> + On the Saturday morning, while preparing to resume our journey, which was + now nearly half completed, Mr. Hopewell expressed a desire to remain at + the inn where we were, until the following Monday. As the day was fine, he + said he should like to ramble about the neighbourhood, and enjoy the fresh + air. His attention was soon drawn to some very beautiful new cottages. + </p> + <p> + “These,” said he, “are no doubt erected at the expense, and for the + gratification of some great landed proprietor. They are not the abodes of + ordinary labourers, but designed for some favoured dependant or aged + servant. They are expensive toys, but still they are not without their + use. They diffuse a taste among the peasantry—they present them with + models, which, though they cannot imitate in costliness of material or + finish, they can copy in arrangement, and in that sort of decoration, + which flowers, and vines, and culture, and care can give. Let us seek one + which is peculiarly the poor man’s cottage, and let us go in and see who + and what they are, how they live, and above all, how they think and talk. + Here is a lane, let us follow it, till we come to a habitation.” + </p> + <p> + We turned into a grass road, bounded on either side by a high straggling + thorn hedge. At its termination was an irregular cottage with a thatched + roof, which projected over the windows in front. The latter were latticed + with diamond-shaped panes of glass, and were four in number, one on each + side of the door and two just under the roof. The door was made of two + transverse parts, the upper half of which was open. On one side was a + basket-like cage containing a magpie, and on the other, a cat lay extended + on a bench, dozing in the warmth of the sun. The blue smoke, curling + upwards from a crooked chimney, afforded proof of some one being within. + </p> + <p> + We therefore opened a little gate, and proceeded through a neat garden, in + which flowers and vegetables were intermixed. It had a gay appearance from + the pear, apple, thorn and cherry being all in full bloom. We were + received at the door by a middle-aged woman, with the ruddy glow of health + on her cheeks, and dressed in coarse, plain, but remarkably neat and + suitable, attire. As this was a cottage selected at random, and visited + without previous intimation of our intention, I took particular notice of + every thing I saw, because I regarded its appearance as a fair specimen of + its constant and daily state. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hopewell needed no introduction. His appearance told what he was. His + great stature and erect bearing, his intelligent and amiable face, his + noble forehead, his beautiful snow-white locks, his precise and antique + dress, his simplicity of manner, every thing, in short, about him, at once + attracted attention and conciliated favour. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hodgins, for such was her name, received us with that mixture of + respect and ease, which shewed she was accustomed to converse with her + superiors. She was dressed in a blue homespun gown, (the sleeves of which + were drawn up to her elbows and the lower part tucked through her + pocket-hole,) a black stuff petticoat, black stockings and shoes with the + soles more than half an inch thick. She wore also, a large white apron, + and a neat and by no means unbecoming cap. She informed us her husband was + a gardener’s labourer, that supported his family by his daily work, and by + the proceeds of the little garden attached to the house, and invited us to + come in and sit down. + </p> + <p> + The apartment into which the door opened, was a kitchen or common room. On + one side, was a large fire-place, the mantel-piece or shelf, of which was + filled with brass candlesticks, large and small, some queer old-fashioned + lamps, snuffers and trays, polished to a degree of brightness, that was + dazzling. A dresser was carried round the wall, filled with plates and + dishes, and underneath were exhibited the ordinary culinary utensils, in + excellent order. A small table stood before the fire, with a cloth of + spotless whiteness spread upon it, as if in preparation for a meal. A few + stools completed the furniture. + </p> + <p> + Passing through this place, we were shewn into the parlour, a small room + with a sanded floor. Against the sides were placed some old, dark, and + highly polished chairs, of antique form and rude workmanship. The walls + were decorated with several coloured prints, illustrative of the Pilgrim’s + Progress and hung in small red frames of about six inches square. The + fire-place was filled with moss, and its mantel-shelf had its china sheep + and sheperdesses, and a small looking-glass, the whole being surmounted by + a gun hung transversely. The Lord’s Prayer and the Ten Commandments worked + in worsted, were suspended in a wooden frame between the windows, which + had white muslin blinds, and opened on hinges, like a door. A cupboard + made to fit the corner, in a manner to economise room, was filled with + china mugs, cups and saucers of different sizes and patterns, some old + tea-spoons and a plated tea-pot. + </p> + <p> + There was a small table opposite to the window, which Contained half a + dozen books. One of these was large, handsomely bound, and decorated with + gilt edged paper. Mr. Hopewell opened it, and expressed great satisfaction + at finding such an edition of a bible in such a house. Mrs. Hodgins + explained that this was a present from her eldest son, who had thus + appropriated his first earnings to the gratification of his mother. + </p> + <p> + “Creditable to you both, dear,” said Mr. Hopewell: “to you, because it is + a proof how well you have instructed him; and to him, that he so well + appreciated and so faithfully remembered those lessons of duty.” + </p> + <p> + He then inquired into the state of her family, whether the boy who was + training a peach-tree against the end of the house was her son, and many + other matters not necessary to record with the same precision that I have + enumerated the furniture. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, here is a pretty little child!” said he. “Come here, dear, and shake + hands along with me. What beautiful hair she has! and she looks so clean + and nice, too. Every thing and every body here is so neat, so tidy, and so + appropriate. Kiss me, dear; and then talk to me; for I love little + children. ‘Suffer them to come unto me,’ said our Master, ‘for of such is + the kingdom of Heaven:’ that is, that we should resemble these little ones + in our innocence.” + </p> + <p> + He then took her on his knee. “Can you say the Lord’s Prayer, dear?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good. And the ten Commandments?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Who taught you?” + </p> + <p> + “My mother, Sir; and the parson taught me the Catechism.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Sam, this child can say the Lord’s Prayer, the ten Commandments, and + the Catechism. Ain’t this beautiful? Tell me the fifth, dear.” + </p> + <p> + And the child repeated it distinctly and accurately. + </p> + <p> + “Right. Now, dear, always bear that in mind, especially towards your + mother. You have an excellent mother; her cares and her toils are many; + and amidst them all, how well she has done her duty to you. The only way + she can be repaid, is to find that you are what she desires you to be, a + good girl. God commands this return to be made, and offers you the reward + of length of days. Here is a piece of money for you. And now, dear,” + placing her again upon her feet, “you never saw so old a man as me, and + never will again; and one, too, that came from a far-off country, three + thousand miles off; it would take you a long time to count three thousand; + it is so far. Whenever you do what you ought not, think of the advice of + the ‘old Minister.’” + </p> + <p> + Here Mr. Slick beckoned the mother to the door, and whispered something to + her, of which, the only words that met my ear were “a trump,” “a brick,” + “the other man like him ain’t made yet,” “do it, he’ll talk, then.” + </p> + <p> + To which she replied, “I have—oh yes, Sir—by all means.” + </p> + <p> + She then advanced to Mr. Hopewell, and asked him if he would like to + smoke. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I would, dear, but I have no pipe here.” + </p> + <p> + She said her old man smoked of an evening, after his work was done, and + that she could give him a pipe and some tobacco, if he would condescend to + use them; and going to the cupboard, she produced a long white clay pipe + and some cut tobacco. + </p> + <p> + Having filled and lighted his pipe, Mr. Hopewell said, “What church do you + go to, dear?” + </p> + <p> + “The parish church, Sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Right; you will hear Sound doctrine and good morals preached there. Oh + this a fortunate country, Sam, for the state provides for the religious + instruction of the poor. Where the voluntary system prevails, the poor + have to give from their poverty, or go without; and their gifts are so + small, that they can purchase but little. It’s a beautiful system, a + charitable system, a Christian system. Who is your landlord?” + </p> + <p> + “Squire Merton, Sir; and one of the kindest masters, too, that ever was. + He is so good to the poor; and the ladies. Sir, they are so kind, also. + When my poor daughter Mary was so ill with the lever, I do think she would + have died but for the attentions of those young ladies; and when she grew + better, they sent her wine and nourishing things from their own table. + They will be so glad to see you. Sir, at the Priory. Oh, I wish you could + see them!” + </p> + <p> + “There it is, Sam,” he continued “That illustrates what I always told you + of their social system here. We may boast of our independence, but that + independence produces isolation. There is an individuality about every man + and every family in America, that gives no right of inquiry, and imposes + no duty of relief on any one. Sickness, and sorrow, and trouble, are not + divulged; joy, success, and happiness are not imparted. If we are + independent in our thoughts and actions, so are we left to sustain the + burden of our own ills. How applicable to our state is that passage of + Scripture, ‘The heart knoweth its own bitterness, and a stranger + intermeddleth not with its joy.’ + </p> + <p> + “Now, look at this poor family; here is a clergyman provided for them, + whom they do not, and are not even expected to pay; their spiritual wants + are ministered to, faithfully and zealously, as we see by the instruction + of that little child. Here is a friend upon whom they can rely in their + hour of trouble, as the bereaved mother did on Elisha. ‘And she went up + and laid her child that was dead on the bed of the man of God, and shut + the door on him, and went out.’ And when a long train of agitation, + mis-government, and ill-digested changes have deranged this happy country, + as has recently been the case, here is an indulgent landlord, disposed to + lower his rent or give further time for payment, or if sickness invades + any of these cottages, to seek out the sufferer, to afford the remedies, + and by his countenance, his kindness, and advice, to alleviate their + trouble. Here it is, a positive duty arising from their relative + situations of landlord and tenant. The tenants support the owner, the + landlord protects the tenants: the duties are reciprocal. + </p> + <p> + “With <i>us</i> the duties, as far as Christian duties can be said to be + optional, are voluntary; and the voluntary discharge of duties, like the + voluntary support of religion, we know, from sad experience, to be + sometimes imperfectly performed, at others intermitted, and often wholly + neglected. Oh! it is a happy country this, a great and a good country; and + how base, how wicked, how diabolical it is to try to set such a family as + this against their best friends, their pastor and their landlord; to + instil dissatisfaction and distrust into their simple minds, and to teach + them to loathe the hand, that proffers nothing but regard or relief. It is + shocking, isn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + “That’s what I often say, Sir,” said Mrs. Hodgins, “to my old man, to keep + away from them Chartists.” + </p> + <p> + “Chartists! dear, who are they? I never heard of them.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Sir, they are the men that want the five pints.” + </p> + <p> + “Five pints! why you don’t say so; oh! they are bad men, have nothing to + do with them. Five pints! why that is two quarts and a half; that is too + much to drink if it was water; and if any thing else, it is beastly + drunkenness. Have nothing to do with them.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! no, Sir, it is five points of law.” + </p> + <p> + “Tut—tut—tut! what have you got to do with law, my dear?” + </p> + <p> + “By gosh, Aunty,” said Mr. Slick, “you had better not cut that pie: you + will find it rather sour in the apple sarce, and tough in the paste, I + tell <i>you</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Sir,” she replied, “but they are a unsettling of his mind. What + shall I do? for I don’t like these night meetings, and he always comes + home from ‘em cross and sour-like.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I am sorry to hear that,” said Mr. Hopewell, “I wish I could see + him; but I can’t, for I am bound on a journey. I am sorry to hear it, + dear. Sam, this country is so beautiful, so highly cultivated, so adorned + by nature and art, and contains so much comfort and happiness, that it + resembles almost the garden of Eden. But, Sam, the Serpent is here, the + Serpent is here beyond a doubt. It changes its shape, and alters its name, + and takes a new colour, but still it is the Serpent, and it ought to be + crushed. Sometimes it calls itself liberal, then radical, then chartist, + then agitator, then repealer, then political dissenter, then anti-corn + leaguer, and so on. Sometimes it stings the clergy, and coils round them, + and almost strangles them, for it knows the Church is its greatest enemy, + and it is furious against it. Then it attacks the peers, and covers them + with its froth and slaver, and then it bites the landlord. Then it changes + form, and shoots at the Queen, or her ministers, and sets fire to + buildings, and burns up corn to increase distress; and, when hunted away, + it dives down into the collieries, or visits the manufactories, and + maddens the people, and urges them on to plunder and destruction. It’s a + melancholy thing to think of; but he is as of old, alive and active, + seeing whom he can allure and deceive, and whoever listens is ruined for + ever. + </p> + <p> + “Stay, dear, I’ll tell you what I will do for you. I’ll inquire about + these Chartists; and when I go to London, I will write a little tract so + plain that any child may read it and understand it; and call it <i>The + Chartist</i>, and get it printed, and I will send you one for your + husband, and two or three others, to give to those whom they may benefit. + </p> + <p> + “And now, dear, I must go. You and I will never meet again in this world; + but I shall often think of you, and often speak of you. I shall tell my + people of the comforts, of the neatness, of the beauty of an English + cottage. May God bless you, and so regulate your mind as to preserve in + you a reverence for his holy word, an obedience to the commands of your + Spiritual Pastor, and a respect for all that are placed in authority over + you!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it is pretty, too, is this cottage,” said Mr. Slick, as we strolled + back to the inn, “but the handsumestest thing is to hear that good old + soul talk dictionary that way, aint it? How nateral he is! Guess they + don’t often see such a ‘postle as that in these diggins. Yes, it’s pretty + is this cottage; but it’s small, arter all. You feel like a squirrel in a + cage, in it; you have to run round and round, and don’t go forward none. + What would a man do with a rifle here? For my part, I have a taste for the + wild woods; it comes on me regular in the fall, like the lake fever, and I + up gun, and off for a week or two, and camp out, and get a snuff of the + spruce-wood air, and a good appetite, and a bit of fresh ven’son to sup on + at night. + </p> + <p> + “I shall be off to the highlands this fall; but, cuss em, they hante got + no woods there; nothin’ but heather, and thats only high enough to tear + your clothes. That’s the reason the Scotch don’t wear no breeches, they + don’t like to get ‘em ragged up that way for everlastinly, they can’t + afford it; so they let em scratch and tear their skin, for that will grow + agin, and trowsers won’t. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it’s a pretty cottage that, and a nice tidy body that too, is Mrs. + Hodgins. I’ve seen the time when I would have given a good deal to have + been so well housed as that. There is some little difference atween that + cottage and a log hut of a poor back emigrant settler, you and I know + where. Did ever I tell you of the night I spent at Lake Teal, with old + Judge Sandford?” + </p> + <p> + “No, not that I recollect.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, once upon a time I was a-goin’ from Mill-bridge to Shadbrooke, on a + little matter of bisness, and an awful bad and lonely road it was, too. + There was scarcely no settlers in it, and the road was all made of sticks, + stones, mud holes, and broken bridges. It was een amost onpassible, and + who should I overtake on the way but the Judge, and his guide, on + horseback, and Lawyer Traverse a-joggin’ along in his gig, at the rate of + two miles an hour at the fardest. + </p> + <p> + “‘Mornin,’ sais the Judge, for he was a sociable man, and had a kind word + for every body, had the Judge. Few men ‘know’d human natur’ better nor he + did, and what he used to call the philosophy of life. ‘I am glad to see + you on the road, Mr. Slick, sais he, ‘for it is so bad I am afraid there + are places that will require our united efforts to pass ‘em.’ + </p> + <p> + “Well, I felt kinder sorry for the delay too, for I know’d we should make + a poor journey on’t, on account of that lawyer critter’s gig, that hadn’t + no more busness on that rough track than a steam engine had. But I see’d + the Judge wanted me to stay company, and help him along, and so I did. He + was fond of a joke, was the old Judge, and sais he, + </p> + <p> + “‘I’m afraid we shall illustrate that passage o’ Scriptur’, Mr. Slick,’ + said he, ‘“And their judges shall be overthrown in stony places.” It’s + jist a road for it, ain’t it?’ + </p> + <p> + “Well we chattered along the road this way a leetle, jist a leetle faster + than we travelled, for we made a snail’s gallop of it, that’s a fact; and + night overtook us, as I suspected it would, at Obi Rafuse’s, at the Great + Lake; and as it was the only public for fourteen miles, and dark was + settin’ in, we dismounted, but oh, what a house it was! + </p> + <p> + “Obi was an emigrant, and those emigrants are ginerally so fond of ownin’ + the soil, that like misers, they carry as much of it about ‘em on their + parsons, in a common way, as they cleverly can. Some on ‘em are awful + dirty folks, that’s a fact, and Obi was one of them. He kept public, did + Obi; the sign said it was a house of entertainment for man and beast. For + critters that ain’t human, I do suppose it spoke the truth, for it was + enough to make a hoss larf, if he could understand it, that’s a fact; but + dirt, wretchedness and rags, don’t have that effect on me. + </p> + <p> + “The house was built of rough spruce logs, (the only thing spruce about + it), with the bark on, and the cracks and seams was stuffed with moss. The + roof was made of coarse slabs, battened and not shingled, and the chimbly + peeped out like a black pot, made of sticks and mud, the way a crow’s nest + is. The winders were half broke out, and stopped up with shingles and old + clothes, and a great bank of mud and straw all round, reached half way up + to the roof, to keep the frost out of the cellar. It looked like an old + hat on a dung heap. I pitied the old Judge, because he was a man that took + the world as he found it, and made no complaints. He know’d if you got the + best, it was no use complainin’ that the best warn’t good. + </p> + <p> + “Well, the house stood alone in the middle of a clearin’, without an + outhouse of any sort or kind about it, or any fence or enclosure, but jist + rose up as a toodstool grows, all alone in the field. Close behind it was + a thick short second growth of young birches, about fifteen feet high, + which was the only shelter it had, and that was on the wrong side, for it + was towards the south. + </p> + <p> + “Well, when we alighted, and got the baggage off, away starts the guide + with the Judge’s traps, and ups a path through the woods to a settler’s, + and leaves us. Away down by the edge of the lake was a little barn, filled + up to the roof with grain and hay, and there was no standin’ room or + shelter in it for the hosses. So the lawyer hitches his critter to a tree, + and goes and fetches up some fodder for him, and leaves him for the night, + to weather it as he could. As soon as he goes in, I takes Old Clay to the + barn, for it’s a maxim of mine always to look out arter number one, opens + the door, and pulls out sheaf arter sheaf of grain as fast as I could, and + throws it out, till I got a place big enough for him to crawl in. + </p> + <p> + “‘Now,’ sais I, ‘old boy,’ as I shot to the door arter him, ‘if that hole + ain’t big enough for you, eat away till it is, that’s all.’ + </p> + <p> + “I had hardly got to the house afore the rain, that had threatened all + day, came down like smoke, and the wind got up, and it blew like a young + hurricane, and the lake roared dismal; it was an awful night, and it was + hard to say which was wus, the Storm or the shelter. + </p> + <p> + “‘Of two evils,’ sais I to the lawyer, ‘choose the least. It ain’t a bad + thing to be well housed in a night like this, is it?’ + </p> + <p> + “The critter groaned, for both cases was so ‘bad he didn’t know which to + take up to defend, so he grinned horrid and said nothin’; and it was + enough to make him grin too, that’s a fact. He looked as if he had got + hold on a bill o’ pains and penalties instead of a bill of costs that + time, you may depend. + </p> + <p> + “Inside of the house was three rooms, the keepin’ room, where we was all + half circled round the fire, and two sleepin’ rooms off of it. One of + these Obi had, who was a-bed, groanin’, coughin’, and turnin’ over and + over all the time on the creakin’ bedstead with pleurisy; t’other was for + the judge. The loft was for the old woman, his mother, and the hearth, or + any other soft place we could find, was allocated for lawyer and me. + </p> + <p> + “What a scarecrow lookin’ critter old aunty was, warn’t she? She was all + in rags and tatters, and though she lived ‘longside of the lake the best + part of her emigrant life, had never used water since she was christened. + Her eyes were so sunk in her head, they looked like two burnt holes in a + blanket. Her hair was pushed back, and tied so tight with an eel-skin + behind her head, it seemed to take the hide with it. I ‘most wonder how + she ever shot to her eyes to go to sleep. She had no stockins on her legs, + and no heels to her shoes, so she couldn’t lift her feet up, for fear of + droppin’ off her slippers; but she just shoved and slid about as if she + was on ice. She had a small pipe in her mouth, with about an inch of a + stem, to keep her nose warm, and her skin was so yaller and wrinkled, and + hard and oily, she looked jist like a dried smoked red herrin’, she did + upon my soul. + </p> + <p> + “The floor of the room was blacker nor ink, because that is pale + sometimes; and the utenshils, oh, if the fire didn’t purify ‘em now and + ag’in, all the scrubbin’ in the world wouldn’t, they was past that. + Whenever the door was opened, in run the pigs, and the old woman hobbled + round arter them, bangin’ them with a fryin’ pan, till she seemed out o’ + breath. Every time she took less and less notice of ‘em, for she was ‘most + beat out herself, and was busy a gettin’ of the tea-kettle to bile, and it + appeared to me she was a-goin’ to give in and let ‘em sleep with me and + the lawyer, near the fire. + </p> + <p> + “So I jist puts the tongs in the sparklin’ coals and heats the eends on + ‘em red hot, and the next time they comes in, I watches a chance, outs + with the tongs, and seizes the old sow by the tail, and holds on till I + singes it beautiful. The way she let go ain’t no matter, but if she didn’t + yell it’s a pity, that’s all. She made right straight for the door, dashed + in atween old aunty’s legs, and carries her out on her back, ridin’ + straddle-legs like a man, and tumbles her head over heels in the duck pond + of dirty water outside, and then lays down along side of her, to put the + fire out in its tail and cool itself. + </p> + <p> + “Aunty took up the screamin’ then, where the pig left off; but her voice + warn’t so good, poor thing! she was too old for that, it sounded like a + cracked bell; it was loud enough, but it warn’t jist so clear. She came in + drippin’ and cryin’ and scoldin’; she hated water, and what was wus, this + water made her dirtier. It ran off of her like a gutter. The way she let + out agin pigs, travellers and houses of entertainment, was a caution to + sinners. She vowed she’d stop public next mornin’, and bile her kettle + with the sign; folks might entertain themselves and be hanged to ‘em, for + all her, that they might. Then she mounted a ladder and goes up into the + loft-to change. + </p> + <p> + “‘Judge’ sais I, ‘I am sorry, too, I singed that pig’s tail arter that + fashion, for the smell of pork chops makes me feel kinder hungry, and if + we had ‘em, no soul could eat ‘em here in such a stye as this. But, dear + me,’ sais I, ‘You’d better move, Sir; that old woman is juicy, and I see + it a comin’ through the cracks of the floor above, like a streak of + molasses. + </p> + <p> + “‘Mr. Slick,’ sais he, ‘this is dreadful. I never saw any thing so bad + before in all this country; but what can’t be cured must be endured, I do + suppose. We must only be good-natured and do the best we can, that’s all. + An emigrant house is no place to stop at, is it? There is a tin case,’ + sais he, ‘containin’ a cold tongue and some biscuits, in my portmanter; + please to get them out. You must act as butler to-night, if you please; + for I can’t eat any thing that old woman touches.’ + </p> + <p> + “So I spreads one of his napkins on the table, and gets out the eatables, + and then he produced a pocket pistol, for he was a sensible man was the + judge, and we made a small check, for there warn’t enough for a feed. + </p> + <p> + “Arter that, he takes out a night-cap, and fits it on tight, and then puts + on his cloak, and wraps the hood of it close over his head, and foldin’ + himself up in it, he went and laid down without ondressin’. The lawyer + took a stretch for it on the bench, with his gig cushions for a pillar, + and I makes up the fire, sits down on the chair, puts my legs up on the + jamb, draws my hat over my eyes, and folds my arms for sleep. + </p> + <p> + “‘But fust and foremost,’ sais I, ‘aunty, take a drop of the strong + waters: arter goin’ the whole hog that way, you must need some,’ and I + poured her out a stiff corker into one of her mugs, put some sugar and hot + water to it, and she tossed it off as if she railly did like it. + </p> + <p> + “‘Darn that pig,’ said she, ‘it is so poor, its back is as sharp as a + knife. It hurt me properly, that’s a fact, and has most broke my crupper + bone.’ And she put her hand behind her, and moaned piteous. + </p> + <p> + “‘Pig skin,’ sais I, ‘aunty, is well enough when made into a saddle, but + it ain’t over pleasant to ride on bare back that way,’ sais I, ‘is it? And + them bristles ain’t quite so soft as feathers, I do suppose.’ + </p> + <p> + “I thought I should a died a holdin’ in of a haw haw that way. Stifling a + larf a’most stifles oneself, that’s a fact. I felt sorry for her, too, but + sorrow won’t always keep you from larfin’, unless you be sorry for + yourself. So as I didn’t want to offend her I ups legs agin to the jam, + and shot my eyes and tried to go to sleep. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I can snooze through most any thin’, but I couldn’t get much sleep + that night. The pigs kept close to the door, a shovin’ agin it every now + and then, to see all was right for a dash in, if the bears came; and the + geese kept sentry too agin the foxes; and one old feller would squake out + “all’s well” every five minuts, as he marched up and down and back agin on + the bankin’ of the house. + </p> + <p> + “But the turkeys was the wust. They was perched upon the lee side of the + roof, and sometimes an eddy of wind would take a feller right slap off his + legs, and send him floppin’ and rollin’ and sprawlin’ and screamin’ down + to the ground, and then he’d make most as much fuss a-gettin’ up into line + agin. They are very fond of straight, lines is turkeys. I never see an old + gobbler, with his gorget, that I don’t think of a kernel of a marchin’ + regiment, and if you’ll listen to him and watch him, he’ll strut jist like + one, and say, ‘halt! dress!’ oh, he is a military man is a turkey cock: he + wears long spurs, carries a stiff neck, and charges at red cloth, like a + trooper. + </p> + <p> + “Well then a little cowardly good natured cur, that lodged in an empty + flour barrel, near the wood pile, gave out a long doleful howl, now and + agin, to show these outside passengers, if he couldn’t fight for ‘em, he + could at all events cry for ‘em, and it ain’t every goose has a mourner to + her funeral, that’s a fact, unless it be the owner. + </p> + <p> + “In the mornin’ I wakes up, and looks round for lawyer, but he was gone. + So I gathers up the brans, and makes up the fire, and walks out. The pigs + didn’t try to come in agin, you may depend, when they see’d me; they + didn’t like the curlin’ tongs, as much as some folks do, and pigs’ tails + kinder curl naterally. But there was lawyer a-standin’ up by the grove, + lookin’ as peeked and as forlorn, as an onmated loon. + </p> + <p> + “‘What’s the matter of you, Squire?’ sais I. ‘You look like a man that was + ready to make a speech; but your witness hadn’t come, or you hadn’t got no + jury.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Somebody has stole my horse,’ said he. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I know’d he was near-sighted, was lawyer, and couldn’t see a pint + clear of his nose, unless it was a pint o’ law. So I looks all round and + there was his hoss, a-standin’ on the bridge, with his long tail hanging + down straight at one eend, and his long neck and head a banging down + straight at t’other eend, so that you couldn’t tell one from t’other or + which eend was towards you. It was a clear cold mornin’. The storm was + over and the wind down, and there was a frost on the ground. The critter + was cold I suppose, and had broke the rope and walked off to stretch his + legs. It was a monstrous mean night to be out in, that’s sartain. + </p> + <p> + “‘There is your hoss,’ sais I. + </p> + <p> + “‘Where?’ sais he. + </p> + <p> + “‘Why on the bridge,’ sais I; “he has got his head down and is a-lookin’ + atween his fore-legs to see where his tail is, for he is so cold, I do + suppose he can’t feel it.’ + </p> + <p> + “Well, as soon as we could, we started; but afore we left, sais the Judge + to me, ‘Mr. Slick,’ sais he, ‘here is a plaister,’ taking out a pound + note, ‘a plaister for the skin the pig rubbed off of the old woman. Give + it to her, I hope it is big enough to cover it.’ And he fell back on the + bed, and larfed and coughed, and coughed and larfed, till the tears ran + down his cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mr. Slick, “yes, Squire, this is a pretty cottage of Marm + Hodgins; but we have cottages quite as pretty as this, our side of the + water, arter all. They are not all like Obi Rafuses, the immigrant. The + natives have different guess places, where you might eat off the floor + a’most, all’s so clean. P’raps we hante the hedges, and flowers, and vines + and fixin’s, and what-nots.” + </p> + <p> + “Which, alone,” I said, “make a most important difference. No, Mr. Slick’, + there is nothing to be compared to this little cottage. + </p> + <p> + “I perfectly agree with you, Squire,” said Mr. Hopewell, “it is quite + unique. There is not only nothing equal to it, but nothing of its kind at + all like—<i>an English cottage</i>.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. STEALING THE HEARTS OF THE PEOPLE. + </h2> + <p> + Shortly after our return to the inn, a carriage drove up to the door, and + the cards of Mr. Merton, and the Reverend Mr. Homily, which were presented + by the servant, were soon followed by the gentlemen themselves. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Merton said he had been informed by Mrs. Hodgins of our visit to her + cottage, and from her account of our conversation and persons, he was + convinced we could be no other than the party described in the “Sayings + and Doings of Mr. Samuel Slick,” as about to visit England with the + Attache. He expressed great pleasure in having the opportunity of making + our acquaintance, and entreated us to spend a few days with him at the + Priory. This invitation we were unfortunately compelled to decline, in + consequence of urgent business in London, where our immediate presence was + indispensable. + </p> + <p> + The rector then pressed Mr. Hopewell to preach for him, on the following + day at the parish church, which he also declined. He said, that he had no + sermons with him, and that he had very great objections to extemporaneous + preaching, which he thought should never be resorted to except in cases of + absolute necessity. He, however, at last consented to do so, on condition + that Mrs. Hodgins and her husband attended, and upon being assured that it + was their invariable custom to be present, he said, he thought it not + impossible, that he might make an impression upon <i>him</i>, and as it + was his maxim never to omit an opportunity of doing good, he would with + the blessing of God, make the attempt. + </p> + <p> + The next day was remarkably fine, and as the scene was new to me, and most + probably will be so to most of my colonial readers, I shall endeavour to + describe it with some minuteness. + </p> + <p> + We walked to the church by a path over the hills, and heard the bells of a + number of little churches, summoning the surrounding population to the + House of God. The roads and the paths were crowded with the peasantry and + their children, approaching the church-yard in different directions. The + church and the rectory were contiguous to each other, and situated in a + deep dell. + </p> + <p> + The former was a long and rather low structure, originally built of light + coloured stone, which had grown grey with time. It had a large square + steeple, with pointed corners, like turrets, each of which was furnished + with a vane, but some of these ornaments were loose and turned round in a + circle, while others stood still and appeared to be examining with true + rustic curiosity, the condition of their neighbours. + </p> + <p> + The old rectory stood close to the church and was very irregularly built, + one part looking as if it had stepped forward to take a peep at us, and + another as if endeavouring to conceal itself from view, behind a screen of + ivy. The windows which were constructed of diamond-shaped glass, were + almost square, and opened on hinges. Nearly half of the house was covered + by a rose-tree, from which the lattices peered very inquisitively upon the + assembled congregation. Altogether it looked like the residence of a + vigilant man, who could both see and be unseen if he pleased. + </p> + <p> + Near the door of the church were groups of men in their clean smock-frocks + and straw hats, and of women in their tidy dark dresses and white aprons. + The children all looked clean, healthy, and cheerful. + </p> + <p> + The interior of the church was so unlike that of an American one, that my + attention was irresistibly drawn to its peculiarities. It was low, and + divided in the centre by an arch. The floor was of stone, and from long + and constant use, very uneven in places. The pews were much higher on the + sides than ours, and were unpainted and roughly put together; while the + pulpit was a rude square box, and was placed in the corner. Near the door + stood an ancient stone font, of rough workmanship, and much worn. + </p> + <p> + The windows were long and narrow, and placed very high in the walls. On + the one over the altar was a very old painting, on stained glass, of the + Virgin, with a hoop and yellow petticoat, crimson vest, a fly cap, and + very thick shoes. The light of this window was still further subdued by a + fine old yew-tree, which stood in the yard close behind it. + </p> + <p> + There was another window of beautifully stained glass, the light of which + fell on a large monument, many feet square, of white marble. In the centre + of this ancient and beautiful work of art, were two principal figures, + with smaller ones kneeling on each side, having the hands raised in the + attitude of prayer. They were intended to represent some of the ancestors + of the Merton family. The date was as old as 1575. On various parts of the + wall were other and ruder monuments of slate-stone, the inscriptions and + dates of which were nearly effaced by time. + </p> + <p> + The roof was of a construction now never seen in America; and the old oak + rafters, which were more numerous, than was requisite, either for strength + or ornament, were massive and curiously put together, giving this part of + the building a heavy and gloomy appearance. + </p> + <p> + As we entered the church, Mr. Hopewell said he had selected a text + suitable to the times, and that he would endeavour to save the poor people + in the neighbourhood from the delusions of the chartist demagogues, who, + it appeared, were endeavouring to undermine the throne and the altar, and + bring universal ruin upon the country. + </p> + <p> + When he ascended the pulpit to preach, his figure, his great age, and his + sensible and benevolent countenance, attracted universal attention. I had + never seen him officiate till this day; but if I was struck with his + venerable appearance before, I was now lost in admiration of his rich and + deep-toned voice, his peculiar manner, and simple style of eloquence. + </p> + <p> + He took for his text these words: “So Absalom stole the hearts of the men + of Israel.” He depicted, in a very striking manner, the arts of this + intriguing and ungrateful man to ingratiate himself with the people, and + render the government unpopular. He traced his whole course, from his + standing at the crowded thoroughfare, and lamenting that the king had + deputed no one to hear and decide upon the controversies of the people, to + his untimely end, and the destruction of his ignorant followers. He made a + powerful application of the seditious words of Absalom: “Oh that <i>I</i> + were a judge in the land, that every man which hath a suit or cause might + come unto me, and <i>I</i> would do him justice.” He showed the effect of + these empty and wicked promises upon his followers, who in the holy record + of this unnatural rebellion are described as “men who went out in their + simplicity, and knew not anything.” + </p> + <p> + He then said that similar arts were used in all ages for similar purposes; + and that these professions of disinterested patriotism were the common + pretences by which wicked men availed themselves of the animal force of + those “who assemble in their simplicity, and know not any thing,” to + achieve their own personal aggrandisement, and warned them, to give no + heed to such dishonest people. He then drew a picture of the real + blessings they enjoyed in this happy country, which, though not without an + admixture of evil, were as many and as great as the imperfect and unequal + condition of man was capable either of imparting or receiving. + </p> + <p> + Among the first of these, he placed the provision made by the state for + the instruction of the poor, by means of an established Church. He said + they would doubtless hear this wise and pious deed of their forefathers + attacked also by unprincipled men; and falsehood and ridicule would be + invoked to aid in the assault; but that he was a witness on its behalf, + from the distant wilderness of North America, where the voice of gratitude + was raised to England, whose missionaries had planted a church there + similar to their own, and had proclaimed the glad tidings of salvation to + those who would otherwise have still continued to live without its pale. + </p> + <p> + He then pourtrayed in a rapid and most masterly manner the sin and the + disastrous consequences of rebellion; pointed out the necessity that + existed for vigilance and defined their respective duties to God, and to + those who, by his permission, were set in authority over them; and + concluded with the usual benediction, which, though I had heard it on + similar occasions all my life, seemed now more efficacious, more paternal, + and more touching than ever, when uttered by him, in his peculiarly + patriarchal manner. + </p> + <p> + The abstract I have just given, I regret to say, cannot convey any + adequate idea of this powerful, excellent, and appropriate sermon. It was + listened to with intense interest by the congregation, many of whom were + affected to tears. In the afternoon we attended church again, when we + heard a good, plain, and practical discourse from the rector; but, + unfortunately, he had neither the talent, nor the natural eloquence of our + friend, and, although it satisfied the judgment, it did not affect, the + heart like that of the “Old Minister.” + </p> + <p> + At the door we met, on our return, Mrs. Hodgins. “Ah! my dear,” said Mr. + Hopewell, “how do you do? I am going to your cottage; but I am an old man + now; take my arm—it will support me in my walk.” + </p> + <p> + It was thus that this good man, while honouring this poor woman, avoided + the appearance of condescension, and received her arm as a favour to + himself. + </p> + <p> + She commenced thanking him for his sermon in the morning. She said it had + convinced her William of the sin of the Chartist agitation, and that he + had firmly resolved never to meet them again. It had saved him from ruin, + and made her a happy woman. + </p> + <p> + “Glad to hear it has done him good, my dear,” said he; “it does me good, + too, to hear its effect. Now, never remind him of past errors, never + allude to them: make his home cheerful, make it the pleasantest place he + can find any where, and he won’t want to seek amusement elsewhere, or + excitement either; for these seditious meetings intoxicate by their + excitement. Oh! I am very glad I have touched him; that I have prevented + these seditious men from ‘stealing his heart.’” + </p> + <p> + In this way they chatted, until they arrived at the cottage, which Hodgins + had just reached by a shorter, but more rugged path. + </p> + <p> + “It is such a lovely afternoon,” said Mr. Hopewell, “I believe I will rest + in this arbour here awhile, and enjoy the fresh breeze, and the perfume of + your honeysuckles and flowers.” + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn’t a pipe be better, Minister?” said Mr. Slick. “For my part, I + don’t think any thing equal to the flavour of rael good gene<i>wine</i> + first chop tobacco.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it is a great refreshment, is tobacco,” said Mr. Hopewell. “I don’t + care if I do take a pipe. Bring me one, Mr. Hodgins, and one for yourself + also, and I will smoke and talk with you awhile, for they seem as natural + to each other, as eating and drinking do.” + </p> + <p> + As soon as these were produced, Mr. Slick and I retired, and requested + Mrs. Hodgins to leave the Minister and her husband together for a while, + for as Mr. Slick observed, “The old man will talk it into him like a book; + for if he was possessed of the spirit of a devil, instead of a Chartist, + he is jist the boy to drive it out of him. Let him be awhile, and he’ll + tame old uncle there, like a cossit sheep; jist see if he don’t, that’s + all.” + </p> + <p> + We then walked up and down the shady lane, smoking our cigars, and Mr. + Slick observed, “Well, there is a nation sight of difference, too, ain’t + there, atween this country church, and a country meetin’ house our side of + the water; I won’t say in your country or my country; but I say <i>our</i> + side of the water—and then it won’t rile nobody; for your folks will + say I mean the States, and our citizens will say I mean the colonies; but + you and I know who the cap fits, one or t’other, or both, don’t we? + </p> + <p> + “Now here, this old-fashioned church, ain’t quite up to the notch, and is + a leetle behind the enlightment of the age like, with its queer old + fixin’s and what not; but still it looks solemcoly’ don’t it, and the dim + light seems as if we warn’t expected to be a lookin’ about, and as if + outer world was shot out, from sight and thort, and it warn’t <i>man’s</i> + house nother. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know whether it was that dear old man’s preachin’, and he is a + brick ain’t he? or, whether it’s the place, or the place and him together; + but somehow, or somehow else, I feel more serious to-day than common, + that’s a fact. The people too are all so plain dressed, so decent, so + devout and no show, it looks like airnest. + </p> + <p> + “The only fashionable people here was the Squire’s sarvants; and they <i>did</i> + look genteel, and no mistake. Elegant men, and most splendid lookin’ women + they was too. I thought it was some noble, or aid’s, or big bug’s family; + but Mrs. Hodgins says they are the people of the Squire’s about here, the + butlers and ladies’ maids; and superfine uppercrust lookin’ folks they be + too. + </p> + <p> + “Then every body walks here, even Squire Merton and his splendiriferous + galls walked like the poorest of the poor, there was no carriage to the + door, nor no hosses hitched to the gate, or tied to the back of waggons, + or people gossipin’ outside; but all come in and minded their business, as + if it was worth attendin’ to; and then arter church was finished off, I + liked the way the big folks talked to the little folks, and enquired arter + their families. It may he actin’, but if it is, it’s plaguy good actin’, I + <i>tell</i> you. + </p> + <p> + “I’m a thinkin’ it tante a rael gentleman that’s proud, but only a hop. + You’ve seen a hop grow, hante you? It shoots up in a night, the matter of + several inches right out of the ground, as stiff as a poker, straight up + and down, with a spick and span new green coat and a red nose, as proud as + Lucifer. Well, I call all upstarts ‘hops,’ and I believe it’s only “hops” + arter all that’s scorny. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I kinder like an English country church, only it’s a leetle, jist a + leetle too old fashioned for me. Folks look a leetle too much like + grandfather Slick, and the boys used to laugh at him, and call him a + benighted Britisher. Perhaps that’s the cause of my prejudice, and yet I + must say, British or no British, it tante bad, is it? + </p> + <p> + “The meetin’ houses ‘our side of the water,’ no matter where, but away up + in the back country, how teetotally different they be! bean’t they? A + great big, handsome wooden house, chock full of winders, painted so white + as to put your eyes out, and so full of light within, that inside seems + all out-doors, and no tree nor bush, nor nothin’ near it but the road + fence, with a man to preach in it, that is so strict and straight-laced he + will do <i>any thing</i> of a week day, and <i>nothin’’</i> of a Sunday. + Congregations are rigged out in their spic and span bran new clothes, + silks, satins, ribbins, leghorns, palmetters, kiss-me-quicks, and all + sorts of rigs, and the men in their long-tail-blues, pig-skin pads + calf-skin boots and sheep-skin saddle-cloths. Here they publish a book of + fashions, there they publish ‘em in meetin’; and instead of a pictur, have + the rael naked truth. + </p> + <p> + “Preacher there don’t preach morals, because that’s churchy, and he don’t + like neither the church nor its morals; but he preaches doctrine, which + doctrine is, there’s no Christians but themselves. Well, the fences + outside of the meetin’ house, for a quarter of a mile or so, each side of + the house, and each side of the road, ain’t to be seen for hosses and + waggons, and gigs hitched there; poor devils of hosses that have ploughed, + or hauled, or harrowed, or logged, or snaked, or somethin’ or another all + the week, and rest of a Sunday by alterin’ their gait, as a man rests on a + journey by a alterin’ of his sturup, a hole higher or a hole lower. Women + that has all their finery on can’t walk, and some things is ondecent. It’s + as ondecent for a woman to be seen walkin’ to meetin’, as it is to be + caught at—what shall I say?—why caught at attendin’ to her + business to home. + </p> + <p> + “The women are the fust and the last to meetin’; fine clothes cost + sunthin’, and if they ain’t showed, what’s the use of them? The men folk + remind me of the hosses to Sable Island. It’s a long low sand-bank on Nova + Scotia coast, thirty miles long and better is Sable Island, and not much + higher than the water. It has awful breakers round it, and picks up a + shockin’ sight of vessels does that island. Government keeps a + super-intender there and twelve men to save wracked people, and there is a + herd of three hundred wild hosses kept there for food for saved crews that + land there, when provision is short, or for super-intender to catch and + break for use, as the case may be. + </p> + <p> + “Well, if he wants a new hoss, he mounts his folks on his tame hosses, and + makes a dash into the herd, and runs a wild feller down, lugs him off to + the stable-yard, and breaks him in, in no time. A smart little hoss he is + too, but he always has an <i>eye to natur’’</i> arterwards; <i>the change + is too sudden</i>, and he’ll off, if he gets a chance. + </p> + <p> + “Now that’s the case with these country congregations, we know where. The + women and old tame men folk are, inside; the young wild boys and ontamed + men folk are on the fences, outside a settin’ on the top rail, a + speculatin’ on times or marriages, or markets, or what not, or a walkin’ + round and studyin’ hoss flesh, or a talkin’ of a swap to be completed of a + Monday, or a leadin’ off of two hosses on the sly of the old deacon’s, + takin’ a lick of a half mile on a bye road, right slap a-head, and + swearin’ the hosses had got loose, and they was just a fetchin’ of them + back. + </p> + <p> + “‘Whose side-saddle is this?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Slim Sall Dowdie’s.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Shift it on to the deacon’s beast, and put his on to her’n and tie the + two critters together by the tail. This is old Mother Pitcher’s waggon; + her hoss kicks like a grasshopper. Lengthen the breechin’, and when aunty + starts, he’ll make all fly agin into shavin’s, like a plane. Who is that a + comin’ along full split there a horseback?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘It’s old Booby’s son, Tom. Well, it’s the old man’s shaft hoss; call out + whoh! and he’ll stop short, and pitch Tom right over his head on the broad + of his back, whap. + </p> + <p> + “Tim Fish, and Ned Pike, come scale up here with us boys on the fence.’ + The weight is too great; away goes the fence, and away goes the boys, all + flyin’; legs, arms, hats, poles, stakes, withes, and all, with an awful + crash and an awful shout; and away goes two or three hosses that have + broke their bridles, and off home like wink. + </p> + <p> + “Out comes Elder Sourcrout. ‘Them as won’t come in had better stay to + home,’ sais he. And when he hears that them as are in had better stay in + when they be there, he takes the hint and goes back agin. ‘Come, boys, + let’s go to Black Stump Swamp and sarch for honey. We shall be back in + time to walk home with the galls from night meetin’, by airly + candle-light. Let’s go.’ + </p> + <p> + “Well, when they want to recruit the stock of tame ones inside meetin’, + they sarcumvent some o’ these wild ones outside; make a dash on ‘em, catch + ‘em, dip ‘em, and give ‘em a name; for all sects don’t always baptise ‘em + as we do, when children, but let ‘em grow up wild in the herd till they + are wanted. They have hard work to break ‘em in, for they are smart ones, + that’s a fact, but, like the hosses of Sable Island, they have always <i>an + eye to natur’’</i> arterwards; <i>the change is too sudden</i>, you can’t + trust ‘em, at least I never see one as <i>I</i> could, that’s all. + </p> + <p> + “Well, when they come out o’ meetin’, look at the dignity and sanctity, + and pride o’ humility o’ the tame old ones. Read their faces. ‘How does + the print go?’ Why this way, ‘I am a sinner, at least I was once, but + thank fortin’ I ain’t like you, you onconverted, benighted, + good-for-nothin’ critter you.’ Read the ontamed one’s face, what’s the + print there? Why it’s this. As soon as he sees over-righteous stalk by + arter that fashion, it says, ‘How good we are, ain’t we? Who wet his hay + to the lake tother day, on his way to market, and made two tons weigh two + tons and a half? You’d better look as if butter wouldn’t melt in your + mouth, hadn’t you, old Sugar-cane?’ + </p> + <p> + “Now jist foller them two rulin’ elders, Sourcrout and Coldslaugh; they + are plaguy jealous of their neighbour, elder Josh Chisel, that exhorted + to-day. ‘How did you like Brother Josh, to-day?’ says Sourcrout, a + utterin’ of it through his nose. Good men always speak through the nose. + It’s what comes out o’ the mouth that defiles a man; but there is no + mistake in the nose; it’s the porch of the temple that. ‘How did you like + Brother Josh?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Well, he wasn’t very peeowerful.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Was he ever peeowerful?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Well, when a boy, they say he was considerable sum as a wrastler.’ + </p> + <p> + “Sourcrout won’t larf, because it’s agin rules; but he gig goggles like a + turkey-cock, and says he, ‘It’s for ever and ever the same thing with + Brother Josh. He is like an over-shot mill, one everlastin’ wishy-washy + stream.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘When the water ain’t quite enough to turn the wheel, and only spatters, + spatters, spatters,’ says Coldslaugh. + </p> + <p> + “Sourcrout gig goggles again, as if he was swallerin’ shelled corn whole. + ‘That trick of wettin’ the hay,’ says he, ‘to make it weigh heavy, warn’t + cleverly done; it ain’t pretty to be caught; it’s only bunglers do that.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘He is so fond of temperance,’ says Coldslaugh, ‘he wanted to make his + hay jine society, and drink cold water, too.’ + </p> + <p> + “Sourcrout gig goggles ag’in, till he takes a fit of the asmy, sets down + on a stump, claps both hands on his sides, and coughs, and coughs till he + finds coughing no joke no more. Oh dear, dear convarted men, though they + won’t larf themselves, make others larf the worst kind, sometimes; don’t + they? + </p> + <p> + “I do believe, on my soul, if religion was altogether left to the + voluntary in this world, it would die a nateral death; not that <i>men + wouldn’t support it</i>, but because it would be supported <i>under false + pretences</i>. Truth can’t be long upheld by falsehood. Hypocrisy would + change its features, and intolerance its name; and religion would soon + degenerate into a cold, intriguing, onprincipled, marciless superstition, + that’s a fact. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, on the whole, I rather like these plain, decent, onpretendin’, + country churches here, although t’other ones remind me of old times, when + I was an ontamed one too. Yes, I like an English church; but as for + Minister pretendin’ for to come for to go for to preach agin that + beautiful long-haired young rebel, Squire Absalom, for ‘stealin’ the + hearts of the people,’ why it’s rather takin’ the rag off the bush, ain’t + it? + </p> + <p> + “Tell you what, Squire; there ain’t a man in their whole church here, from + Lord Canter Berry that preaches afore the Queen, to Parson Homily that + preached afore us, nor never was, nor never will be equal to Old Minister + hisself for ‘stealin’ the hearts of the people.’” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. NATUR’. + </h2> + <p> + In the course of our journey, the conversation turned upon the several + series of the “Clockmaker” I had published, and their relative merits. Mr. + Slick appeared to think they all owed their popularity mainly to the + freshness and originality of character incidental to a new country. + </p> + <p> + “You are in the wrong pew here, Squire,” said he; “you are, upon my soul. + If you think to sketch the English in a way any one will stop to look at, + you have missed a figur’, that’s all. You can’t do it nohow; you can’t fix + it. There is no contrasts here, no variation of colours, no light and + shade, no nothin’. What sort of a pictur’ would straight lines of any + thing make? Take a parcel of sodjers, officers and all, and stretch ‘em + out in a row, and paint ‘em, and then engrave ‘em, and put it into one of + our annuals, and see how folks would larf, and ask, ‘What boardin’-school + gall did that? Who pulled her up out of standin’ corn, and sot her up on + eend for an artist? they’d say. + </p> + <p> + “There is nothin’ here to take hold on. It’s so plaguy smooth and high + polished, the hands slip off; you can’t get a grip of it. Now, take Lord + First Chop, who is the most fashionable man in London, dress him in the + last cut coat, best trowsers, French boots, Paris gloves, and + grape-vine-root cane, don’t forget his whiskers, or mous-stache, or + breast-pins, or gold chains, or any thing; and what have you got?—a + tailor’s print-card, and nothin’ else. + </p> + <p> + “Take a lady, and dress her in a’most a beautiful long habit, man’s hat, + stand-up collar and stock, clap a beautiful little cow-hide whip in her + hand, and mount her on a’most a splendiferous white hoss, with long tail + and flowin’ mane, a rairin’ and a cavortin’ like mad, and a champin’ and a + chawin’ of its bit, and makin’ the froth fly from its mouth, a spatterin’ + and white-spottin’ of her beautiful trailin’, skirt like any thing. And + what have you got?—why a print like the posted hand-bills of a + circus. + </p> + <p> + “Now spit on your fingers, and rub Lord First Chop out of the slate, and + draw an Irish labourer, with his coat off, in his shirt-sleeves, with his + breeches loose and ontied at the knees, his yarn stockings and thick shoes + on; a little dudeen in his mouth, as black as ink and as short as nothin’; + his hat with devilish little rim and no crown to it, and a hod on his + shoulders, filled with bricks, and him lookin’ as if he was a singin’ away + as merry as a cricket: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When I was young and unmarried, + my shoes they were new. + But now I am old and am married, + the water runs troo,’ +</pre> + <p> + Do that, and you have got sunthin’ worth lookin’ at, quite pictures-quee, + as Sister Sall used to say. And because why? <i>You have got sunthin’ + nateral</i>. + </p> + <p> + “Well, take the angylyferous dear a horseback, and rub her out, well, I + won’t say that nother, for I’m fond of the little critturs, dressed or not + dressed for company, or any way they like, yes, I like woman-natur’, I + tell <i>you</i>. But turn over the slate, and draw on t’other side on’t an + old woman, with a red cloak, and a striped petticoat, and a poor + pinched-up, old, squashed-in bonnet on, bendin’ forrard, with a staff in + her hand, a leadin’ of a donkey that has a pair of yaller willow + saddle-bags on, with coloured vegetables and flowers, and red beet-tops, a + goin’ to market. And what have you got? Why a pictur’ worth lookin’ at, + too. Why?—<i>because it’s natur’’</i>. + </p> + <p> + “Now, look here, Squire; let Copley, if he was alive, but he ain’t; and + it’s a pity too, for it would have kinder happified the old man, to see + his son in the House of Lords, wouldn’t it? Squire Copley, you know, was a + Boston man; and a credit to our great nation too. P’raps Europe never has + dittoed him since. + </p> + <p> + “Well, if he was above ground now, alive, and stirrin’, why take him and + fetch him to an upper crust London party; and sais you, ‘Old Tenor,’ sais + you, ‘paint all them silver plates, and silver dishes, and silver + coverlids, and what nots; and then paint them lords with their <i>stars</i>, + and them ladies’ (Lord if he would paint them with their garters, folks + would buy the pictur, cause that’s nateral) ‘them ladies with their + jewels, and their sarvants with their liveries, as large as life, and + twice as nateral.’ + </p> + <p> + “Well, he’d paint it, if you paid him for it, that’s a fact; for there is + no better bait to fish for us Yankees arter all, than a dollar. That old + boy never turned up his nose at a dollar, except when he thought he ought + to get two. And if he painted it, it wouldn’t be bad, I tell <i>you</i>. + </p> + <p> + “‘Now,’ sais you, ‘you have done high life, do low life for me, and I will + pay you well. I’ll come down hansum, and do the thing genteel, you may + depend. Then,’ sais you, ‘put in for a back ground that noble, old + Noah-like lookin’ wood, that’s as dark as comingo. Have you done?’ sais + you. + </p> + <p> + “‘I guess so,’ sais he. + </p> + <p> + “‘Then put in a brook jist in front of it, runnin’ over stones, and + foamin’ and a bubblin’ up like any thing.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘It’s in,’ sais he. + </p> + <p> + “‘Then jab two forked sticks in the ground ten feet apart, this side of + the brook,’ sais you, ‘and clap a pole across atween the forks. Is that + down?’ sais you. + </p> + <p> + “‘Yes,’ sais he. + </p> + <p> + “‘Then,’ sais you, ‘hang a pot on that horizontal pole, make a clear + little wood fire onderneath; paint two covered carts near it. Let an old + hoss drink at the stream, and two donkeys make a feed off a patch of + thistles. Have-you stuck that in?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Stop a bit,’ says he, ‘paintin’ an’t quite as fast done as writin’. Have + a little grain of patience, will you? It’s tall paintin’, makin’ the brush + walk at that price. Now there you are,’ sais he. ‘What’s next? But, mind + I’ve most filled my canvass; it will cost you a pretty considerable penny, + if you want all them critters in, when I come to cypher all the pictur up, + and sumtotalize the whole of it.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Oh! cuss the cost!’ sais you. ‘Do you jist obey orders, and break + owners, that’s all you have to do, Old Loyalist.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Very well,’ sais he, ‘here goes.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Well, then,’ sais you, ‘paint a party of gipsies there; mind their + different coloured clothes, and different attitudes, and different + occupations. Here a man mendin’ a harness, there a woman pickin’ a stolen + fowl, there a man skinnin’ a rabbit, there a woman with her petticoat up, + a puttin’ of a patch in it. Here two boys a fishin’, and there a little + gall a playin’ with a dog, that’s a racin’ and a yelpin’, and a barkin’ + like mad.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Well, when he’s done,’ sais you, ‘which pictur do you reckon is the best + now, Squire Copely? speak candid for I want to know, and I ask you now as + a countryman.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Well’ he’ll jist up and tell you, ‘Mr. Poker,’ sais he, ‘your + fashionable party is the devil, that’s a fact. Man made the town, but God + made the country. Your company is as formal, and as stiff, and as + oninterestin’ as a row of poplars; but your gipsy scene is beautiful, + because it’s nateral. It was me painted old Chatham’s death in the House + of Lords; folks praised it a good deal; but it was no great shakes, <i>there + was no natur’ in it</i>. The scene was real, the likenesses was good, and + there was spirit in it, but their damned uniform toggery, spiled the whole + thing—it was artificial, and wanted life and natur. Now, suppose, + such a thing in Congress, or suppose some feller skiverd the speaker with + a bowie knife as happened to Arkansaw, if I was to paint it, it would be + beautiful. Our free and enlightened people is so different, so + characteristic and peculiar, it would give a great field to a painter. To + sketch the different style of man of each state, so that any citizen would + sing right out; Heavens and airth if that don’t beat all! Why, as I am a + livin’ sinner that’s the Hoosier of Indiana, or the Sucker of Illinois, or + the Puke of Missouri, or the Bucky of Ohio, or the Red Horse of Kentucky, + or the Mudhead of Tennesee, or the Wolverine of Michigan or the Eel of New + England, or the Corn Cracker of Virginia! That’s the thing that gives + inspiration. That’s the glass of talabogus that raises your spirits. There + is much of elegance, and more of comfort in England. It is a great and a + good country, Mr. Poker, but there is no natur in it.’ + </p> + <p> + “It is as true as gospel,” said Mr. Slick, “I’m tellin’ you no lie. It’s a + fact. If you expect to paint them English, as you have the Blue-Noses and + us, you’ll pull your line up without a fish, oftener than you are + a-thinkin’ on; that’s the reason all our folks have failed. ‘Rush’s book + is jist molasses and water, not quite so sweet as ‘lasses, and not quite + so good as water; but a spilin’ of both. And why? His pictur was of + polished life, where there is no natur. Washington Irving’s book is like a + Dutch paintin’, it is good, because it is faithful; the mop has the right + number of yarns, and each yarn has the right number of twists, (altho’ he + mistook the mop of the grandfather, for the mop of the man of the present + day) and the pewter plates are on the kitchen dresser, and the other + little notions are all there. He has done the most that could be done for + them, but the painter desarves more praise than the subject. + </p> + <p> + “Why is it every man’s sketches of America takes? Do you suppose it is the + sketches? No. Do you reckon it is the interest we create? No. Is it our + grand experiments? No. They don’t care a brass button for us, or our + country, or experiments nother. What is it then? It is because they are + sketches of natur. Natur in every grade and every variety of form; from + the silver plate, and silver fork, to the finger and huntin’ knife. Our + artificials Britishers laugh at; they are bad copies, that’s a fact; I + give them up. Let them laugh, and be darned; but I stick to my natur, and + I stump them to produce the like. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Squire, if you ever sketch me, for goodness gracious sake, don’t + sketch me as an Attache to our embassy, with the Legation button, on the + coat, and black Jube Japan in livery. Don’t do that; but paint me in my + old waggon to Nova Scotier, with old Clay before me, you by my side, a + segar in my mouth, and natur all round me. And if that is too artificial; + oh, paint me in the back woods, with my huntin’ coat on, my leggins, my + cap, my belt, and my powder-horn. Paint me with my talkin’ iron in my + hand, wipin’ her, chargin’ her, selectin’ the bullet, placin’ it in the + greased wad, and rammin’ it down. Then draw a splendid oak openin’ so as + to give a good view, paint a squirrel on the tip top of the highest + branch, of the loftiest tree, place me off at a hundred yards, drawin’ a + bead on him fine, then show the smoke, and young squire squirrel comin’ + tumblin’ down head over heels lumpus’, to see whether the ground was as + hard as dead squirrels said it was. Paint me nateral, I besech you; for I + tell you now, as I told you before, and ever shall say, there is nothin’ + worth havin’ or knowin’, or hearin’, or readin’, or seein’, or tastin’, or + smellin’, or feelin’ and above all and more than all, nothin’ worth + affectionin’ but <i>Natur</i>. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. THE SOCDOLAGER. + </h2> + <p> + As soon as I found my friend Mr. Hopewell comfortably settled in his + lodgings, I went to the office of the Belgian Consul and other persons to + obtain the necessary passports for visiting Germany, where I had a son at + school. Mr. Slick proceeded at the same time to the residence of his + Excellency Abednego Layman, who had been sent to this country by the + United States on a special mission, relative to the Tariff. + </p> + <p> + On my return from the city in the afternoon, he told me he had presented + his credentials to “the Socdolager,” and was most graciously and cordially + received; but still, I could not fail to observe that there was an evident + air of disappointment about him. + </p> + <p> + “Pray, what is the meaning of the Socdolager?” I asked. “I never heard of + the term before.” + </p> + <p> + “Possible!” said he, “never heerd tell of ‘the Socdolager,’ why you don’t + say so! The Socdolager is the President of the lakes—he is the whale + of the intarnal seas—the Indgians worshipped him once on a time, as + the king of fishes. He lives in great state in the deep waters, does the + old boy, and he don’t often shew himself. I never see’d him myself, nor + any one that ever had sot eyes on him; but the old Indgians have see’d him + and know him well. He won’t take no bait, will the Socdolager; he can’t be + caught, no how you can fix, he is so ‘tarnal knowin’, and he can’t be + speared nother, for the moment he sees aim taken, he ryles the water and + is out of sight in no tune. <i>He</i> can take in whole shoals of others + hisself, tho’ at a mouthful. He’s a whapper, that’s a fact. I call our + Minister here ‘the Socdolager,’ for our <i>di</i>plomaters were never + known to be hooked once yet, and actilly beat all natur’ for knowin’ the + soundin’s, smellin’ the bait, givin’ the dodge, or rylin’ the water; so no + soul can see thro’ it but themselves. Yes, he is ‘a Socdolager,’ or a + whale among <i>di</i>plomaters. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I rigs up this morning, full fig, calls a cab, and proceeds in + state to our embassy, gives what Cooper calls a lord’s beat of six + thund’rin’ raps of the knocker, presents the legation ticket, and was + admitted to where ambassador was. He is a very pretty man all up his + shirt, and he talks pretty, and smiles pretty, and bows pretty, and he has + got the whitest hand you ever see, it looks as white, as a new bread and + milk poultice. It does indeed. + </p> + <p> + “‘Sam Slick,’ sais he, ‘as I’m alive. Well, how do you do, Mr. Slick? I am + ‘nation glad to see you, I affection you as a member of our legation. I + feel kinder proud to have the first literary man of our great nation as my + Attache.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Your knowledge of human natur, (added to your’n of soft sawder,’ sais + I,) ‘will raise our great nation, I guess, in the scale o’ European + estimation.’ + </p> + <p> + “He is as sensitive as a skinned eel, is Layman, and he winced at that + poke at his soft sawder like any thing, and puckered a little about the + mouth, but he didn’t say nothin’, he only bowed. He was a Unitarian + preacher once, was Abednego, but he swapt preachin’ for politics, and a + good trade he made of it too; that’s a fact. + </p> + <p> + “‘A great change,’ sais I, ‘Abednego, since you was a preachin’ to + Connecticut and I was a vendin’ of clocks to Nova Scotia, ain’t it? Who’d + a thought then, you’d a been “a Socdolager,” and me your “pilot fish,” + eh!’ + </p> + <p> + “It was a raw spot, that, and I always touched him on it for fun. + </p> + <p> + “‘Sam,’ said he, and his face fell like an empty puss, when it gets a few + cents put into each eend on it, the weight makes it grow twice as long in + a minute. ‘Sam,’ said he, ‘don’t call me that are, except when we are + alone here, that’s a good soul; not that I am proud, for I am a true + Republican;’ and he put his hand on his heart, bowed and smiled hansum, + ‘but these people will make a nickname of it, and we shall never hear the + last of it; that’s a fact. We must respect ourselves, afore others will + respect us. You onderstand, don’t you?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Oh, don’t I,’ sais I, ‘that’s all? It’s only here I talks this way, + because we are at home now; but I can’t help a thinkin’ how strange things + do turn up sometimes. Do you recollect, when I heard you a-preachin’ about + Hope a-pitchin’ of her tent on a hill? By gosh, it struck me then, you’d + pitch, your tent high some day; you did it beautiful.’ + </p> + <p> + “He know’d I didn’t like this change, that Mr. Hopewell had kinder + inoculated me with other guess views on these matters, so he began to + throw up bankments and to picket in the ground, all round for defence + like. + </p> + <p> + “‘Hope,’ sais he, ‘is the attribute of a Christian, Slick, for he hopes + beyond this world; but I changed on principle.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Well,’ sais I, ‘I changed on interest; now if our great nation is backed + by principal and interest here, I guess its credit is kinder well built. + And atween you and me, Abednego, that’s more than the soft-horned British + will ever see from all our States. Some on ‘em are intarmined to pay + neither debt nor interest, and give nothin’ but lip in retarn.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Now,’ sais he, a pretendin’ to take no notice of this,’ you know we have + the Voluntary with us, Mr. Slick.’ He said “<i>Mister</i>” that time, for + he began to get formal on puppus to stop jokes; but, dear me, where all + men are equal what’s the use of one man tryin’ to look big? He must take + to growin’ agin I guess to do that. ‘You know we have the Voluntary with + us, Mr. Slick,’ sais he. + </p> + <p> + “‘Jist so,’ sais I. + </p> + <p> + “‘Well, what’s the meanin’ of that?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Why,’ sais I, ‘that you support religion or let it alone, as you like; + that you can take it up as a pedlar does his pack, carry it till you are + tired, then lay it down, set on it, and let it support you.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Exactly,’ sais he; ‘it is voluntary on the hearer, and it’s jist so with + the minister, too; for his preachin’ is voluntary also. He can preach or + lot it alone, as he likes. It’s voluntary all through. It’s a bad rule + that won’t work both ways.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Well,’ says I, ‘there is a good deal in that, too.’ I said that just to + lead him on. + </p> + <p> + “‘A good deal!’ sais he, ‘why it’s every thing. But I didn’t rest on that + alone; I propounded this maxim to myself. Every man, sais I, is bound to + sarve his fellow citizens to his utmost. That’s true; ain’t it, Mr. + Slick?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Guess so,’ sais I. + </p> + <p> + “‘Well then, I asked myself this here question: Can I sarve my fellow + citizens best by bein’ minister to Peach settlement, ‘tendin’ on a little + village of two thousand souls, and preachin’ my throat sore, or bein’ + special minister to Saint Jimses, and sarvin’ our great Republic and its + thirteen millions? Why, no reasonable man can doubt; so I give up + preachin’.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Well,’ sais I, ‘Abednego, you are a Socdolager, that’s a fact; you are a + great man, and a great scholard. Now a great scholard, when he can’t do a + sum the way it’s stated, jist states it so—he <i>can</i> do it. Now + the right way to state that sum is arter this fashion: “Which is best, to + endeavour to save the souls of two thousand people under my spiritual + charge, or let them go to Old Nick and save a piece of wild land in Maine, + get pay for an old steamer burnt to Canada, and uphold the slave trade for + the interest of the States.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘That’s specious, but not true,’ said he; ‘but it’s a matter rather for + my consideration than your’n,’ and he looked as a feller does when he + buttons his trowsers’ pocket, as much as to say, you have no right to be a + puttin’ of your pickers and stealers in there, that’s mine. ‘We will do + better to be less selfish,’ said he, ‘and talk of our great nation.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Well,’ says I, ‘how do we stand here in Europe? Do we maintain the high + pitch we had, or do we sing a note lower than we did?’ + </p> + <p> + “Well, he walked up and down the room, with his hands onder his + coat-tails, for ever so long, without a sayin’ of a word. At last, sais + he, with a beautiful smile that was jist skin deep, for it played on his + face as a cat’s-paw does on the calm waters, ‘What was you a sayin.’ of, + Mr. Slick?’ saw he. + </p> + <p> + “‘What’s our position to Europe?’ sais I, ‘jist now; is it letter A, No. + 1?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Oh!’ sais he, and he walked up and down agin, cypherin’ like to himself; + and then says he, ‘I’ll tell you; that word Socdolager, and the trade of + preachin’, and clockmakin’, it would be as well to sink here; neither on + ‘em convene with dignity. Don’t you think so?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Sartainly,’ sais I; ‘it’s only fit for talk over a cigar, alone. It + don’t always answer a good, purpose to blart every thing out. But our <i>po</i>sition,’ + says I, among the nations of the airth, is it what our everlastin’ Union + is entitled to?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Because,’ sais he, ‘some day when I am asked out to dinner, some wag or + another of a lord will call me parson, and ask me to crave a blessin’, + jist to raise the larf agin me for havin’ been a preacher.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘If he does,’ sais I,’ jist say, my Attache does that, and I’ll jist up + first and give it to him atween the two eyes; and when that’s done, sais + you, my Lord, that’s <i>your grace</i> afore meat; pr’aps your lordship + will <i>return thanks</i> arter dinner. Let him try it, that’s all. But + our great nation,’ sais I, ‘tell me, hante that noble stand we made on the + right of sarch, raised us about the toploftiest?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Oh,’ says he ‘right of sarch! right of sarch! I’ve been tryin’ to sarch + my memory, but can’t find it. I don’t recollect that sarmont about Hope + pitchin’ her tent on the hill. When was it?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘It was afore the juvenile-united-democratic-republican association to + Funnel Hall,’ sais I. + </p> + <p> + “‘Oh,’ says he, ‘that was an oration—it was an oration that.’ + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” sais I, “we won’t say no more about that; I only meant it as a joke, + and nothin’ more. But railly now, Abednego, what is the state of our + legation?” + </p> + <p> + “‘I don’t see nothin’ ridikilous,’ sais he, ‘in that are expression, of + Hope pitchin’ her tent on a hill. It’s figurativ’ and poetic, but it’s + within the line that divides taste from bombast. Hope pitchin’ her tent on + a hill! What is there to reprehend in that?’ + </p> + <p> + “Good airth and seas,’ sais I, ‘let’s pitch Hope, and her tent, and the + hill, all to Old Nick in a heap together, and talk of somethin’ else. You + needn’t be so perkily ashamed of havin’ preached, man. Cromwell was a + great preacher all his life, but it didn’t spile him as a Socdolager one + bit, but rather helped him, that’s a fact. How ‘av we held our footin’ + here?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Not well, I am grieved to say,’ sais he; ‘not well. The failure of the + United States’ Bank, the repudiation of debts by several of our States, + the foolish opposition we made to the suppression of the slave-trade, and + above all, the bad faith in the business of the boundary question has + lowered us down, down, e’en a’most to the bottom of the shaft.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Abednego,’ sais I, ‘we want somethin’ besides boastin’ and talkin’ big; + we want a dash—a great stroke of policy. Washington hanging Andre + that time, gained more than a battle. Jackson by hanging Arbuthnot and + Anbristher, gained his election. M’Kennie for havin’ hanged them three + citizens will be made an admiral of yet, see if he don’t. Now if Captain + Tyler had said, in his message to Congress, ‘Any State that repudiates its + foreign debts, we will first fine it in the whole amount, and then cut it + off from our great, free, enlightened, moral and intellectual republic, he + would have gained by the dash his next election, and run up our flag to + the mast-head in Europe. He would have been popular to home, and respected + abroad, that’s as clear as mud,’ + </p> + <p> + “‘He would have done right, Sir, if he had done that,’ said Abednego, ‘and + the right thing is always approved of in the eend, and always esteemed all + through the piece. A dash, as a stroke of policy,’ said he, ‘has sometimes + a good effect. General Jackson threatening France with a war, if they + didn’t pay the indemnity, when he knew the King would make ‘em pay it + whether or no, was a masterpiece; and General Cass tellin’ France if she + signed the right of sarch treaty, we would fight both her and England + together single-handed, was the best move on the political chess-board, + this century. All these, Sir, are very well in their way, to produce an + effect; but there’s a better policy nor all that, a far better policy, and + one, too, that some of our States and legislators, and presidents, and + Socdolagers, as you call ‘em, in my mind have got to larn yet, Sam.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘What’s that?’ sais I. “For I don’t believe in my soul there is nothin’ + a’most our diplomaters don’t know. They are a body o’ men that does honour + to our great nation. What policy are you a indicatin’ of?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Why,’ sais he, ‘<i>that honesty is the best policy</i>.’ + </p> + <p> + “When I heerd him say that, I springs right up on eend, like a rope + dancer. ‘Give me your hand, Abednego,’ sais I; ‘you are a man, every inch + of you,’ and I squeezed it so hard, it made his eyes water. ‘I always + knowed you had an excellent head-piece,’ sais I, ‘and now I see the heart + is in the right place too. If you have thrown preachin’ overboard, you + have kept your morals for ballast, any how. I feel kinder proud of you; + you are jist a fit representat<i>ive</i> for our great nation. You are a + Socdolager, that’s a fact. I approbate your notion; it’s as correct as a + bootjack. For nations or individuals, it’s all the same, honesty <i>is</i> + the best policy, and no mistake. That,’ sais I, ‘is the hill, Abednego, + for Hope to pitch her tent on, and no mistake,’ and I put my finger to my + nose, and winked. + </p> + <p> + “‘Well,’ sais he, ‘it is; but you are a droll feller, Slick, there is no + standin’ your jokes. I’ll give you leave to larf if you like, but you must + give me leave to win if I can. Good bye. But mind, Sam, our dignity is at + stake. Let’s have no more of Socdolagers, or Preachin’, or Clockmakin’, or + Hope pitchin’ her tent. A word to the wise. Good bye.’ + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mr. Slick, “I rather like Abednego’s talk myself. I kinder + think that it will be respectable to be Attache to such a man as that. But + he is goin’ out of town for some time, is the Socdolager. There is an + agricultural dinner, where he has to make a conciliation speech; and a + scientific association, where there is a piece of delicate brag and a bit + of soft sawder to do, and then there are visits to the nobility, peep at + manufactures, and all that sort of work, so he won’t be in town for a good + spell, and until then, I can’t go to Court, for he is to introduce me + himself. Pity that, but then it’ll give me lots o’ time to study human + natur, that is, if there is any of it left here, for I have some doubts + about that. Yes, he is an able lead horse, is Abednego; he is a’most a + grand preacher, a good poet, a first chop orator, a great diplomater, and + a top sawyer of a man, in short—he <i>is</i> a <i>Socdolager</i>.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. DINING OUT. + </h2> + <p> + My visit to Germany was protracted beyond the period I had originally + designed; and, during my absence, Mr. Slick had been constantly in + company, either “dining out” daily, when in town, or visiting from one + house to another in the country. + </p> + <p> + I found him in great spirits. He assured me he had many capital stories to + tell me, and that he rather guessed he knew as much of the English, and a + leetle, jist a leetle, grain more, p’raps, than they knew of the Yankees. + </p> + <p> + “They are considerable large print are the Bull family,” said he; “you can + read them by moonlight. Indeed, their faces ain’t onlike the moon in a + gineral way; only one has got a man in it, and the other hain’t always. It + tante a bright face; you can look into it without winkin’. It’s a cloudy + one here too, especially in November; and most all the time makes you + rather sad and solemncoly. Yes, John is a moony man, that’s a fact, and at + the full a little queer sometimes. + </p> + <p> + “England is a stupid country compared to our’n. <i>There it no variety + where there it no natur</i>. You have class variety here, but no + individiality. They are insipid, and call it perlite. The men dress alike, + talk alike, and look as much alike as Providence will let ‘em. The + club-houses and the tailors have done a good deal towards this, and so has + whiggism and dissent; for they have destroyed distinctions. + </p> + <p> + “But this is too deep for me. Ask Minister, he will tell you the cause; I + only tell you the fact. + </p> + <p> + “Dinin’ out here, is both heavy work, and light feedin’. It’s monstrous + stupid. One dinner like one rainy day (it’s rained ever since I been here + a’most), is like another; one drawin’-room like another drawin’-room; one + peer’s entertainment, in a general way, is like another peer’s. The same + powdered, liveried, lazy, idle, good-for-nothin’, do-little, + stand-in-the-way-of-each-other, useless sarvants. Same picturs, same + plate, same fixin’s, same + don’t-know-what-to-do-with-your-self-kinder-o’-lookin’-master. Great folks + are like great folks, marchants like marchants, and so on. It’s a pictur, + it looks like life, but’ it tante. The animal is tamed here; he is fatter + than the wild one, but he hante the spirit. + </p> + <p> + “You have seen-Old Clay in a pastur, a racin’ about, free from harness, + head and tail up, snortin’, cavortin’, attitudinisin’ of himself. Mane + flowin’ in the wind, eye-ball startin’ out, nostrils inside out a’most, + ears pricked up. <i>A nateral hoss</i>; put him in a waggon, with a rael + spic and span harness, all covered over with brass buckles and brass + knobs, and ribbons in his bridle, rael jam. Curb him up, talk Yankee to + him, and get his ginger up. Well, he looks well; but he is ‘<i>a broke + hoss</i>.’ He reminds you of Sam Slick; cause when you see a hoss, you + think of his master: but he don’t remind you of the rael ‘<i>Old Clay</i>,’ + that’s a fact. + </p> + <p> + “Take a day here, now in town; and they are so identical the same, that + one day sartificates for another. You can’t get out a bed afore twelve, in + winter, the days is so short, and the fires ain’t made, or the room + dusted, or the breakfast can’t be got, or sunthin’ or another. And if you + did, what’s the use? There is no one to talk to, and books only weaken + your understandin’, as water does brandy. They make you let others guess + for you, instead of guessin’ for yourself. Sarvants spile your habits + here, and books spite your mind. I wouldn’t swap ideas with any man. I + make my own opinions, as I used to do my own clocks; and I find they are + truer than other men’s. The Turks are so cussed heavy, they have people to + dance for ‘em; the English are wus, for they hire people to think for ‘em. + Never read a book, Squire, always think for yourself. + </p> + <p> + “Well, arter breakfast, it’s on hat and coat, ombrella in hand, (don’t + never forget that, for the rumatiz, like the perlice, is always on the + look out here, to grab hold of a feller,) and go somewhere where there is + somebody, or another, and smoke, and then wash it down with a + sherry-cobbler; (the drinks ain’t good here; they hante no variety in them + nother; no white-nose, apple-jack, stone-wall, chain-lightning, rail-road, + hail-storm, ginsling-talabogus, switchel-flip, gum-ticklers, + phlem-cutters, juleps, skate-iron, cast-steel, cock-tail, or nothin’, but + that heavy stupid black fat porter;) then down to the coffee-house, see + what vessels have arrived, how markets is, whether there is a chance of + doin’ any thin’ in cotton or tobacco, whose broke to home, and so on. Then + go to the park, and see what’s a goin’ on there; whether those pretty + critturs, the rads are a holdin’ a prime minister ‘parsonally + responsible,’ by shootin’ at him; or whether there is a levee, or the + Queen is ridin’ out, or what not; take a look at the world, make a visit + or two to kill time, when all at once it’s dark. Home then, smoke a cigar, + dress for dinner, and arrive at a quarter past seven. + </p> + <p> + “Folks are up to the notch here when dinner is in question, that’s a fact, + fat, gouty, broken-winded, and foundered as they be. It’s rap, rap, rap, + for twenty minutes at the door, and in they come, one arter the other, as + fast as the sarvants can carry up their names. Cuss them sarvants! it + takes seven or eight of ‘em to carry a man’s name up stairs, they are so + awful lazy, and so shockin’ full of porter. If a feller was so lame he had + to be carried up himself, I don’t believe on my soul, the whole gang of + them, from the Butler that dresses in the same clothes as his master, to + Boots that ain’t dressed at all, could make out to bowse him up stairs, + upon my soul I don’t. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you go in along with your name, walk up to old aunty, and make a + scrape, and the same to old uncle, and then fall back. This is done as + solemn, as if a feller’s name was called out to take his place in a + funeral; that and the mistakes is the fun of it. There is a sarvant at a + house I visit at, that I suspicion is a bit of a bam, and the critter + shows both his wit and sense. He never does it to a ‘somebody,’ ‘cause + that would cost him his place, but when a ‘nobody’ has a droll name, he + jist gives an accent, or a sly twist to it, that folks can’t help a + larfin’, no more than Mr. Nobody can feelin’ like a fool. He’s a droll + boy, that; I should like to know him. + </p> + <p> + “Well, arter ‘nouncin’ is done, then comes two questions—do I know + anybody here? and if I do, does he look like talk or not? Well, seein’ + that you have no handle to your name, and a stranger, it’s most likely you + can’t answer these questions right; so you stand and use your eyes, and + put your tongue up in its case till it’s wanted. Company are all come, and + now they have to be marshalled two and two, lock and lock, and go into the + dinin’-room to feed. + </p> + <p> + “When I first came I was nation proud of that title, ‘the Attache;’ now I + am happified it’s nothin’ but ‘only an Attache,’ and I’ll tell you why. + The great guns, and big bugs, have to take in each other’s ladies, so + these old ones have to herd together. Well, the nobodies go together too, + and sit together, and I’ve observed these nobodies are the pleasantest + people at table, and they have the pleasantest places, because they sit + down with each other, and are jist like yourself, plaguy glad to get some + one to talk to. Somebody can only visit somebody, but nobody can go + anywhere, and therefore nobody sees and knows twice as much as somebody + does. Somebodies must be axed, if they are as stupid as a pump; but + nobodies needn’t, and never are, unless they are spicy sort o’ folks, so + you are sure of them, and they have all the fun and wit of the table at + their eend, and no mistake. + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn’t take a title if they would give it to me, for if I had one, I + should have a fat old parblind dowager detailed on to me to take in to + dinner; and what the plague is her jewels and laces, and silks and + sattins, and wigs to me? As it is, I have a chance to have a gall to take + in that’s a jewel herself—one that don’t want no settin’ off, and + carries her diamonds in her eyes, and so on. I’ve told our minister not to + introduce me as an Attache no more, but as Mr. Nobody, from the State of + Nothin’, in America, <i>that’s natur agin</i>. + </p> + <p> + “But to get back to the dinner. Arter you are in marchin’ order, you move + in through two rows of sarvants in uniform. I used to think they was + placed there for show, but it’s to keep the air off of folks a goin’ + through the entry, and it ain’t a bad thought, nother. + </p> + <p> + “Lord, the first time I went to one o’ these grand let offs I felt kinder + skeery, and as nobody was allocated to me to take in, I goes in alone, not + knowin’ where I was to settle down as a squatter, and kinder lagged + behind; when the butler comes and rams a napkin in my hand, and gives me a + shove, and sais he, ‘Go and stand behind your master, sir,’ sais he. Oh + Solomon! how that waked me up. How I curled inwardly when he did that. + ‘You’ve mistaken the child,’ sais I mildly, and I held out the napkin, and + jist as he went to take it, I gave him a sly poke in the bread basket, + that made him bend forward and say ‘eugh.’ ‘Wake Snakes, and walk your + chalks,’ sais I, ‘will you?’ and down I pops on the fust empty chair. + Lord, how white he looked about the gills arterwards; I thought I should a + split when I looked at him. Guess he’ll know an Attache when he sees him + next time. + </p> + <p> + “Well, there is dinner. One sarvice of plate is like another sarvice of + plate, any one dozen of sarvants are like another dozen of sarvants, hock + is hock, and champaigne is champaigne—and one dinner is like another + dinner. The only difference is in the thing itself that’s cooked. Veal, to + be good, must look like any thing else but veal; you mustn’t know it when + you see it, or it’s vulgar; mutton must be incog. too; beef must have a + mask on; any thin’ that looks solid, take a spoon to; any thin’ that looks + light, cut with a knife; if a thing looks like fish, you may take your + oath it is flesh; and if it seems rael flesh, it’s only disguised, for + it’s sure to be fish; nothin’ must be nateral, natur is out of fashion + here. This is a manufacturin’ country, everything is done by machinery, + and that that ain’t must be made to look like it; and I must say, the + dinner machinery is parfect. + </p> + <p> + “Sarvants keep goin’ round and round in a ring, slow, but sartain, and for + ever, like the arms of a great big windmill, shovin’ dish after dish, in + dum show, afore your nose, for you to see how you like the flavour; when + your glass is empty it’s filled; when your eyes is off your plate, it’s + off too, afore you can say Nick Biddle. + </p> + <p> + “Folks speak low here; steam is valuable, and noise onpolite. They call it + a “<i>subdued tone</i>.” Poor tame things, they are subdued, that’s a + fact; slaves to an arbitrary tyrannical fashion that don’t leave ‘em no + free will at all. You don’t often speak across a table any more nor you do + across a street, but p’raps Mr. Somebody of West Eend of town, will say to + a Mr. Nobody from West Eend of America: ‘Niagara is noble.’ Mr. Nobody + will say, ‘Guess it is, it got its patent afore the “Norman <i>Conquest</i>,” + I reckon, and afore the “<i>subdued</i> tone” come in fashion.’ Then Mr. + Somebody will look like an oracle, and say, ‘Great rivers and great trees + in America. You speak good English.’ And then he will seem surprised, but + not say it, only you can read the words on his face, ‘Upon my soul, you + are a’most as white as us.’ + </p> + <p> + “Dinner is over. It’s time for ladies to cut stick. Aunt Goosey looks at + the next oldest goosey, and ducks her head, as if she was a goin’ through + a gate, and then they all come to their feet, and the goslins come to + their feet, and they all toddle off to the drawin’ room together. + </p> + <p> + “The decanters now take the “grand tour” of the table, and, like most + travellers, go out with full pockets, and return with empty ones. Talk has + a pair of stays here, and is laced up tight and stiff. Larnin’ is + pedantic; politics is onsafe; religion ain’t fashionable. You must tread + on neutral ground. Well, neutral ground gets so trampled down by both + sides, and so plundered by all, there ain’t any thing fresh or good grows + on it, and it has no cover for game nother. + </p> + <p> + “Housundever, the ground is tried, it’s well beat, but nothin’ is put up, + and you get back to where you started. Uncle Gander looks at next oldest + gander hard, bobs his head, and lifts one leg, all ready for a go, and + says, ‘Will you take any more wine?’ ‘No, sais he, ‘but I take the hint, + let’s jine the ladies.’ + </p> + <p> + “Well, when the whole flock is gathered in the goose pastur, the + drawin’-room, other little flocks come troopin’ in, and stand, or walk, or + down on chairs; and them that know each other talk, and them that don’t + twirl their thumbs over their fingers; and when they are tired of that, + twirl their fingers over their thumbs. I’m nobody, and so I goes and sets + side-ways on an ottarman, like a gall on a side-saddle, and look at what’s + afore me. And fust I always look at the galls. + </p> + <p> + “Now, this I will say, they are amazin’ fine critters are the women kind + here, when they are taken proper care of. The English may stump the + univarse a’most for trainin’ hosses and galls. They give ‘em both plenty + of walkin’ exercise, feed ‘em regular, shoe ‘em well, trim ‘em neat, and + keep a beautiful skin on ‘em. They keep, ‘em in good health, and don’t + house ‘em too much. They are clippers, that’s a fact. There is few things + in natur, equal to a hoss and a gall, that’s well trained and in good + condition. I could stand all day and look at ‘em, and I call myself a + considerable of a judge. It’s singular how much they are alike too, the + moment the trainin’ is over or neglected, neither of ‘em is fit to be + seen; they grow out of shape, and look coarse. + </p> + <p> + “They are considerable knowin’ in this kind o’ ware too, are the English; + they vamp ‘em up so well, it’s hard to tell their age, and I ain’t sure + they don’t make ‘em live longer, than where the art ain’t so well pract<i>ised</i>. + The mark o’ mouth is kept up in a hoss here by the file, and a hay-cutter + saves his teeth, and helps his digestion. Well, a dentist does the same + good turn for a woman; it makes her pass for several years younger; and + helps her looks, mends her voice, and makes her as smart as a three year + old. + </p> + <p> + “What’s that? It’s music. Well, that’s artificial too, it’s scientific + they say, it’s done by rule. Jist look at that gall to the piany: first + comes a little Garman thunder. Good airth and seas, what a crash! it seems + as if she’d bang the instrument all to a thousand pieces. I guess she’s + vexed at somebody and is a peggin’ it into the piany out of spite. Now + comes the singin’; see what faces she makes, how she stretches her mouth + open, like a barn door, and turns up the white of her eyes, like a duck in + thunder. She is in a musical ecstasy is that gall, she feels good all + over, her soul is a goin’ out along with that ere music. Oh, it’s divine, + and she is an angel, ain’t she? Yes, I guess she is, and when I’m an + angel, I will fall in love with her; but as I’m a man, at least what’s + left of me, I’d jist as soon fall in love with one that was a leetle, jist + a leetle more of a woman, and a leetle, jist a leetle less of an angel. + But hullo! what onder the sun is she about, why her voice is goin’ down + her own throat, to gain strength, and here it comes out agin as deep toned + as a man’s; while that dandy feller along side of her, is singin’ what + they call falsetter. They’ve actilly changed voices. The gall sings like a + man, and that screamer like a woman. This is science: this is taste: this + is fashion; but hang me if it’s natur. I’m tired to death of it, but one + good thing is, you needn’t listen without you like, for every body is + talking as, loud as ever. + </p> + <p> + “Lord, how extremes meet sometimes, as Minister says. <i>Here</i>, how, + fashion is the top of the pot, and that pot hangs on the highest hook on + the crane. In <i>America</i>, natur can’t go no farther; it’s the rael + thing. Look at the women kind, now. An Indgian gall, down South, goes most + naked. Well, a splendiferous company gall, here, when she is <i>full + dressed</i> is only <i>half covered</i>, and neither of ‘em attract you + one mite or morsel. We dine at two and sup at seven; <i>here</i> they + lunch at two, and dine at seven. The words are different, but they are + identical the same. Well, the singin’ is amazin’ like, too. Who ever heerd + them Italian singers recitin’ their jabber, showin’ their teeth, and + cuttin’ didoes at a great private consart, that wouldn’t take his oath he + had heerd niggers at a dignity ball, down South, sing jist the same, and + jist as well. And then do, for goodness’ gracious’ sake, hear that great + absent man, belongin’ to the House o’ Commons, when the chaplain says ‘Let + us pray!’ sing right out at once, as if he was to home, ‘Oh! by all + means,’ as much as to say, ‘me and the powers above are ready to hear you; + but don’t be long about it.’ + </p> + <p> + “Ain’t that for all the world like a camp-meetin’, when a reformed + ring-tail roarer calls out to the minister, ‘That’s a fact, Welly Fobus, + by Gosh; amen!’ or when preacher says, ‘Who will be saved?’ answers, ‘Me + and the boys, throw us a hen-coop; the galls will drift down stream on a + bale o’ cotton.’ Well then, <i>our</i> very lowest, and <i>their</i> very + highest, don’t always act pretty, that’s a fact. Sometimes ‘<i>they + repudiate</i>.’ You take, don’t you? + </p> + <p> + “There is another party to-night; the flock is a thinnin’ off agin; and as + I want a cigar most amazin’ly, let’s go to a divan, and some other time, + I’ll tell you what a swoi<i>ree</i> is. But answer me this here question + now, Squire: when this same thing is acted over and over, day after day, + and no variation, from July to etarnity, don’t you think you’d get a + leetle—jist a leetle more tired of it every day, and wish for natur + once more. If you wouldn’t I would, that’s all.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE SECOND VOLUME. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. THE NOSE OF A SPY + </h2> + <p> + “Squire.” said Mr. Hopewell, “you know Sam well enough, I hope, to make + all due allowances for the exuberance of his fancy. The sketch he has just + given you of London society, like the novels of the present day, though + founded on fact, is very unlike the reality. There may be assemblages of + persons in this great city, and no doubt there are, quite as insipid and + absurd as the one he has just pourtrayed; but you must not suppose it is + at all a fair specimen of the society of this place. My own experience is + quite the reverse. I think it the most refined, the most agreeable, and + the most instructive in the world. Whatever your favourite study or + pursuit may be, here you are sure to find well-informed and enthusiastic + associates. If you have merit, it is appreciated; and for an aristocratic + country, that merit places you on a level with your superiors in rank in a + manner that is quite incomprehensible to a republican. Money is the great + leveller of distinctions with us; here, it is talent. Fashion spreads many + tables here, but talent is always found seated at the best, if it thinks + proper to comply with certain usages, without which, even genius ceases to + be attractive. + </p> + <p> + “On some future occasion, I will enter more at large on this subject; but + now it is too late; I have already exceeded my usual hour for retiring. + ‘Excuse me, Sam,’ said he. ‘I know you will not be offended with me, but + Squire there are some subjects on which Sam may amuse, but cannot instruct + you, and one is, fashionable life in London. You must judge for yourself, + Sir. Good night, my children.’” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Slick rose, and opened the door for him, and as he passed, bowed and + held out his hand. “Remember me, your honour, no man opens the door in + this country without being paid for it. Remember me, Sir.” + </p> + <p> + “True, Sam,” said the Minister, “and it is unlucky that it does not extend + to opening the mouth, if it did, you would soon make your fortune, for you + can’t keep yours shut. Good night.” + </p> + <p> + The society to which I have subsequently had the good fortune to be + admitted, fully justifies the eulogium of Mr. Hopewell. Though many + persons can write well, few can talk well; but the number of those who + excel in conversation is much greater in certain circles in London, than + in any other place. By talking well, I do not mean talking wisely or + learnedly; but agreeably, for relaxation and pleasure, are the principal + objects of social assemblies. This can only be illustrated by instancing + some very remarkable persons, who are the pride and pleasure of every + table they honour and delight with their presence But this may not be. For + obvious reasons, I could not do it if I would; and most assuredly, I would + not do it if I could. No more certain mode could be devised of destroying + conversation, than by showing, that when the citadel is unguarded, the + approach of a friend is as unsafe as that of an enemy. + </p> + <p> + Alas! poor Hook! who can read the unkind notice of thee in a late + periodical, and not feel, that on some occasions you must have admitted to + your confidence men who were as unworthy of that distinction as, they were + incapable of appreciating it, and that they who will disregard the + privileges of a table, will not hesitate to violate even the sanctity of + the tomb. Cant may talk of your “<i>inter pocula</i>” errors with pious + horror; and pretension, now that its indulgence is safe, may affect to + disclaim your acquaintance; but kinder, and better, and truer men than + those who furnished your biographer with his facts will not fail to + recollect your talents with pride, and your wit and your humour with + wonder and delight. + </p> + <p> + We do not require such flagrant examples as these to teach us our duty, + but they are not without their use in increasing our caution. + </p> + <p> + When Mr. Hopewell withdrew, Mr. Slick observed: + </p> + <p> + “Ain’t that ere old man a trump? He is always in the right place. Whenever + you want to find him, jist go and look for him where he ought to be, and + there you will find him as sure as there is snakes in Varginy. He is a + brick, that’s a fact. Still, for all that, he ain’t jist altogether a + citizen of this world nother. He fishes in deep water, with a sinker to + his hook. He can’t throw a fly as I can, reel out his line, run down + stream, and then wind up, wind up, wind up, and let out, and wind up + again, till he lands his fish, as I do. He looks deep into things, is a + better religionist, polititioner, and bookster than I be: but then that’s + all he does know. If you want to find your way about, or read a man, come + to me, that’s all; for I’m the boy that jist can do it. If I can’t walk + into a man, I can dodge round him; and if he is too nimble for that, I can + jump over him; and if he is too tall for that, although I don’t like the + play, yet I can whip him. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Squire, I have been a good deal to England, and crossed this big + pond here the matter of seven times, and know a good deal about it, more + than a great many folks that have writtin’ books on it, p’raps. Mind what + I tell you, the English ain’t what they was. I’m not speakin’ in jeest + now, or in prejudice. I hante a grain of prejudice in me. I’ve see’d too + much of the world for that I reckon. I call myself a candid man, and I + tell you the English are no more like what the English used to be, when + pigs were swine, and Turkey chewed tobacky, than they are like the Picts + or Scots, or Norman, French, or Saxons, or nothin’.” + </p> + <p> + “Not what they used to be?” I said. “Pray, what do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean,” said he, “jist what I say. They ain’t the same people no more. + They are as proud, and overbearin’, and concaited, and haughty to + foreigners as ever; but, then they ain’t so manly, open-hearted, and noble + as they used to be, once upon a time. They have the Spy System now, in + full operation here; so jist take my advice, and mind your potatoe-trap, + or you will be in trouble afore you are ten days older, see if you ain’t.” + </p> + <p> + “The Spy System!” I replied. “Good Heavens, Mr. Slick, how can you talk + such nonsense, and yet have the modesty to say you have no prejudice?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the Spy System,” said he, “and I’ll prove it. You know Dr. + Mc’Dougall to Nova Scotia; well, he knows all about mineralogy, and + geology, and astrology, and every thing a’most, except what he ought to + know, and that is dollar-ology. For he ain’t over and above half well off, + that’s a fact. Well, a critter of the name of Oatmeal, down to Pictou, + said to another Scotchman there one day, ‘The great nateralist Dr. + Mc’Dougall is come to town.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Who?’ says Sawney. + </p> + <p> + “‘Dr. Mc’Dougall, the nateralist,’ says Oatmeal. + </p> + <p> + “‘Hout, mon,’ says Sawney, ‘he is nae nateral, that chiel; he kens mair + than maist men; he is nae that fool you take him to be.’ + </p> + <p> + “Now, I am not such a fool as you take <i>me</i> to be, Squire. Whenever I + did a sum to, school, Minister used to say, ‘Prove it, Sam, and if it + won’t prove, do it over agin, till it will; a sum ain’t right when it + won’t prove.’ Now, I say the English have the Spy System, and I’ll prove + it; nay, more than that, they have the nastiest, dirtiest, meanest, + sneakenest system in the world. It is ten times as bad as the French plan. + In France they have bar-keepers, waiters, chamber galls, guides, + quotillions,—” + </p> + <p> + “Postilions, you mean,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Well, postilions then, for the French have queer names for people, that’s + a fact; disbanded sodgers, and such trash, for spies. In England they have + airls and countesses, Parliament men, and them that call themselves + gentlemen and ladies, for spies.” + </p> + <p> + “How very absurd!” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, very absurd,” said Mr. Slick; “whenever I say anythin’ agin + England, it’s very absurd, it’s all prejudice. Nothin’ is strange, though, + when it is said of us, and the absurder it is, the truer it is. I can bam + as well as any man when bam is the word, but when fact is the play, I am + right up and down, and true as a trivet. I won’t deceive you; I’ll prove + it. + </p> + <p> + “There was a Kurnel Dun—dun—plague take his name, I can’t + recollect it, but it makes no odds—I know <i>he</i> is Dun for, + though, that’s a fact. Well, he was a British kurnel, that was out to + Halifax when I was there. I know’d him by sight, I didn’t know him by + talk, for I didn’t fill then the dignified situation I now do, of Attache. + I was only a clockmaker then, and I suppose he wouldn’t have dirtied the + tip eend of his white glove with me then, any more than I would sile mine + with him now, and very expensive and troublesome things them white gloves + be too; there is no keepin’ of them clean. For my part, I don’t see why a + man can’t make his own skin as clean as a kid’s, any time; and if a feller + can’t be let shake hands with a gall except he has a glove on, why ain’t + he made to cover his lips, and kiss thro’ kid skin too. + </p> + <p> + “But to get back to the kurnel, and it’s a pity he hadn’t had a glove over + his mouth, that’s a fact. Well, he went home to England with his regiment, + and one night when he was dinin’ among some first chop men, nobles and so + on, they sot up considerable late over their claret; and poor thin cold + stuff it is too, is claret. A man <i>may</i> get drowned in it, but how + the plague he can get drunk with it is dark to me. It’s like every thing + else French, it has no substance in it; it’s nothin’ but red ink, that’s a + fact. Well, how it was I don’t know, but so it eventuated, that about + daylight he was mops and brooms, and began to talk somethin’ or another he + hadn’t ought to; somethin’ he didn’t know himself, and somethin’ he didn’t + mean, and didn’t remember. + </p> + <p> + “Faith, next mornin’ he was booked; and the first thing he see’d when he + waked was another man a tryin’ on of his shoes, to see how they’d fit to + march to the head of his regiment with. Fact, I assure you, and a fact too + that shows what Englishmen has come to; I despise ‘em, I hate ‘em, I scorn + such critters as I do oncarcumcised niggers.” + </p> + <p> + “What a strange perversion of facts,” I replied. + </p> + <p> + But he would admit of no explanation. “Oh yes, quite parvarted; not a word + of truth in it; there never is when England is consarned. There is no beam + in an Englishman’s eye; no not a smell of one; he has pulled it out long + ago; that’s the reason he can see the mote in other folks’s so plain. Oh, + of course it ain’t true; it’s a Yankee invention; it’s a hickory ham and a + wooden nutmeg. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, there was another feller got bagged t’other day, as innocent + as could be, for givin’ his opinion when folks was a talkin’ about matters + and things in gineral, and this here one in partikilar. I can’t tell the + words, for I don’t know ‘em, nor care about ‘em; and if I did, I couldn’t + carry ‘em about so long; but it was for sayin’ it hadn’t ought to have + been taken notice of, considerin’ it jist popt out permiscuous like with + the bottle-cork. If he hadn’t a had the clear grit in him, and showed + teeth and claws, they’d a nullified him so, you wouldn’t have see’d a + grease spot of him no more. What do you call that, now? Do you call that + liberty? Do you call that old English? Do you call it pretty, say now? + Thank God, it tante Yankee.” + </p> + <p> + “I see you have no prejudice, Mr. Slick,” I replied. + </p> + <p> + “Not one mite or morsel,” he replied. “Tho’ I was born in Connecticut, I + have travelled all over the thirteen united univarsal worlds of ourn and + am a citizen at large. No, I have no prejudice. You say I am mistaken; + p’raps I am, I hope I be, and a stranger may get hold of the wrong eend of + a thing sometimes, that’s a fact. But I don’t think I be wrong, or else + the papers don’t tell the truth; and I read it in all the jarnals; I did, + upon my soul. Why man, it’s history now, if such nasty mean doins is worth + puttin’ into a book. + </p> + <p> + “What makes this Spy System to England wuss, is that these eaves-droppers + are obliged to hear all that’s said, or lose what commission they hold; at + least so folks tell me. I recollect when I was there last, for it’s some + years since Government first sot up the Spy System; there was a great feed + given to a Mr. Robe, or Robie, or some such name, an out and out Tory. + Well, sunthin’ or another was said over their cups, that might as well + have been let alone, I do suppose, tho’ dear me, what is the use of wine + but to onloosen the tongue, and what is the use of the tongue, but to + talk. Oh, cuss ‘em, I have no patience with them. Well, there was an + officer of a marchin’ regiment there, who it seems ought to have took down + the words and sent ‘em up to the head Gineral, but he was a knowin’ coon, + was officer, and <i>didn’t hear it</i>. No sooner said than done; some one + else did the dirty work for him; but you can’t have a substitute for this, + you must sarve in person, so the old Gineral hawls him right up for it. + </p> + <p> + “‘Why the plague, didn’t you make a fuss?’ sais the General, ‘why didn’t + you get right up, and break up the party?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘I didn’t hear it,’ sais he. + </p> + <p> + “‘You didn’t hear it!’ sais Old Sword-belt, ‘then you had ought to have + heerd it; and for two pins, I’d sharpen your hearin’ for you, so that a + snore of a fly would wake you up, as if a byler had bust.’ + </p> + <p> + “Oh, how it has lowered the English in the eyes of foreigners! How + sneakin’ it makes ‘em look! They seem for all the world like scared dogs; + and a dog when he slopes off with his head down, his tail atween his legs, + and his back so mean it won’t bristle, is a caution to sinners. Lord. I + wish I was Queen!” + </p> + <p> + “What, of such a degraded race as you say the English are, of such a + mean-spirited, sneaking nation?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, they warn’t always so,” he replied. “I will say that, for I have no + prejudice. By natur, there is sunthin’ noble and manly in a Britisher, and + always was, till this cussed Spy System got into fashion. They tell me it + was the Liberals first brought it into vogue. How that is. I don’t know; + but I shouldn’t wonder if it was them, for I know this, if a feller talks + <i>very</i> liberal in politics, put him into office, and see what a + tyrant he’ll make. If he talks very liberal in religion, it’s because he + hante got none at all. If he talks very liberal to the poor, talk is all + the poor will ever get out of him. If he talks liberal about corn law, it + tante to feed the hungry, but to lower wages, and so on in every thing a + most. None is so liberal as those as hante got nothin’. The most liberal + feller I know on is “Old Scratch himself.” If ever the liberals come in, + they should make him Prime Minister. He is very liberal in religion and + would jine them in excludin’ the Bible from common schools I know. He is + very liberal about the criminal code, for he can’t bear to see criminals + punished. He is very liberal in politics, for he don’t approbate + restraint, and likes to let every critter ‘go to the devil’ his own way. + Oh, he should be Head Spy and Prime Minister that feller. + </p> + <p> + “But without jokin’ tho’, if I was Queen, the fust time any o’ my + ministers came to me to report what the spies had said, I’d jist up and + say, ‘Minister,’ I’d say, ‘it is a cussed oninglish, onmanly, niggerly + business, is this of pumpin’, and spyin’, and tattlin’. I don’t like it a + bit. I’ll have neither art nor part in it; I wash my hands clear of it. It + will jist break the spirit of my people. So, minister look here. The next + report that is brought to me of a spy, I’ll whip his tongue out and whop + your ear off, or my name ain’t Queen. So jist mind what I say; first spy + pokes his nose into your office, chop it off and clap it up over Temple + Bar, where they puts the heads of traitors and write these words over, + with your own fist, that they may know the handwritin’, and not mistake + the meanin’, <i>This is the nose of a Spy</i>.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. THE PATRON; OR, THE COW’S TAIL. + </h2> + <p> + Nothing is so fatiguing as sight-seeing. The number and variety of objects + to which your attention is called, and the rapid succession in which they + pass in review, at once wearies and perplexes the mind; and unless you + take notes to refresh your memory, you are apt to find you carry away with + you but an imperfect and indistinct recollection. + </p> + <p> + Yesterday was devoted to an inspection of the Tunnel and an examination of + the Tower, two things that ought always to be viewed in juxta-position; + one being the greatest evidence of the science and wealth of modern times; + and the other of the power and pomp of our forefathers. + </p> + <p> + It is a long time before a stranger can fully appreciate the extent of + population and wealth of this vast metropolis. At first, he is astonished + and confused; his vision is indistinct. By degrees he begins to understand + its localities, the ground plan becomes intelligible and he can take it + all in at a view. The map is a large one; it is a chart of the world. He + knows the capes and the bays; he has sailed round them, and knows their + relative distance, and at last becomes aware of the magnitude of the + whole. Object after object becomes more familiar. He can estimate the + population; he compares the amount of it with that of countries that he is + acquainted with, and finds that this one town contains within it nearly as + great a number of souls as all British North America. He estimates the + incomes of the inhabitants, and finds figures almost inadequate to express + the amount. He asks for the sources from whence it is derived. He resorts + to his maxims of political economy, and they cannot inform him. He + calculates the number of acres of land in England, adds up the rental, and + is again at fault. He inquires into the statistics of the Exchange, and + discovers that even that is inadequate; and, as a last resource, concludes + that the whole world is tributary to this Queen of Cities. It is the heart + of the Universe. All the circulation centres here, and hence are derived + all those streams that give life and strength to the extremities. How + vast, how populous, how rich, how well regulated, how well supplied, how + clean, how well ventilated, how healthy!—what a splendid city! How + worthy of such an empire and such a people! + </p> + <p> + What is the result of his experience? <i>It is, that there is no such + country in the world as England, and no such place in England as London; + that London is better than any other town in winter, and quite as good as + any other place in summer; that containing not only all that he requires, + but all that he can wish, in the greatest perfection, he desires never to + leave it.</i> + </p> + <p> + Local description, however, is not my object; I shall therefore, return to + my narrative. + </p> + <p> + Our examination of the Tower and the Tunnel occupied the whole day, and + though much gratified, we were no less fatigued. On returning to our + lodgings, I found letters from Nova Scotia. Among others, was one from the + widow of an old friend, enclosing a memorial to the Commander-in-Chief, + setting forth the important and gratuitous services of her late husband to + the local government of the province, and soliciting for her son some + small situation in the ordnance department, which had just fallen vacant + at Halifax. I knew that it was not only out of my power to aid her, but + that it was impossible for her, however strong the claims of her husband + might be, to obtain her request. These things are required for friends and + dependants in England; and in the race of competition, what chance of + success has a colonist? + </p> + <p> + I made up my mind at once to forward her memorial as requested, but + pondered on the propriety of adding to it a recommendation. It could do no + good. At most, it would only be the certificate of an unknown man; of one + who had neither of the two great qualifications, namely, county or + parliamentary interest, but it might do harm. It might, by engendering + ridicule from the insolence of office, weaken a claim, otherwise well + founded. “Who the devil is this Mr. Thomas Poker, that recommends the + prayer of the petition? The fellow imagines all the world must have heard + of him. A droll fellow that, I take it from his name: but all colonists + are queer fellows, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Bad news from home?” said Mr. Slick, who had noticed my abstraction. “No + screw loose there, I hope. You don’t look as if you liked the flavour of + that ere nut you are crackin’ of. Whose dead? and what is to pay now?” + </p> + <p> + I read the letter and the memorial, and then explained from my own + knowledge how numerous and how valuable were the services of my deceased + friend, and expressed my regret at not being able to serve the + memorialist. + </p> + <p> + “Poor woman!” said Mr. Hopewell, “I pity her. A colonist has no chance for + these things; they have no patron. In this country merit will always + obtain a patron—in the provinces never. The English are a + noble-minded, generous people, and whoever here deserves encouragement or + reward, is certain to obtain either or both: but it must be a brilliant + man, indeed, whose light can be perceived across the Atlantic.” + </p> + <p> + “I entertain, Sir,” I said, “a very strong prejudice against relying on + patrons. Dr. Johnson, after a long and fruitless attendance on Lord + Chesterfield, says: ‘Seven years, my Lord, have now past, since I waited + in your outward rooms, or was repulsed from your door; during which time I + have been pushing on my work, through difficulties, of which it is useless + to complain, and have brought it at last to the verge of publication, + without one act of assistance, one word of encouragement, or one smile of + favour. Such treatment I did not expect, for I never bad a patron before.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Mr. Hopewell, “a man who feels that he is wrong, is always + angry with somebody else. Dr. Johnson, is not so much to be admired for + the independence that dictated that letter, as condemned for the meanness + and servility of seven years of voluntary degradation. It is no wonder he + spoke with bitterness; for, while he censured his Lordship, he must have + despised himself. There is a great difference between a literary and a + political patron. The former is not needed, and a man does better without + one; the latter is essential. A good book, like good wine, needs no bush; + but to get an office, you want merits or patrons;—merits so great, + that they cannot be passed over, or friends so powerful, they cannot be + refused.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! you can’t do nothin’, Squire,” said Mr. Sick, “send it back to Old + Marm; tell her you have the misfortin to be a colonist; that if her son + would like to be a constable, or a Hogreave, or a thistle-viewer, or + sunthin’ or another of that kind, you are her man: but she has got the + wrong cow by the tail this time. I never hear of a patron, I don’t think + of a frolic I once had with a cow’s tail; and, by hanging on to it like a + snappin’ turtle, I jist saved my life, that’s a fact. + </p> + <p> + “Tell you what it is, Squire, take a fool’s advice, for once. Here you + are; I have made you considerable well-known, that’s a fact; and will + introduce you to court, to king and queen, or any body you please. For our + legation, though they can’t dance, p’raps, as well as the French one can, + could set all Europe a dancin’ in wide awake airnest, if it chose. They + darsent refuse us nothin’, or we would fust embargo, and then go to war. + Any one you want to know, I’ll give you the ticket. Look round, select a + good critter, and hold on to the tail, for dear life, and see if you hante + a patron, worth havin’. You don’t want none yourself, but you might want + one some time or another, for them that’s a comin’ arter you. + </p> + <p> + “When I was a half grow’d lad, the bears came down from Nor-West one year + in droves, as a body might say, and our woods near Slickville was jist + full of ‘em. It warn’t safe to go a-wanderin’ about there a-doin’ of + nothin’, I tell <i>you</i>. Well, one arternoon, father sends me into the + back pastur’, to bring home the cows, ‘And,’ says he, ‘keep a stirrin’, + Sam, go ahead right away, and be out of the bushes afore sun-set, on + account of the bears, for that’s about the varmints’ supper-time.’ + </p> + <p> + “Well, I looks to the sky, and I sees it was a considerable of a piece yet + to daylight down, so I begins to pick strawberries as I goes along, and + you never see any thing so thick as they were, and wherever the grass was + long, they’d stand up like a little bush, and hang in clusters, most as + big and twice as good, to my likin’, as garden ones. Well, the sun, it + appears to me, is like a hoss, when it comes near dark it mends its pace, + and gets on like smoke, so afore I know’d where I was, twilight had come + peepin’ over the spruce tops. + </p> + <p> + “Off I sot, hot foot, into the bushes, arter the cows, and as always + eventuates when you are in a hurry, they was further back than common that + time, away ever so fur back to a brook, clean off to the rear of the farm, + so that day was gone afore I got out of the woods, and I got proper + frightened. Every noise I heerd I thought it was a bear, and when I looked + round a one side, I guessed I heerd one on the other, and I hardly turned + to look there before, I reckoned it was behind me, I was e’en a’most + skeered to death. + </p> + <p> + “Thinks I, ‘I shall never be able to keep up to the cows if a bear comes + arter ‘em and chases ‘em, and if I fall astarn, he’ll just snap up a plump + little corn fed feller like me in less than half no time. Cryin’,’ says I, + ‘though, will do no good. You must be up and doin’, Sam, or it’s gone + goose with you.’ + </p> + <p> + “So a thought struck me. Father had always been a-talkin’ to me about the + leadin’ men, and makin’ acquaintance with the political big bugs when I + growed up and havin’ a patron, and so on. Thinks I, I’ll take the leadin’ + cow for my patron. So I jist goes and cuts a long tough ash saplin, and + takes the little limbs off of it, and then walks along side of Mooley, as + meachin’ as you please, so she mightn’t suspect nothin’, and then grabs + right hold of her tail, and yelled and screamed like mad, and wallopped + away at her like any thing. + </p> + <p> + “Well, the way she cut dirt was cautionary; she cleared stumps, ditches, + windfalls and every thing, and made a straight track of it for home as the + crow flies. Oh, she was a dipper: she fairly flow again, and if ever she + flagged, I laid it into her with the ash saplin, and away we started agin, + as if Old Nick himself was arter us. + </p> + <p> + “But afore I reached home, the rest of the cows came a bellowin’, and a + roarin’ and a-racin’ like mad arter us, and gained on us too, so as most + to overtake us, jist as I come to the bars of the cow yard, over went + Mooler, like a fox, brought me whap up agin ‘em, which knocked all the + wind out of my lungs and the fire out of my eyes, and laid me sprawlin on + the ground, and every one of the flock went right slap over me, all but + one—poor Brindle. She never came home agin. Bear nabbed her, and + tore her most ridiculous. He eat what he wanted, which was no trifle, I + can tell you, and left the rest till next time. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t talk to me, Squire, about merits. We all want a lift in this world; + sunthin’ or another to lay hold on, to help us along—<i>we want the + cow’s tail</i>. + </p> + <p> + “Tell your friend, the female widder, she has got hold of the wrong cow by + the tail in gettin’ hold of you, for you are nothin’ but a despisable + colonist; but to look out for some patron here, some leadin’ man, or great + lord, to clinch fast hold of him, and stick to him like a leach, and if he + flags, (for patrons, like old Mooley, get tired sometimes), to recollect + the ash saplin, to lay into him well, and keep him at it, and no fear but + he’ll carry her through. He’ll fetch her home safe at last, and no + mistake, depend on it, Squire. The best lesson that little boy could be + taught, is, that of <i>the Patron, or the Cows Tail</i>.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. ASCOT RACES. + </h2> + <p> + To-day I visited Ascot. Race-courses are similar every where, and present + the same objects; good horses, cruel riders, knowing men, dupes, jockeys, + gamblers, and a large assemblage of mixed company. But this is a gayer + scene than most others; and every epithet, appropriate to a course, + diminutive or otherwise, must be in the superlative degree when applied to + Ascot. This is the general, and often the only impression that most men + carry away with them. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Slick, who regards these things practically, called my attention to + another view of it. + </p> + <p> + “Squire,” said he, “I’d a plaguy sight sooner see Ascot than any thing + else to England. There ain’t nothin’ like it. I don’t mean the racin’, + because they can’t go ahead like us, if they was to die for it. We have + colts that can whip chain lightnin’, on a pinch. Old Clay trotted with it + once all round an orchard, and beat it his whole length, but it singed his + tail properly as he passed it, you may depend. It ain’t its runnin’ I + speak of, therefore, though that ain’t mean nother; but it’s got another + featur’, that you’ll know it by from all others. Oh it’s an everlastin’ + pity you warn’t here, when I was to England last time. Queen was there + then; and where she is, of coarse all the world and its wife is too. She + warn’t there this year, and it sarves folks right. If I was an + angelyferous queen, like her, I wouldn’t go nowhere till I had a tory + minister, and then a feller that had a “trigger-eye” would stand a chance + to get a white hemp-neckcloth. I don’t wonder Hume don’t like young + England; for when that boy grows up, he’ll teach some folks that they had + better let some folks alone, or some folks had better take care of some + folks’ ampersands that’s all. + </p> + <p> + “The time I speak of, people went in their carriages, and not by railroad. + Now, pr’aps you don’t know, in fact you can’t know, for you can’t cypher, + colonists ain’t no good at figurs, but if you did know, the way to judge + of a nation is by its private carriages. From Hyde Park corner to Ascot + Heath, is twenty odd miles. Well, there was one whole endurin’ stream of + carriages all the way, sometimes havin’ one or two eddies, and where the + toll-gates stood, havin’ still water for ever so far. Well, it flowed and + flowed on for hours and hours without stoppin’, like a river; and when you + got up to the race-ground, there was the matter of two or three tiers of + carriages, with the hosses off, packed as close as pins in a paper. + </p> + <p> + “It costs near hand to twelve hundred dollars a-year to keep up a carriage + here. Now for goodness’ sake jist multiply that everlastin’ string of + carriages by three hundred pounds each, and see what’s spent in that way + every year, and then multiply that by ten hundred thousand more that’s in + other places to England you don’t see, and then tell me if rich people + here ain’t as thick as huckleberries.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, when you’ve done, go to France, to Belgium, and to Prussia, three + sizeable places for Europe, and rake and scrape every private carriage + they’ve got, and they ain’t no touch to what Ascot can show. Well, when + you’ve done your cypherin’, come right back to London, as hard as you can + clip from the race-course, and you won’t miss any of ‘em; the town is as + full as ever, to your eyes. A knowin’ old coon, bred and born to London, + might, but you couldn’t. + </p> + <p> + “Arter that’s over, go and pitch the whole bilin’ of ‘em into the Thames, + hosses, carriages, people, and all; and next day, if it warn’t for the + black weepers and long faces of them that’s lost money by it, and the + black crape and happy faces of them that’s got money, or titles, or what + not by it, you wouldn’t know nothin’ about it. Carriages wouldn’t rise ten + cents in the pound in the market. A stranger, like you, if you warn’t + told, wouldn’t know nothin’ was the matter above common. There ain’t + nothin’ to England shows its wealth like this. + </p> + <p> + “Says father to me when I came back, ‘Sam,’ sais he, ‘what struck you + most?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Ascot Races,’ sais I. + </p> + <p> + “‘Jist like you,’ sais he. ‘Hosses and galls is all you think of. Wherever + they be, there you are, that’s a fact. You’re a chip of the old block, my + boy. There ain’t nothin’ lake ‘em; is there?’ + </p> + <p> + “Well, he was half right, was father. It’s worth seein’ for hosses and + galls too; but it’s worth seein’ for its carriage wealth alone. Heavens + and airth, what a rich country it must be that has such a show in that + line as England. Don’t talk of stock, for it may fail; or silver-smiths’ + shops, for you can’t tell what’s plated; or jewels, for they may be paste; + or goods, for they may be worth only half nothin’; but talk of the + carriages, them’s the witnesses that don’t lie. + </p> + <p> + “And what do they say? ‘Calcutta keeps me, and China keeps me, and Bot’ney + Bay keeps me, and Canada keeps me, and Nova Scotia keeps me, and the + whales keep me, and the white bears keep me, and every thing on the airth + keeps me, every thing under the airth keeps me. In short, all the world + keeps me.’” + </p> + <p> + “No, not all the world, Sam,” said Mr. Hopewell; “there are some + repudiative States that <i>don’t keep me</i>; and if you go to the auction + rooms, you’ll see some beautiful carriages for sale, that say, ‘the United + States’ Bank used to keep me,’ and some more that say, ‘Nick Biddle put me + down.’” + </p> + <p> + “Minister, I won’t stand that,” said Mr. Slick. “I won’t stay here and + hear you belittle Uncle Sam that way for nothin’. He ain’t wuss than John + Bull, arter all. Ain’t there no swindle-banks here? Jist tell me that. + Don’t our liners fetch over, every trip, fellers that cut and run from + England, with their fobs filled with other men’s money? Ain’t there lords + in this country that know how to “repudiate” as well as ring-tail-roarers + in ourn. So come now, don’t throw stones till you put your window-shutters + to, or you may stand a smart chance of gettin’ your own glass broke, + that’s a fact.’ + </p> + <p> + “And then, Squire, jist look at the carriages. I’ll bet you a goose and + trimmin’s you can’t find their ditto nowhere. They <i>are</i> carriages, + and no mistake, that’s a fact. Look at the hosses, the harness, the paint, + the linin’s, the well-dressed, lazy, idle, infarnal hansum servants, + (these rascals, I suspicion, are picked out for their looks), look at the + whole thing all through the piece, take it, by and large, stock, lock, and + barrel, and it’s the dandy, that’s a fact. Don’t it cost money, that’s + all? Sumtotalize it then, and see what it all comes to. It would make your + hair stand on eend, I know. If it was all put into figure, it would reach + clean across the river; and if it was all put into dollars, it would make + a solid tire of silver, and hoop the world round and round, like a wheel. + </p> + <p> + “If you want to give a man an idea of England, Squire, tell him of Ascot; + and if you want to cram him, get old Multiplication-table Joe H— to + cast it up; for he’ll make it come to twice as much as it railly is, and + that will choke him. Yes, Squire, <i>stick to Ascot</i>.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. THE GANDER PULLING. + </h2> + <p> + A cunning man is generally a suspicious one, and is as often led into + error himself by his own misconceptions, as protected from imposition by + his habitual caution. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Slick, who always acted on a motive, and never on an impulse, and who + concealed his real objects behind ostensible ones, imagined that everybody + else was governed by the same principle of action; and, therefore, + frequently deceived himself by attributing designs to others that never + existed but in his own imagination. + </p> + <p> + Whether the following story of the gander pulling was a fancy sketch of + the Attache, or a narrative of facts, <i>I</i> had no means of + ascertaining. Strange interviews and queer conversations he constantly had + with official as well as private individuals, but as he often gave his + opinions the form of an anecdote, for the purpose of interesting his + hearers, it was not always easy to decide whether his stories were facts + or fictions. + </p> + <p> + If, on the present occasion, it was of the latter description, it is + manifest that he entertained no very high opinion of the constitutional + changes effected in the government of the colonies by the Whigs, during + their long and perilous rule. If of the former kind, it is to be lamented + that he concealed his deliberate convictions under an allegorical piece of + humour. His disposition to “humbug” was so great, it was difficult to + obtain a plain straightforward reply from him; but had the Secretary of + State put the question to him in direct terms, what he thought of Lord + Durham’s “Responsible government,” and the practical working of it under + Lord Sydenham’s and Sir Charles Bagot’s administration, he would have + obtained a plain and intelligible answer. If the interview to which he + alludes ever did take place, (which I am bound to add, is very doubtful, + notwithstanding the minuteness with which it is detailed), it is deeply to + be regretted that he was not addressed in that frank manner which could + alone elicit his real sentiments; for I know of no man so competent to + offer an opinion on these subjects as himself. + </p> + <p> + To govern England successfully, it is necessary to know the temper of + Englishmen. Obvious as this appears to be, the frequent relinquishment of + government measures, by the dominant party, shows that their own statesmen + are sometimes deficient in this knowledge. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Slick says, that if Sir James Graham had consulted him, <i>he</i> + could have shown him how to carry the educational clauses of his favourite + bill This, perhaps, is rather an instance of Mr. Slick’s vanity, than a + proof of his sagacity. But if this species of information is not easy of + attainment here, even by natives, how difficult must it be to govern a + people three thousand miles off, who differ most materially in thought, + word, and deed, from their official rulers. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Slick, when we had not met during the day, generally visited me at + night, about the time I usually returned from a dinner-party, and amused + me by a recital of his adventures. + </p> + <p> + “Squire,” said he, “I have had a most curious capur to-day, and one that + will interest you, I guess. Jist as I was a settin’ down to breakfast this + mornin’, and was a turnin’ of an egg inside out into a wine-glass, to + salt, pepper and batter it for Red-lane Alley, I received a note from a + Mister Pen, saying the Right Honourable Mr. Tact would be glad, if it was + convenient, if I would call down to his office, to Downin’ Street, to-day, + at four o’clock. Thinks says I to myself, ‘What’s to pay now? Is it the + Boundary Line, or Creole Case, or Colonial Trade, or the Burnin’ of the + Caroline, or Right o’ Sarch? or what national subject is on the carpet + to-day? Howsundever,’ sais I, ‘let the charge be what it will, slugs, + rifle-bullets, or powder, go I must, that’s a fact.’ So I tips him a shot + right off; here’s the draft, Sir; it’s in reg’lar state lingo. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Sir, + + “I have the high honour to acknowledge the receipt of + your letter of this present first of June instant and + note its contents. The conference (subject unknown), + proffered by the Right Honourable Mr. Tact, I accede + to hereby protesting and resarving all rights of + conformation and reniggin’ of our Extraordinary + Embassador, now absent from London, at the great + agricultural meetin’. I would suggest, next time, it + would better convene to business, to insart subject + of discussion, to prevent being taken at a short. + + “I have to assure you of the high consideration of + your most obedient servant to command. + + “THE HON. SAM SLICK, + + “Attache”. +</pre> + <p> + “Well, when the time comes, I rigs up, puts on the legation coat, calls a + cab, and downs to Downing Street, and looks as dignified as I cleverly + knew how. + </p> + <p> + “When I enters the outer door, I sees a man in an arm-chair in the entry, + and he looked like a buster, I tell you, jist ready to blow up with the + steam of all the secrets he had in his byler. + </p> + <p> + “‘Can I see Mr. Tact?’ sais I. + </p> + <p> + “‘Tell you directly,’ sais he, jist short like; for Englishmen are kinder + costive of words; they don’t use more nor will do, at no time; and he + rings a bell. This brings in his second in command; and sais he, ‘Pray + walk in here, if you please, Sir,’ and he led me into a little plain, + stage-coach-house lookin’ room, with nothin’ but a table and two or three + chairs in it; and says he, ‘Who shall I say, Sir?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘The Honourable Mr. Slick,’ sais I, ‘Attache of the American Legation to + the court of Saint Jimses’ Victoria.’ + </p> + <p> + “Off he sot; and there I waited and waited for ever so long, but he didn’t + come back. Well, I walked to the winder and looked out, but there was + nothin’ to see there; and then I turned and looked at a great big map on + the wall, and there was nothin’ I didn’t know there; and then I took out + my pen-knife to whittle, but my nails was all whittled off already, except + one, and that was made into a pen, and I didn’t like to spile that; and as + there wasn’t any thing I could get hold of, I jist slivered a great big + bit off the leg of the chair, and began to make a toothpick of it. And + when I had got that finished, I begins to get tired; for nothin’ makes me + so peskilly oneasy as to be kept waitin’; for if a Clockmaker don’t know + the valy of time, who the plague does? + </p> + <p> + “So jist to pass it away, I began to hum ‘Jim Brown.’ Did you ever hear + it, Squire? it’s a’most a beautiful air, as most all them nigger songs + are. I’ll make you a varse, that will suit a despisable colonist exactly. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I went up to London, the capital of the nation, + To see Lord Stanley, and get a sitivation. + Says he to me, ‘Sam Slick, what can you do?’ + Says I, ‘Lord Stanley, jist as much as you. + Liberate the rebels, and ‘mancipate the niggers. + Hurror for our side, and damn thimble-riggers. +</pre> + <p> + “Airth and seas! If you was to sing that ‘ere song there, how it would + make ‘em stare; wouldn’t it? Such words as them was never heerd in that + patronage office, I guess; and yet folks must have often thort it too; + that’s a fact. + </p> + <p> + “I was a hummin’ the rael ‘Jim Brown,’ and got as far as: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Play upon the banjo, play upon the fiddle, + Walk about the town, and abuse old Biddle, +</pre> + <p> + when I stopped right in the middle of it, for it kinder sorter struck it + me warn’t dignified to be a singin’ of nigger-catches that way. So says I + to myself, ‘This ain’t respectful to our great nation to keep a high + functionary a waitin’ arter this fashion, is it? Guess I’d better assart + the honour of our republic by goin’ away; and let him see that it warn’t + me that was his lackey last year.’ + </p> + <p> + “Well, jist as I had taken the sleeve of my coat and given my hat a rub + over with it, (a good hat will carry off an old suit of clothes any time, + but a new suit of clothes will never carry off an old hat, so I likes to + keep my hat in good order in a general way). Well, jist as I had done, in + walks the porter’s first leftenant; and sais he, ‘Mr. Tact will see you, + Sir.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘He come plaguy near not seein’ of me, then,’ sais I; ‘for I had jist + commenced makin’ tracks as you come in. The next time he sends for me, + tell him not to send till he is ready, will you? For it’s a rule o’ mine + to tag arter no man.’ + </p> + <p> + “The critter jist stopped short, and began to see whether that spelt + treason or no. He never heerd freedom o’ speech afore, that feller, I + guess, unless it was somebody a jawin’ of him, up hill and down dale; so + sais I, ‘Lead off, my old ‘coon, and I will foller you, and no mistake, if + you blaze the line well.’ + </p> + <p> + “So he led me up stairs, opened a door, and ‘nounced me; and there was Mr. + Tact, sittin’ at a large table, all alone. + </p> + <p> + “‘How do you do, Mr. Slick,’ says he. ‘I am very glad to see you. Pray be + seated.’ He really was a very gentlemanlike man, was Squire Tact, that’s a + fact. Sorry I kept you waitin’ so long,’ sais he, ‘but the Turkish + Ambassador was here at the time, and I was compelled to wait until he + went. I sent for you, Sir, a-hem!’ and he rubbed his hand acrost his + mouth, and looked’ up at the cornish, and said, ‘I sent for you, Sir, + ahem!’—(thinks I, I see now. All you will say for half an hour is + only throw’d up for a brush fence, to lay down behind to take aim through; + and arter that, the first shot is the one that’s aimed at the bird), ‘to + explain to you about this African Slave Treaty,’ said he. ‘Your government + don’t seem to comprehend me in reference to this Right of Sarch. Lookin’ a + man in the face, to see he is the right man, and sarchin’ his pockets, are + two very different things. You take, don’t you?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘I’m up to snuff, Sir,’ sais I, ‘and no mistake.’ I know’d well enough + that warn’t what he sent for me for, by the way he humm’d and hawed when + he began. + </p> + <p> + “‘Taking up a trunk, as every hotel-keeper does and has a right to do, and + examinin’ the name on the brass plate to the eend on’t, is one thing; + forcin’ the lock and ransackin’ the contents, is another. One is + precaution, the other is burglary.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘It tante burglary,’ sais I, ‘unless the lodger sleeps in his trunk. It’s + only—’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Well,’ says he, a colourin’ up, ‘that’s technical. I leave these matters + to my law officers.’ + </p> + <p> + “I larnt that little matter of law from brother Eldad, the lawyer, but I + guess I was wrong there. I don’t think I had ought to have given him that + sly poke; but I didn’t like his talkin’ that way to me. Whenever a feller + tries to pull the wool over your eyes, it’s a sign he don’t think high of + your onderstandin’. It isn’t complimental, that’s a fact. ‘One is a + serious offence, I mean, sais he; ‘the other is not. We don’t want to + sarch; we only want to look a slaver in the face, and see whether he is a + free and enlightened American or not. If he is, the <i>flag of liberty</i> + protects him and <i>his slaves</i>; if he ain’t, it don’t protect him, nor + them nother.’ + </p> + <p> + “Then he did a leadin’ article on slavery, and a paragraph on + non-intervention, and spoke a little soft sawder about America, and wound + up by askin’ me if he had made himself onderstood. + </p> + <p> + “‘Plain as a boot-jack,’ sais I. + </p> + <p> + “When that was over, he took breath. He sot back on his chair, put one leg + over the other, and took a fresh departur’ agin. + </p> + <p> + “‘I have read your books, Mr. Slick,’ said he, ‘and read ‘em, too, with + great pleasure. You have been a great traveller in your day. You’ve been + round the world a’most, haven’t you?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Well,’ sais I, ‘I sharn’t say I hante.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘What a deal of information a man of your observation must have + acquired.’ (He is a gentlemanly man, that you may depend. I don’t know + when I’ve see’d one so well mannered.) + </p> + <p> + “‘Not so much, Sir, as you would suppose,’ sais I. + </p> + <p> + “‘Why how so?’ sais he. + </p> + <p> + “‘Why,’ sais I, ‘the first time a man goes round the world, he is plaguy + skeered for fear of fallin’ off the edge; the second time he gets used to + it, and larns a good deal.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Fallin’ off the edge!’ sais he; ‘what an original idea that is. That’s + one of your best. I like your works for that they are original. We have + nothin’ but imitations now. Fallin’ off the the edge, that’s capital. I + must tell Peel that; for he is very fond of that sort of thing.’ + </p> + <p> + “He was a very pretty spoken man, was Mr. Tact; he is quite the gentleman, + that’s a fact. I love to hear him talk; he is so very perlite, and seems + to take a likin’ to me parsonally.” + </p> + <p> + Few men are so open to flattery as Mr. Slick; and although “soft sawder” + is one of the artifices he constantly uses in his intercourse with others, + he is often thrown off of his guard by it himself. How much easier it is + to discover the weaknesses of others than to see our own! + </p> + <p> + But to resume the story. + </p> + <p> + “‘You have been a good deal in the colonies, haven’t you?’ said he. + </p> + <p> + “‘Considerable sum,’ sais I. Now, sais I to myself, this is the rael + object he sent for me for; but I won’t tell him nothin’. If he’d a up and + askt me right off the reel, like a man, he’d a found me up to the notch; + but he thort to play me off. Now I’ll sarve him out his own way; so here + goes. + </p> + <p> + “‘Your long acquaintance with the provinces, and familiar intercourse with + the people,’ sais he, ‘must have made you quite at home on all colonial + topics.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘I thought so once,’ sais I; ‘but I don’t think so now no more, Sir.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Why how is that?’ sais he. + </p> + <p> + “‘Why, Sir,’ sais I, ‘you can hold a book so near your eyes as not to be + able to read a word of it; hold it off further, and get the right focus, + and you can read beautiful. Now the right distance to see a colony, and + know all about it, is England. Three thousand miles is the right focus for + a political spy-glass. A man livin’ here, and who never was out of + England, knows twice as much about the provinces as I do.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Oh, you are joking,’ sais he. + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit,’ sais I. ‘I find folks here that not only know every thing + about them countries, but have no doubts upon any matter, and ask no + questions; in fact, they not only know more than me, but more than the + people themselves do, what they want. It’s curious, but it’s a fact. A + colonist is the most beautiful crittur in natur to try experiments on, you + ever see; for he is so simple and good-natured he don’t know no better; + and so weak, he couldn’t help himself if he did. There’s great fun in + making these experiments, too. It puts me in mind of “Gander Pulling;” you + know what this is, don’t you?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘No,’ he said. ‘I never heard of it. Is it an American sport?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Yes,’ sais I, ‘it is; and the most excitin’ thing, too, you ever see.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘You are a very droll man. Mr Slick,’ said he, ‘a very droll man indeed. + In all your books there is a great deal of fun; but in all your fun, there + is a meanin’. Your jokes hit, and hit pretty hard, too, sometimes. They + make a man think as well as laugh. But, describe this Gander Pulling.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Well, I’ll tell you how it is,’ sais I. ‘First and foremost, a ring-road + is formed, like a small race-course; then, two great long posts is fixed + into the ground, one on each side of the road, and a rope made fast by the + eends to each post, leavin’ the middle of the rope to hang loose in a + curve. Well, then they take a gander and pick his neck as clean as a + babby’s, and then grease it most beautiful all the way from the breast to + the head, till it becomes as slippery as a soaped eel. Then they tie both + his legs together with a strong piece of cord, of the size of a halyard, + and hang him by the feet to the middle of the swingin’ rope, with his head + downward. All the youngsters, all round the county, come to see the sport, + mounted a horseback. + </p> + <p> + “‘Well, the owner of the goose goes round with his hat, and gets so much + a-piece in it from every one that enters for the “Pullin’;” and when all + have entered, they bring their hosses in a line, one arter another; and at + the words, ‘Go ahead!’ off they set, as hard as they can split; and as + they pass under the goose, make a grab at him; and whoever carries off the + head, wins. + </p> + <p> + “‘Well, the goose dodges his head and flaps his wings, and swings about + so, it ain’t no easy matter to clutch his neck; and when you do, it’s so + greasy, it slips right through the fingers, like, nothin’. Sometimes it + takes so long, that the hosses are fairly beat out, and can’t scarcely + raise a gallop; and then a man stands by the post, with a heavy loaded + whip, to lash ‘em on, so that they mayn’t stand under the goose, which + ain’t fair. The whoopin’, and hollerin’, and screamin’, and bettin’, and + excitement, beats all; there ain’t hardly no sport equal to it. It’s great + fun <i>to all except the poor goosey-gander</i>. + </p> + <p> + “‘The game of colony government to Canady, for some years back, puts me in + mind of that exactly. Colonist has had his heels put where his head used + to be, this some time past. He has had his legs tied, and his neck + properly greased, I tell <i>you</i>; and the way every parliament man, and + governor, and secretary, gallops round and round, one arter another, a + grabbin’ at poor colonist, ain’t no matter. Every new one on ‘em that + comes, is confident he is a goin’ to settle it; but it slips through his + hand, and off he goes, properly larfed at. + </p> + <p> + “‘They have pretty nearly fixed goosey colonist, though; he has got his + neck wrung several times; it’s twisted all a one side, his tongue hangs + out, and he squeaks piteous, that’s a fact. Another good grab or two will + put him out o’ pain; and it’s a pity it wouldn’t, for no created critter + can live long, turned wrong eend up, that way. But the sport will last + long arter that; for arter his neck is broke, it ain’t no easy matter to + get the head off; the cords that tie that on, are as thick as your finger. + It’s the greatest fun out there you ever see, <i>to all except poor goosey + colonist</i>. + </p> + <p> + “‘I’ve larfed ready to kill myself at it. Some o’ these Englishers that + come out, mounted for the sport, and expect a peerage as a reward for + bringin’ home the head and settlin’ the business for colonist, do cut such + figurs, it would make you split; and they are all so everlastin’ + consaited, they won’t take no advice. The way they can’t do it is + cautionary. One gets throwed, another gets all covered with grease, a + third loses his hat, a fourth gets run away with by his horse, a fifth + sees he can’t do it, makes some excuse, and leaves the ground afore the + sport is over; and now and then, an unfortunate critter gets a hyste that + breaks his own neck. There is only one on ‘em that I have see’d out there, + that can do it right. + </p> + <p> + “It requires some experience, that’s a fact. But let John Bull alone for + that; he is a critter that thinks he knows every thing; and if you told + him he didn’t, he wouldn’t believe you, not he. He’d only pity your + ignorance, and look dreadful sorry for you. Oh if you want to see high + life, come and see “a colonial gander pulling.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Tying up a goose, Sir, is no great harm,’ sais I, ‘seein’ that a goose + was made to be killed, picked and devoured, and nothin’ else. Tyin’ up a + colonist by the heels is another thing. I don’t think it right; but I + don’t know nothin’; I’ve had the book too close to my eyes. Joe H—e, + that never was there, can tell you twice as much as I can about the + colonies. The focus to see right, as I said afore, is three thousand miles + off.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Well,’ sais he, ‘that’s a capital illustration, Mr. Slick. There is more + in that than meets the ear. Don’t tell me you don’t know nothin’ about the + colonies; few men know so much as you do. I wish to heavens you was a + colonist,’ sais he; ‘if you were, I would offer you a government.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘I don’t doubt it,’ sais I; ‘seein’ that your department have advanced or + rewarded so many colonists already.’ But I don’t think he heard that shot, + and I warn’t sorry for it; for it’s not right to be a pokin’ it into a + perlite man, is it? + </p> + <p> + “‘I must tell the Queen that story of <i>the Gander Pulling</i>,’ sais he; + ‘I like it amazingly. It’s a capital caricature. I’ll send the idea to H. + B. Pray name some day when you are disengaged; I hope you will give me the + pleasure of dining with me. Will this day fortnight suit you?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Thank you,’ sais I, ‘I shall have great pleasure.’ + </p> + <p> + “He railly was a gentlemany man that. He was so good natured, and took the + joke so well, I was kinder sorry I played it off on him. I hante see’d no + man to England I affection so much as Mr. Tact, I swear! I begin to think, + arter all, it was the right of <i>sarchin’ vessels</i> he wanted to talk + to me about, instead of <i>sarchin’ me</i>, as I suspicioned. It don’t do + always <i>to look for motives, men often act without any</i>. The next + time, if he axes me, I’ll talk plain, and jist tell him what I <i>do</i> + think; but still, if he reads that riddle right, he may larn a good deal, + too, from the story of “the Gander Pulling,” mayn’t he?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. THE BLACK STOLE. + </h2> + <p> + The foregoing sketch exhibits a personal trait in Mr. Slick’s character, + the present a national one. In the interview, whether real or fanciful, + that he alleges to have had with one of the Secretaries of State, he was + not disposed to give a direct reply, because his habitual caution led him + to suspect that an attempt was made to draw him out on a particular topic + without his being made aware of the object. On the present occasion, he + exhibits that irritability, which is so common among all his countrymen, + at the absurd accounts that travellers give of the United States in + general, and the gross exaggerations they publish of the state of slavery + in particular. + </p> + <p> + That there is a party in this country, whose morbid sensibility is + pandered to on the subject of negro emancipation there can be no doubt, as + is proved by the experiment made by Mr. Slick, recorded in this chapter. + </p> + <p> + On this subject every man has a right to his own opinions, but any + interference with the municipal regulations of another country, is so + utterly unjustifiable, that it cannot be wondered at that the Americans + resent the conduct of the European abolishionists, in the most unqualified + and violent manner. + </p> + <p> + The conversation that I am now about to repeat, took place on the Thames. + Our visits, hitherto, had been restricted by the rain to London. To-day, + the weather being fine, we took passage on board of a steamer, and went to + Greenwich. + </p> + <p> + While we were walking up and down the deck, Mr. Slick again adverted to + the story of the government spies with great warmth. I endeavoured, but in + vain, to persuade him that no regular organized system of espionage + existed in England. He had obtained a garbled account of one or two + occurrences, and his prejudice, (which, notwithstanding his disavowal, I + knew to be so strong, as to warp all his opinions of England and the + English), immediately built up a system, which nothing I could say, could + at all shake. + </p> + <p> + I assured him the instances he had mentioned were isolated and + unauthorized acts, told in a very distorted manner but mitigated, as they + really were, when truly related, they were at the time received with the + unanimous disapprobation of every right-thinking man in the kingdom, and + that the odium which had fallen on the relators, was so immeasurably + greater than what had been bestowed on the thoughtless principals, that + there was no danger of such things again occurring in our day. But he was + immovable. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, of course, it isn’t true,” he said, “and every Englishman will swear + it’s a falsehood. But you must not expect us to disbelieve it, + nevertheless; for your travellers who come to America, pick up here and + there, some absurd ontruth or another; or, if they are all picked up + already, invent one; and although every man, woman, and child is ready to + take their bible oaths it is a bam, yet the English believe this one false + witness in preference to the whole nation. + </p> + <p> + “You must excuse me, Squire; you have a right to your opinion, though it + seems you have no right to blart it out always; but I am a freeman, I was + raised in Slickville, Onion County, State of Connecticut, United States of + America, which <i>is</i> a free country, and no mistake; and I have a + right to my opinion, and a right to speak it, too; and let me see the man, + airl or commoner, parliamenterer or sodger officer, that dare to report + me, I guess he’d wish he’d been born a week later, that’s all. I’d make a + caution of him, <i>I</i> know. I’d polish his dial-plate fust, and then + I’d feel his short ribs, so as to make him larf, a leetle jist a leetle + the loudest he ever heerd. Lord, he’d think thunder and lightnin’ a mint + julip to it. I’d ring him in the nose as they do pigs in my country, to + prevent them rootin’ up what they hadn’t ought.” + </p> + <p> + Having excited himself by his own story, he first imagined a case and then + resented it, as if it had occurred. I expressed to him my great regret + that he should visit England with these feelings and prejudices, as I had + hoped his conversation would have been as rational and as amusing as it + was in Nova Scotia, and concluded by saying that I felt assured he would + find that no such prejudice existed here against his countrymen, as he + entertained towards the English. + </p> + <p> + “Lord love you!” said he, “I have no prejudice. I am the most candid man + you ever see. I have got some grit, but I ain’t ugly, I ain’t indeed.” + </p> + <p> + “But you are wrong about the English; and I’ll prove it to you. Do you see + that turkey there?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Where?” I asked. “I see no turkey; indeed, I have seen none on board. + What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Why that slight, pale-faced, student-like Britisher; he is a turkey, that + feller. He has been all over the Union, and he is a goin’ to write a book. + He was at New York when we left, and was introduced to me in the street. + To make it liquorish, he has got all the advertisements about runaway + slaves, sales of niggers, cruel mistresses and licentious masters, that he + could pick up. He is a caterer and panderer to English hypocrisy. There is + nothin’ too gross for him to swaller. We call them turkeys; first because + they travel so fast—for no bird travels hot foot that way, except it + be an ostrich—and second, because they gobble up every thing that + comes in their way. Them fellers will swaller a falsehood as fast as a + turkey does a grasshopper; take it right down whole, without winkin’. + </p> + <p> + “Now, as we have nothin’ above particular to do, ‘I’ll cram him’ for you; + I will show you how hungry he’ll bite at a tale of horror, let it be never + so onlikely; how readily he will believe it, because it is agin us; and + then, when his book comes out, you shall see that all England will credit + it, though I swear I invented it as a cram, and you swear you heard it + told as a joke. They’ve drank in so much that is strong, in this way, have + the English, they require somethin’ sharp enough to tickle their palates + now. Wine hante no taste for a man that drinks grog, that’s a fact. It’s + as weak as Taunton water. Come and walk up and down deck along with me + once or twice, and then we will sit down by him, promiscuously like; and + as soon as I get his appetite sharp, see how I will cram him.” + </p> + <p> + “This steam-boat is very onsteady to-day. Sir,” said Mr. Slick; “it’s not + overly convenient walking, is it?” + </p> + <p> + The ice was broken. Mr. Slick led him on by degrees to his travels, + commencing with New England, which the traveller eulogised very much. He + then complimented him on the accuracy of his remarks and the depth of his + reflections, and concluded by expressing a hope that he would publish his + observations soon, as few tourists were so well qualified for the task as + himself. + </p> + <p> + Finding these preliminary remarks taken in good part, he commenced the + process of “cramming.” + </p> + <p> + “But oh, my friend,” said he, with a most sanctimonious air, “did you + visit, and I am ashamed as an American citizen to ask the question, I feel + the blood a tannin’ of my cheek when I inquire, did you visit the South? + That land that is polluted with slavery, that land where the boastin’ and + crackin’ of freemen pile up the agony pangs on the corroding wounds + inflicted by the iron chains of the slave, until natur can’t stand it no + more; my heart bleeds like a stuck critter, when I think of this plague + spot on the body politic. I ought not to speak thus; prudence forbids it, + national pride forbids it; but genu<i>wine</i> feelings is too strong for + polite forms. ‘Out of the fulness of the heart the mouth speaketh.’ Have + you been there?” + </p> + <p> + “Turkey” was thrown off his guard, he opened his wallet, which was well + stocked, and retailed his stories, many of them so very rich, that I + doubted the capacity of the Attache to out-Herod him. Mr. Slick received + these tales with evident horror, and complimented the narrator with a well + simulated groan; and when he had done, said, “Ah, I see how it is, they + have purposely kept dark about the most atrocious features of slavery. + Have you never seen the Gougin’ School?” + </p> + <p> + “No, never.” + </p> + <p> + “What, not seen the Gougin’ School?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Sir; I never heard of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you don’t mean to say so?” + </p> + <p> + “I do, indeed, I assure you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if that don’t pass! And you never even heerd tell of it, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Never, Sir. I have never either seen it or heard of it.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought as much,” said Mr. Slick. “I doubt if any Britisher ever did or + ever will see it. Well, Sir, in South Carolina, there is a man called + Josiah Wormwood; I am ashamed to say he is a Connecticut man. For a + considerable of a spell, he was a strollin’ preacher, but it didn’t pay in + the long run. There is so much competition in that line in our country, + that he consaited the business was overdone, and he opened a Lyceum to + Charleston South Car, for boxin’, wrestlin’ and other purlite British + accomplishments; and a most a beautiful sparrer he is, too; I don’t know + as I ever see a more scientific gentleman than he is, in that line. + Lately, he has halfed on to it the art of gougin’ or ‘monokolisin,’ as he + calls it, to sound grand; and if it weren’t so dreadful in its + consequences, it sartinly is amost allurin’ thing, is gougin’. The + sleight-of-hand is beautiful. All other sleights we know are tricks; but + this is reality; there is the eye of your adversary in your hand; there is + no mistake. It’s the real thing. You feel you have him; that you have set + your mark on him, and that you have took your satisfaction. The throb of + delight felt by a ‘monokolister’ is beyond all conception.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh heavens!” said the traveller, “Oh horror of horrors! I never heard any + thing so dreadful. Your manner of telling it, too, adds to its terrors. + You appear to view the practice with a proper Christian disgust; and yet + you talk like an amateur. Oh, the thing is sickening.” + </p> + <p> + “It is, indeed,” said Mr. Slick, “particularly to him that loses his + peeper. But the dexterity, you know, is another thing. It is very + scientific. He has two niggers, has Squire Wormwood, who teach the + wrastlin’ and gouge-sparrin’; but practisin’ for the eye is done for + punishment of runaways. He has plenty of subjects. All the planters send + their fugit<i>ive</i> niggers there to be practised on for an eye. The + scholars ain’t allowed to take more than one eye out of them; if they do, + they have to pay for the nigger; for he is no sort o’ good after, for + nothin’ but to pick oakum. I could go through the form, and give you the + cries to the life, but I won’t; it is too horrid; it really is too + dreadful.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh do, I beg of you,” said the traveller. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot, indeed; it is too shocking. It will disgust you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, not at all,” said Turkey, “when I know it is simulated, and not real, + it is another thing.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot, indeed,” said Mr. Slick. “It would shock your philanthropic + soul, and set your very teeth of humanity on edge. But have you ever seen—the + Black Stole?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Never seen the Black Stole?” + </p> + <p> + “No, never.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, it ain’t possible? Did you never hear of it nother?” + </p> + <p> + “No, never. Well now, do tell!” + </p> + <p> + “So you never heerd tell of it, nor never sot eyes on it?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly never.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that bangs the bush, now! I suppose you didn’t. Guess you never + did, and never will, nor no other traveller, nother, that ever slept in + shoe-leather. They keep dark about these atrocities. Well, the Black Stole + is a loose kind of shirt-coat, like an English carter’s frock; only, it is + of a different colour. It is black instead of white, and made of nigger + hide, beautifully tanned, and dressed as soft as a glove. It ain’t every + nigger’s hide that’s fit for a stole. If they are too young, it is too + much like kid; if they are too old, it’s like sole leather, it’s so tough; + and if they have been whipt, as all on ‘em have a’most, why the back is + all cut to pieces, and the hide ruined. It takes several sound nigger + skins to make a stole; but when made, it’s a beautiful article, that’s a + fact. + </p> + <p> + “It is used on a plantation for punishment. When the whip don’t do its + work, strip a slave, and jist clap on to him the Black Stole. Dress him up + in a dead man’s skin, and it frightens him near about to death. You’ll + hear him screetch for a mile a’most, so ‘tarnally skeered. And the best of + the fun is, that all the rest of the herd, bulls, cows, and calves, run + away from him, jist as if he was a panther.” + </p> + <p> + “Fun, Sir! Do you call this fun?” + </p> + <p> + “Why sartainly I do. Ain’t it better nor whippin’ to death? “What’s a + Stole arter all? It’s nothin’ but a coat. Philosophizin’ on it, Stranger, + there is nothin’ to shock a man. The dead don’t feel. Skinnin’, then, + ain’t cruel, nor is it immoral. To bury a good hide, is, waste—waste + is wicked. There are more good hides buried in the States, black and + white, every year, than would pay the poor-rates and state-taxes. They + make excellent huntin’-coats, and would make beautiful razor-straps, + bindin’ for books, and such like things; it would make a noble export. + Tannin’ in hemlock bark cures the horrid nigger flavour. But then, we + hante arrived at that state of philosophy; and when it is confined to one + class of the human family, it would be dangerous. The skin of a crippled + slave might be worth more than the critter was himself; and I make no + doubt, we should soon hear of a stray nigger being shot for his hide, as + you do of a moose for his skin, and a bear for his fur. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, that is the reason (though I shouldn’t mention it as an Attache), + that our government won’t now concur to suppress the slave trade. They say + the prisoners will all be murdered, and their peels sold; and that + vessels, instead of taking, in at Africa a cargo of humans, will take in a + cargo of hides, as they do to South America. As a Christian, a + philanthropist, indeed, as a man, this is a horrid subject to contemplate, + ain’t it?” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed it is,” said Turkey. “I feel a little overcome—my head swims—I + am oppressed with nausea—I must go below.” + </p> + <p> + “How the goney swallered it all, didn’t he?” said Mr. Slick, with great + glee. “Hante he a most a beautiful twist that feller? How he gobbled it + down, tank, shank and flank at a gulp, didn’t he. Oh! he is a Turkey and + no mistake, that chap. But see here, Squire; jist look through the + skylight. See the goney, how his pencil is a leggin’ it off, for dear + life. Oh, there is great fun in crammin’ those fellers. + </p> + <p> + “Now tell me candid, Squire; do you think there is no prejudice in the + Britishers agin us and our free and enlightened country, when they can + swaller such stuff as the Gougin’ School and <i>Black Stole</i>?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. THE PRINCE DE JOINVILLE’S HORSE. + </h2> + <p> + “There is more in that story, Squire,” said Mr. Hopewell, “of the Patron, + and Sam’s queer illustration of the Cow’s Tail, than you are aware of. The + machinery of the colonies is good enough in itself, but it wants a safety + valve. When the pressure within is too great, there should be something + devised to let off the steam. This is a subject well worthy of your + consideration; and if you have an opportunity of conversing with any of + the ministry, pray draw their attention to it. By not understanding this, + the English have caused one revolution at home, and another in America.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” said Mr. Slick. “It reminds me of what I once saw done by the + Prince de Joinville’s horse, on the Halifax road.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me,” said Mr. Hopewell, “you shall have an opportunity presently + of telling your story of the Prince’s horse, but suffer me to proceed. + </p> + <p> + “England, besides other outlets, has a never-failing one in the colonies, + but the colonies have no outlet. Cromwell and Hampden were actually + embarked on board of a vessel in the Thames, for Boston, when they were + prevented from sailing by an Order in Council. What was the consequence? + The sovereign was dethroned. Instead of leading a small sect of fanatical + puritans, and being the first men of a village in Massachussets, they + aspired to be the first men in an empire, and succeeded. So in the old + colonies. Had Washington been sent abroad in command of a regiment, Adams + to govern a colony, Franklin to make experiments in an observatory like + that at Greenwich, and a more extended field been opened to colonial + talent, the United States would still have continued to be dependencies of + Great Britain. + </p> + <p> + “There is no room for men of talent in British America; and by not + affording them an opportunity of distinguishing themselves, or rewarding + them when they do, they are always ready to make one, by opposition. In + comparing their situation with that of the inhabitants of the British + Isles, they feel that they labour under disabilities; these disabilities + they feel as a degradation; and as those who impose that degradation live + three thousand miles off, it becomes a question whether it is better to + suffer or resist.” + </p> + <p> + “The Prince de Joinville’s horse,” said Mr. Slick, “is a case in pint.” + </p> + <p> + “One moment, Sam,” said Mr. Hopewell. + </p> + <p> + “The very word ‘dependencies’ shows the state of the colonies. If they are + to be retained, they should be incorporated with Great Britain. The people + should be made to feel, not that they are colonists, but Englishmen. They + may tinker at constitutions as much as they please; the root of the evil + lies deeper than statesmen are aware of. O’Connell, when he agitates for a + repeal of the Union, if he really has no ulterior objects beyond that of + an Irish Parliament, does not know what he is talking about. If his + request were granted, Ireland would become a province, and descend from + being an integral part of the empire, into a dependency. Had he ever lived + in a colony, he would have known the tendencies of such a condition. + </p> + <p> + “What I desire to see, is the very reverse. Now that steam has united the + two continents of Europe and America, in such a manner that you can travel + from Nova Scotia to England, in as short a time as it once required to go + from Dublin to London, I should hope for a united legislature. Recollect + that the distance from New Orleans to the head of the River is greater + than from Halifax N. S., to Liverpool. I do not want to see colonists and + Englishmen arrayed against each other, as different races, but united as + one people, having the same rights and privileges, each bearing a share of + the public burdens, and all having a voice in the general government. + </p> + <p> + “The love of distinction is natural to man. Three millions of people + cannot be shut up in a colony. They will either turn on each other, or + unite against their keepers. The road that leads to retirement in the + provinces, should be open to those whom the hope of distinction invites to + return and contend for the honours of the empire. At present, the egress + is practically closed.” + </p> + <p> + “If you was to talk for ever, Minister,” said Mr. Slick, “you couldn’t say + more than the Prince de Joinville’s hoss on that subject.” + </p> + <p> + The interruption was very annoying; for no man I ever met, so thoroughly + understands the subject of colonial government as Mr. Hopewell. His + experience is greater than that of any man now living, and his views more + enlarged and more philosophical. + </p> + <p> + “Go on, Sam,” said he with great good humour. “Let us hear what the + Prince’s horse said.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Mr. Slick, “I don’t jist exactly mean to say he spoke, as + Balaam’s donkey did, in good English or French nother; but he did that + that spoke a whole book, with a handsum wood-cut to the fore, and that’s a + fact. + </p> + <p> + “About two years ago, one mortal brilin’ hot day, as I was a pokin’ along + the road from Halifax to Windsor, with Old Clay in the waggon, with my + coat off, a ridin’ in my shirt-sleeves, and a thinkin’ how slick a + mint-julep would travel down red-lane, if I had it, I heard such a + chatterin’, and laughin’, and screamin’ as I never a’most heerd afore, + since I was raised. + </p> + <p> + “‘What in natur’ is this,’ sais I, as I gave Old Clay a crack of the whip, + to push on. ‘There is some critters here, I guess, that have found a haw + haw’s nest, with a tee hee’s egg in it. What’s in the wind now?’ Well, a + sudden turn of the road brought me to where they was, and who should they + be but French officers from the Prince’s ship, travellin’ incog. in plain + clothes. But, Lord bless you, cook a Frenchman any way you please, and you + can’t disguise him. Natur’ will out, in spite of all, and the name of a + Frencher is written as plain as any thing in his whiskers, and his hair, + and his skin, and his coat, and his boots, and his air, and his gait, and + in everythin’, but only let him open his mouth, and the cat’s out of the + bag in no time, ain’t it? They are droll boys, is the French, that’s a + fact. + </p> + <p> + “Well, there was four on ‘em dismounted, a holdin’ of their hosses by the + bridle, and a standin’ near a spring of nice cool water; and there was a + fifth, and he was a layin’ down belly flounder on the ground, a tryin’ to + drink out of the runnin’ spring. + </p> + <p> + “‘Parley vous French,’ sais I, ‘Mountsheer?’ At that, they sot to, and + larfed again more than ever, I thought they would have gone into the high + strikes, they hee-hawed so. + </p> + <p> + “Well, one on ‘em, that was a Duke, as I found out afterwards, said ‘O + yees, Saar, we spoked English too.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Lawful heart!’ sais I, ‘what’s the joke?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Why,’ sais he, ‘look there, Sare.’ And then they larfed agin, ready to + split; and sore enough, no sooner had the Leftenant layed down to drink, + than the Prince’s hoss kneeled down, and put his head jist over his neck, + and began to drink too. Well, the officer couldn’t get up for the hoss, + and he couldn’t keep his face out of the water for the hoss, and he + couldn’t drink for the hoss, and he was almost choked to death, and as + black in the face as your hat. And the Prince and the officers larfed so, + they couldn’t help him, if they was to die for it. + </p> + <p> + “Sais I to myself, ‘A joke is a joke, if it tante carried too far, but + this critter win be strangled, as sure as a gun, if he lays here + splutterin’ this way much longer.’ So I jist gives the hoss a dab in the + mouth, and made him git up; and then sais I, ‘Prince,’ sais I, for I + know’d him by his beard, he had one exactly like one of the old saint’s + heads in an Eyetalian pictur, all dressed to a pint, so sais I, ‘Prince,’ + and a plaguy handsum man he is too, and as full of fun as a kitten, so + sais I, ‘Prince,’ and what’s better, all his officers seemed plaguy proud + and fond of him too; so sais I, ‘Prince, voila le condition of one + colonist, which,’ sais I, ‘Prince, means in English, that leftenant is + jist like a colonist.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Commong,’ sais he, ‘how is dat?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Why’ sais I, ‘Prince, whenever a colonist goes for to drink at a spring + of the good things in this world, (and plaguy small springs we have here + too,) and fairly lays down to it, jist as he gets his lips cleverly to it, + for a swig, there is some cussed neck or another, of some confounded + Britisher, pops right over him, and pins him there. He can’t get up, he + can’t back out, and he can’t drink, and he is blacked and blued in the + face, and most choked with the weight.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘What country was you man of?’ said he, for he spoke very good for a + Frenchman. + </p> + <p> + “With that I straightened myself up, and looked dignified, for I know’d I + had a right to be proud, and no mistake; sais I, ‘Prince, I am an American + citizen.’ How them two words altered him. P’raps there beant no two words + to ditto ‘em. He looked for all the world like a different man when he + seed I wasn’t a mean uncircumcised colonist. + </p> + <p> + “‘Very glad to see you, Mr. Yankee,’ said he, ‘very glad indeed. Shall I + have de honour to ride with you a little way in your carriage?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘As for the matter of that,’ sais I, ‘Mountsheer Prince, the honour is + all the other way,’ for I can be as civil as any man, if he sets out to + act pretty and do the thing genteel. + </p> + <p> + “With that he jumped right in, and then he said somethin’ in French to the + officers; some order or another, I suppose, about comin on and fetchin’ + his hoss with them. I have hearn in my time, a good many men speak French, + but I never see the man yet, that could hold a candle to <i>him</i>. Oh, + it was like lightnin’, jist one long endurin’ streak; it seemed all one + sentence and one word. It was beautiful, but I couldn’t onderstand it, it + was so everlastin’ fast. + </p> + <p> + “‘Now,’ sais he, ‘set sail.’ And off we sot, at the rate of sixteen notts + an hour. Old Clay pleased him, you may depend; he turned round and clapped + his hands, and larfed, and waved his hat to his officers to come on; and + they whipped, and spurred, and galloped, and raced for dear life; but we + dropped ‘em astarn like any thing, and he larfed again, heartier than ever + There is no people a’most, like to ride so fast as sailors; they crack on, + like a house a fire. + </p> + <p> + “Well, arter a while, sais he, ‘Back topsails,’ and I hauled up, and he + jumped down, and outs with a pocket book, and takes a beautiful gold + coronation medal. (It was solid gold, no pinchback, but the rael yaller + stuff, jist fresh from King’s shop to Paris, where his money is made), and + sais he, ‘Mr. Yankee, will you accept that to remember the Prince de + Joinville and his horse by?’ And then he took off his hat and made me a + bow, and if that warn’t a bow, then I never see one, that’s all. I don’t + believe mortal man, unless it was a Philadelphia nigger, could make such a + bow. It was enough to sprain his ankle he curled so low. And then off he + went with a hop, skip, and a jump, sailor fashion, back to meet his + people. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Squire, if you see Lord Stanley, tell him that story of the Prince + de Joinville’s horse; but before you get so far as that, pin him by + admissions. When you want to get a man on the hip, ax him a question or + two, and get his answers, and then you have him in a corner, he must stand + and let you put on the bridle. He cant help it no how, he can fix it. + </p> + <p> + “Says you, ‘My Lord’—don’t forget his title—every man likes + the sound of that, it’s music to his ears, it’s like our splendid national + air, Yankee Doodle, you never get tired of it. ‘My Lord,’ sais you, ‘what + do you suppose is the reason the French keep Algiers?’ Well, he’ll up and + say, it’s an outlet for the fiery spirits of France, it gives them + employment and an opportunity to distinguish themselves, and what the + climate and the inimy spare, become valuable officers. It makes good + soldiers out of bad subjects. + </p> + <p> + “‘Do you call that good policy?’ sais you. + </p> + <p> + “Well, he’s a trump, is Mr. Stanley, at least folks say so; and he’ll say + right off the reel ‘onquestionably it is—excellent policy.’ + </p> + <p> + “When he says that, you have him bagged, he may flounder and spring like a + salmon jist caught; but he can’t out of the landin’ net. You’ve got him, + and no mistake. Sais you ‘what outlet have you for the colonies?’ + </p> + <p> + “Well, he’ll scratch his head and stare at that, for a space. He’ll hum + and haw a little to get breath, for he never thought of that afore, since + he grow’d up; but he’s no fool, I can tell you, and he’ll out with his + mould, run an answer and be ready for you in no time. He’ll say, ‘They + don’t require none. Sir. They have no redundant population. They are an + outlet themselves.’ + </p> + <p> + “Sais you, ‘I wasn’t talking of an outlet for population, for France or + the provinces nother. I was talking of an outlet for the clever men, for + the onquiet ones, for the fiery spirits.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘For that. Sir,’ he will say, ‘they have the local patronage.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Oh!’ sais you, ‘I warn’t aware. I beg pardon, I have been absent some + time, as long as twenty days or perhaps twenty-five, there must have been + great changes, since I left.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘The garrison,’ sais you. + </p> + <p> + “‘Is English,’ sais he. + </p> + <p> + “‘The armed ships in the harbour?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘English.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘The governor and his secretary?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘English.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘The principal officer of customs and principal part of his deputies?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘English.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘The commissariat and the staff?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘English to a man.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘The dockyard people?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘English.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘The postmaster giniral?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘English.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘What, English?’ sais you, and look all surprise, as if you didn’t know. + ‘I thought he was a colonist, seein’ the province pays so much for the + mails.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘No,’ he’ll say, ‘not now; we have jist sent an English one over, for we + find it’s a good thing that.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘One word more,’ sais you, ‘and I have done. If your army officers out + there, get leave of absence, do you stop their pay?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘No.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Do you sarve native colonists the same way?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘No, we stop half their salaries.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Exactly,’ sais you, ‘make them feel the difference. Always make a nigger + feel he is a nigger, or he’ll get sassy, you may depend. As for + patronage,’ sais you, ‘you know as well as I do, that all that’s not worth + havin’, is jist left to poor colonist. He is an officer of militia, gets + no pay and finds his own fit out. Like Don Quixote’s tailor, he works for + nothin’ and finds thread. Any other little matters of the same kind, that + nobody wants, and nobody else will take; if Blue-nose makes interest for, + and has good luck, he can get as a great favour, to conciliate his + countrymen. No, Minister,’ sais you, ‘you are a clever man, every body + sais you are a brick; and if you ain’t, you talk more like one, than any + body I have seen this while past. I don’t want no office myself, if I did + p’raps, I wouldn’t talk about patronage this way; but I am a colonist, I + want to see the colonists remain so. They <i>are</i> attached to England, + that is a fact, keep them so, by making them Englishmen. Throw the door + wide open; patronise them; enlist them in the imperial sarvice, allow them + a chance to contend for honours and let them win them, if they can. If + they don’t, it’s their own fault, and cuss ‘em they ought to be kicked, + for if they ain’t too lazy, there is no mistake in ‘em, that’s a fact. The + country will be proud of them, if they go ahead. Their language will + change then. It will be <i>our</i> army, the delighted critters will say, + not the English army; <i>our</i> navy, <i>our</i> church, <i>our</i> + parliament, <i>our</i> aristocracy, &c., and the word English will be + left out holus-bolus, and that proud, that endearin’ word “our” will be + insarted. Do this, and you will shew yourself the first statesman of + modern times. You’ll rise right up to the top of the pot, you’ll go clean + over Peel’s head, as your folks go over ourn, not by jumpin’ over him, but + by takin’ him by the neck and squeezin’ him down. You ‘mancipated the + blacks, now liberate the colonists and make Englishmen of them, and see + whether the goneys won’t grin from ear to ear, and shew their teeth, as + well as the niggers did. Don’t let Yankee clockmakers, (you may say that + if you like, if it will help your argument,) don’t let travellin’ Yankee + clockmakers tell such stories, against <i>your</i> justice and <i>our</i> + pride as that of the Prince de Joinville and his horse.’” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. LIFE IN THE COUNTRY. + </h2> + <p> + “Here,” said Mr. Sick, “is an invitation for you and me, and minister to + go and visit Sir Littleeared Bighead, down to Yorkshire. You can go if you + like, and for once, p’raps it’s worth goin’ to see how these chaps first + kill time, and then how time kills them in turn. Eatin’, drinkin’, + sleepin’, growlin’, fowlin’, and huntin’ kills time; and gout, aperplexy, + dispepsy, and blue devils kills them. They are like two fightin’ dogs, one + dies of the thrashin’ he gets, and t’other dies of the wounds he got a + killin’ of him. Tit for tat; what’s sarce for the goose, is sarce for the + gander. + </p> + <p> + “If you want to go, Minister will go with you; but hang me if I do. The + only thing is, it’ll puzzle you to get him away, if he gets down there. + You never see such a crotchical old critter in your life as he is. He + flies right off the handle for nothin’. He goes strayin’ away off in the + fields and gullies, a browsin’ about with a hammer, crackin’ up bits of + stones like walnuts, or pickin’ up old weeds, faded flowers, and what not; + and stands starin’ at ‘em for ever so long, through his eye-glass, and + keeps a savin’ to himself, ‘Wonderful provision of natur!’ Airth and seas! + what does he mean? How long would a man live on such provision, I should + like to know, as them bitter yarbs. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, he’ll jist as soon set down and jaw away by the hour together + with a dirty-faced, stupid little poodle lookin’ child, as if it was a + nice spry little dog he was a trainin’ of for treein’ partridges; or talk + poetry with the galls, or corn-law with the patriots, or any thing. + Nothin’ comes amiss to him. + </p> + <p> + “But what provokes me, is to hear him go blartin’ all over the country + about home scenes, and beautiful landscape, and rich vardure. My sakes, + the vardure here is so deep, it looks like mournin’; it’s actilly dismal. + Then there’s no water to give light to the pictur, and no sun to cheer it; + and the hedges are all square; and the lime trees are as stiff as an old + gall that was once pretty, and has grow’d proud on the memory of it. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t like their landscape a bit, there ain’t no natur in it. Oh! if + you go, take him along with you, for he will put you in consait of all you + see, except reform, dissent, and things o’ that kind; for he is an out and + out old Tory, and thinks nothin’ can be changed here for the better, + except them that don’t agree with him. + </p> + <p> + “He was a warnin’ you t’other day not to take all I said for Gospel about + society here; but you’ll see who’s right and who’s wrong afore you’ve + done, I know. I described to you, when you returned from Germany, <i>Dinin’ + out</i> to London. Now I’ll give you my opinion of “Life in the Country.” + And fust of all, as I was a sayin’, there is no such thing as natur’ here. + Every thing is artificial; every thing of its kind alike; and every thing + oninterestin’ and tiresome. + </p> + <p> + “Well, if London is dull, in the way of West Eend people, the country, I + guess, is a little mucher. Life in the country is different, of course, + from life in town; but still life itself is alike there, exceptin’ again + <i>class difference</i>. That is, nobility is all alike, as far as their + order goes; and country gents is alike, as far as their class goes; and + the last especially, when they hante travelled none, everlastin’ flat, in + their own way. Take a lord, now, and visit him to his country seat, and + I’ll tell you what you will find—a sort of Washington State house + place. It is either a rail old castle of the genuine kind, or a + gingerbread crinkum crankum imitation of a thing that only existed in + fancy, but never was seen afore—a thing that’s made modern for use, + and in ancient stile for shew; or else it’s a great cold, formal, slice of + a London terrace, stack on a hill in a wood. + </p> + <p> + “Well, there is lawn, park, artificial pond called a lake, deer that’s + fashionablized and civilized, and as little natur in ‘em as the humans + have. Kennel and hounds for parsicutin’ foxes—presarves (not what we + call presarves, quinces and apple sarce, and green gages done in sugar, + but preserves for breedin’ tame partridges and peasants to shoot at), + H’aviaries, Hive-eries, H’yew-veris, Hot Houses, and so on; for they put + an H before every word do these critters, and then tell us Yankees we + don’t speak English. + </p> + <p> + “Well, when you have seen an old and a new house of these folks, you have + seen all. Featurs differ a little, but face of all is so alike, that + though p’raps you wouldn’t mistake one for another, yet you’d say they was + all of one family. The king is their father. + </p> + <p> + “Now it may seem kinder odd to you, and I do suppose it will, but what + little natur there is to England is among these upper crust nobility. <i>Extremes + meet</i>. The most elegant critter in America is an Indgian chief. The + most elegant one in England is a noble. There is natur in both. You will + vow that’s a crotchet of mine, but it’s a fact; and I will tell you how it + is, some other time. For I opine the most charmin’, most nateral, least + artificial, kindest, and condescendenest people here are rael nobles. + Younger children are the devil, half rank makes ‘em proud, and entire + poverty makes ‘em sour. <i>Strap pride on an empty puss, and it puts a + most beautiful edge on, it cuts like a razor</i>. They have to assart + their dignity, tother one’s dignity don’t want no assartin’. It speaks for + itself. + </p> + <p> + “I won’t enter into particulars now. I want to shew you country life; + because if you don’t want to hang yourself, don’t tarry there, that’s all; + go and look at ‘em, but don’t stay there. If you can’t help it no how, you + can fix it, do it in three days; one to come, one to see, and one to go. + If you do that, and make the fust late, and the last airly, you’ll get + through it; for it won’t only make a day and a half, when sumtotalized. + We’ll fancy it, that’s better than the rael thing, any time. + </p> + <p> + “So lets go to a country gentleman’s house, or “landed,” as they call ‘em, + cause they are so infarnally heavy. Well, his house is either an old + onconvenient up and down, crooked-laned place, bad lighted, bad warmed, + and shockin’ cut up in small rooms; or a spic and span formal, new one, + havin’ all or most, according to his puss, of those things, about lord’s + houses, only on a smaller scale. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’ll arrive in time for dinner, I’ll titivate myself up, and down + to drawin’-room, and whose the company that’s to dine there? Why, cuss + ‘em, half a dozen of these gents own the country for miles round, so they + have to keep some company at the house, and the rest is neighbours. + </p> + <p> + “Now for goodness gracious sake, jist let’s see who they be! Why one or + two poor parsons, that have nothin’ new in ‘em, and nothin’ new on ‘em, + goodish sort of people too, only they larf a leetle, jist a leetle louder + at host’s jokes, than at mine, at least, I suspicion it, ‘cause I never + could see nothin’ to larf at in his jokes. One or two country nobs of + brother landed gents, that look as big as if the whole of the three per + cent consols was in their breeches pockets; one or two damsels, that was + young once, but have confessed to bein’ old maids, drop’t the word ‘Miss,’ + ‘cause it sounded ridikilous, and took the title of ‘Mrs.’ to look like + widders. Two or three wivewomen of the Chinese stock, a bustin’ of their + stays off a’most, and as fat as show-beef; an oldest son or two, with the + eend of the silver spoon he was born with, a peepin’ out o’ the corner of + his mouth, and his face as vacant as a horn lantern without a candle in + it; a younger son or so jist from college, who looks as if he had an idea + he’d have to airn his livin’, and whose lantern face looks as if it had + had a candle in it, that had e’en amost burnt the sides out, rather thin + and pale, with streaks of Latin and Greek in it; one or two everlastin’ + pretty young galls, so pretty as there is nothin’ to do, you can’t hardly + help bein’ spooney on ‘em. + </p> + <p> + “Matchless galls, they be too, for there is no matches for ‘em. The + primur-genitur boy takes all so they have no fortin. Well, a younger son + won’t do for ‘em, for he has no fortin; and t’other primo geno there, + couldn’t if he would, for he wants the estate next to hisn, and has to + take the gall that owns it, or he won’t get it. I pity them galls, I do + upon my soul. It’s a hard fate, that, as Minster sais, in his pretty talk, + to bud, unfold, bloom, wither, and die on the parent stock, and have no + one to pluck the rose, and put it in his bosom, aint it? + </p> + <p> + “Dinner is ready, and you lock and lock, and march off two and two, to + t’other room, and feed. Well, the dinner is like town dinner, there aint + much difference, there is some; there is a difference atween a country + coat, and a London coat; but still they look alike, and are intended to be + as near the same as they can. The appetite is better than town folks, and + there is more eatin’ and less talkin’, but the talkin’, like the eatin’, + is heavy and solemcoloy. + </p> + <p> + “Now do, Mr. Poker, that’s a good soul, now do, Squire, look at the + sarvants. Do you hear that feller, a blowin’ and a wheesin’ like a hoss + that’s got the heaves? Well he is so fat and lazy, and murders beef and + beer so, he has got the assmy, and walkin’ puts him out o’ breath—aint + it beautiful! Faithful old sarvant that, so attached to the family! which + means the family prog. Always to home! which means he is always eatin’ and + drinkin’, and hante time to go out. So respectful! which means bowin’ is + an everlastin’ sight easier, and safer too, nor talkin’ is. So honest! + which means, parquisites covers all he takes. Keeps every thin’ in such + good order! which means he makes the women do his work. Puts every thin’ + in it’s place, he is so methodical! which means, there is no young + children in the house, and old aunty always puts things back where she + takes ‘em from. For she is a good bit of stuff is aunty, as thin, tough, + and soople as a painter’s palate knife. Oh, Lord! how I would like to lick + him with a bran new cow hide whip, round and round the park, every day, an + hour afore breakfast, to improve his wind, and teach him how to mend his + pace. I’d repair his old bellowses for him, I know. + </p> + <p> + “Then look at the butler, how he tordles like a Terrapin; he has got the + gout, that feller, and no wonder, nother. Every decanter that comes in has + jist half a bottle in it, the rest goes in tastin’, to see it aint corked. + His character would suffer if a bit o’ cork floated in it. Every other + bottle is corked, so he drinks that bottle, and opens another, and gives + master half of it. The housekeeper pets him, calls him Mr., asks him if he + has heard from Sir Philip lately, hintin’ that he is of gentle blood, only + the wrong side of the blanket, and that pleases him. They are both well to + do in the world. Vails count up in time, and they talk big sometimes, when + alone together, and hint at warnin’ off the old knight, marryin’, and + settin’ up a tripe shop, some o’ these days; don’t that hint about wedlock + bring him a nice little hot supper that night, and don’t that little + supper bring her a tumbler of nice mulled wine, and don’t both on ‘em look + as knowin’ as a boiled codfish, and a shelled oyster, that’s all. + </p> + <p> + “He once got warned himself, did old Thomas, so said he, ‘Where do you + intend to go master?’ ‘Me,’ said the old man, scratchin’ his head, and + lookin’ puzzled ‘nowhere.’ ‘Oh, I thought <i>you</i> intend to leave, said + Thomas for <i>I</i> don’t.’ ‘Very good that, Thomas, come I like that.’ + The old knight’s got an anecdote by that, and nanny-goats aint picked up + every day in the country. He tells that to every stranger, every stranger + larfs, and the two parsons larf, and the old ‘Sir’ larfs so, he wakes up + an old sleepin’ cough that most breaks his ribs, and Thomas is set up for + a character. + </p> + <p> + “Well, arter servants is gone, and women folks made themselves scarce, we + haul up closer to the table, have more room for legs, and then comes the + most interestin’ part. Poor rates, quarter sessions, turnpikes, corn-laws, + next assizes, rail-roads and parish matters, with a touch of the horse and + dog between primo and secondo genitur, for variety. If politics turn up, + you can read who host is in a gineral way with half an eye. If he is an + ante-corn-lawer, then he is a manufacturer that wants to grind the poor + instead of grain. He is a <i>new man</i> and reformer. If he goes up to + the bob for corn-law, then he wants to live and let live, is <i>of an old + family</i>, and a tory. Talk of test oaths bein’ done away with. Why Lord + love you, they are in full force here yet. See what a feller swears by—that’s + his test, and no mistake. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you wouldn’t guess now there was so much to talk of, would you? But + hear ‘em over and over every day, the same everlastin’ round, and you + would think the topics not so many arter all, I can tell you. It soon runs + out, and when it does, you must wait till the next rain, for another + freshet to float these heavy logs on. + </p> + <p> + “Coffee comes, and then it’s up and jine the ladies. Well, then talk is + tried agin, but it’s no go; they can’t come it, and one of the + good-natured fat old lady-birds goes to the piany, and sits on the music + stool. Oh, Hedges! how it creaks, but it’s good stuff, I guess, it will + carry double this hitch; and she sings ‘I wish I was a butterfly.’ Heavens + and airth! the fust time I heard one of these hugeaceous critters come out + with that queer idee, I thought I should a dropt right off of the otter + man on the floor, and rolled over and over a-laughin’, it tickled me so, + it makes me larf now only to think of it. Well, the wings don’t come, such + big butterflies have to grub it in spite of Old Nick, and after wishin’ + and wishin’ ever so long in vain, one of the young galls sits down and + sings in rael right down airnest, ‘I <i>won’t</i> be a nun.’ Poor critter! + there is some sense in that, but I guess she will be bleeged to be, for + all that. + </p> + <p> + “Now eatin’ is done, talkin’ is done, and singin’ is done; so here is + chamber candles, and off to bed, that is if you are a-stayin’ there. If + you ain’t, ‘Mr. Weather Mutton’s carriage is ready, Sir,’ and Mr. Weather + Mutton and Mrs. Weather Mutton and the entire stranger get in, and when + you do, you are in for it, I can tell you. You are in for a seven mile + heat at least of cross country roads, axletree deep, rain pour-in’ + straight up and down like Niagara, high hedges, deep ditches full of + water, dark as Egypt; ain’t room to pass nothin’ if you meet it, and don’t + feel jist altogether easy about them cussed alligators and navigators, + critters that work on rail-roads all day, and on houses and travellers by + night. + </p> + <p> + “If you come with Mr. Weather Mutton, you seed the carriage in course. + It’s an old one, a family one, and as heavy as an ox cart. The hosses are + old, family hosses, everlastin’ fat, almighty lazy, and the way they + travel is a caution to a snail. It’s vulgar to go fast, its only butcher’s + hosses trot quick, and besides, there is no hurry—there is nothin’ + to do to home. Affectionate couple! happy man! he takes his wife’s hand in + his—kisses it? No, not he, but he puts his head back in the corner + of the carriage, and goes to sleep, and dreams—of her? Not he + indeed, but of a saddle of mutton and curren’ jelly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, if you are a-stoppin’ at Sir Littleeared Bighead’s, you escape the + flight by night, and go to bed and think of homeland natur’. Next mornin’, + or rather next noon, down to breakfast. Oh, it’s awfully stupid! That + second nap in the mornin’ always fuddles the head, and makes it as mothery + as ryled cyder grounds. Nobody looks as sweet as sugar candy quite, except + them two beautiful galls and their honey lips. But them is only to look + at. If you want honey, there is some on a little cut glass, dug out of a + dish. But you can’t eat it, for lookin’ at the genu<i>wine</i>, at least I + can’t, and never could. I don’t know what you can do. + </p> + <p> + “P’raps you’d like to look at the picture, it will sarve to pass away + time. They are family ones. And family picture, sarve as a history. Our + Mexican Indgians did all their history in picture. Let’s go round the room + and look. Lawful heart! what a big “Brown ox” that is. Old “Star and + Garters;” father fatted him. He was a prize ox; he eat a thousand bushel + of turnips, a thousand pound of oil cake, a thousand of hay, and a + thousand weight of mangel wurzel, and took a thousand days to fat, and + weighed ever so many thousands too. I don’t believe it, but I don’t say + so, out of manners, for I’ll take my oath he was fatted on porter, because + he looks exactly like the footman on all fours. He is a walking “<i>Brown + Stout</i>,” that feller. + </p> + <p> + “There is a hunter, come, I like hosses; but this brute was painted when + at grass, and is too fat to look well, guess he was a goodish hoss in his + day though. He ain’t a bad cut that’s a fact. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo! what’s this pictur? Why, this is from our side of the water, as I + am a livin’ sinner, this is a New-Foundlander, this dog; yes, and he is of + the true genu<i>wine</i> breed too, look at his broad forehead—his + dew-claws—his little ears; (Sir Littleeared must have been named + arter him), his long hair—his beautiful eye. He is a first chop + article that; but, oh Lord, he is too shockin’ fat altogether. He is like + Mother Gary’s chickens, they are all fat and feathers. A wick run through + ‘em makes a candle. This critter is all hair and blubber, if he goes too + near the grate, he’ll catch into a blaze and set fire to the house. + </p> + <p> + “There’s our friend the host with cap and gold tassel on, ridin’ on his + back, and there’s his younger brother, (that died to Cambridge from + settin’ up all night for his degree, and suppin’ on dry mathematics, and + swallerin’ “Newton” whole) younger brother like, walkin’ on foot, and + leadin’ the dog by the head, while the heir is a scoldin’ him for not + goin’ faster. + </p> + <p> + “Then, there is an old aunty that a forten come from. She looks like a + bale o’ cotton, fust screwed as tight as possible, and then corded hard. + Lord, if they had only a given her a pinch of snuff, when she was full + dressed and trussed, and sot her a sneezin’, she’d a blowed up, and the + fortin would have come twenty years sooner. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it’s a family pictur, indeed, they are all family picture. They are + all fine animals, but over fed and under worked. + </p> + <p> + “Now it’s up and take a turn in the gardens. There is some splendid + flowers on that slope. You and the galls go to look at ‘em, and jist as + you get there, the grass is juicy from the everlastin’ rain, and awful + slippy; up go your heels, and down goes stranger on the broad of his back, + slippin’ and slidin’ and coastin’ right down the bank, slap over the light + mud-earth bed, and crushin’ the flowers as flat as a pancake, and you + yaller ochered all over, clean away from the scruff of your neck, down to + the tip eend of your heel. The galls larf, the helps larf, and the, + bed-room maid larfs; and who the plague can blame them? Old Marm don’t + larf though, because she is too perlite, and besides, she’s lost her + flowers, and that’s no larfin’ matter; and you don’t larf, ‘cause you feel + a little the nastiest you ever did, and jist as near like a fool as to be + taken for one, in the dark, that’s a fact. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you renew the outer man, and try it agin, and it’s look at the + stable and hosses with Sir Host, and the dogs, and the carriages, and two + American trees, and a peacock, and a guinea hen, and a gold pheasant, and + a silver pheasant, and all that, and then lunch. Who the plague can eat + lunch, that’s only jist breakfasted? + </p> + <p> + “So away goes lunch, and off goes you and the ‘Sir,’ a trampousin’ and a + trapsein’ over the wet grass agin (I should like to know what ain’t wet in + this country), and ploughed fields, and wide ditches chock full of dirty + water, if you slip in, to souse you most ridikelous; and over gates that’s + nailed up, and stiles that’s got no steps for fear of thoroughfare, and + through underwood that’s loaded with rain-drops, away off to tother eend + of the estate, to see the most beautiful field of turnips that ever was + seen, only the flies eat all the plants up; and then back by another path, + that’s slumpier than t’other, and twice as long, that you may see an old + wall with two broke-out winders, all covered with ivy, which is called a + ruin. And well named it is, too, for I tore a bran new pair of trousers, + most onhandsum, a scramblin’ over the fences to see it, and ruined a pair + of shoes that was all squashed out of shape by the wet and mud. + </p> + <p> + “Well, arter all this day of pleasure, it is time to rig up in your + go-to-meetin’ clothes for dinner; and that is the same as yesterday, only + stupider, if that’s possible; and that is Life in the Country. + </p> + <p> + “How the plague can it be otherwise than dull? If there is nothin’ to see, + there can’t be nothin’ to talk about. Now the town is full of things to + see. There is Babbage’s machine, and Bank Governor’s machine, and the + Yankee woman’s machine, and the flyin’ machine, and all sorts of machines, + and galleries, and tunnels, and mesmerisers, and theatres, and + flower-shows, and cattle-shows, and beast-shows, and every kind of show, + and what’s better nor all, beautiful got-up women, and men turned out in + fust chop style, too. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t mean to say country women ain’t handsum here, ‘cause they be. + There is no sun here; and how in natur’ can it be otherways than that they + have good complexions. But it tante safe to be caged with them in a house + out o’ town. Fust thing you both do, is to get spooney, makin’ eyes and + company-faces at each other, and then think of matin’, like a pair of + doves, and that won’t answer for the like of you and me. The fact is, + Squire, if you want to see <i>women</i>, you musn’t go to a house in the + country, nor to mere good company in town for it, tho’ there be first chop + articles in both; but you must go among the big bugs the top-lofty + nobility, in London; for since the days of old marm Eve, down to this + instant present time, I don’t think there ever was or ever will be such + splendiferous galls as is there. Lord, the fust time I seed ‘em it put me + in mind of what happened to me at New Brunswick once. Governor of Maine + sent me over to their Governor’s, official-like, with a state letter, and + the British officers axed me to dine to their mess. Well, the English + brags so like niggers, I thought I’d prove ‘em, and set ‘em off on their + old trade jist for fun. So, says I, stranger captain, sais I, is all these + forks and spoons, and plates and covers, and urns, and what nots, rael + genu<i>wine</i> solid silver, the clear thing, and no mistake. + ‘Sartainly,’ said he, ‘we have nothin’ but silver here.’ He did, upon my + soul, just as cool, as if it was all true; well you can’t tell a mili<i>tary</i> + what he sais ain’t credible, or you have to fight him. It’s considered + ongenteel, so I jist puts my finger on my nose, and winks, as much as to + say, ‘I ain’t such a cussed fool as you take me to be, I can tell you.’ + </p> + <p> + “When he seed I’d found him out, he larfed like any thing. Guess he found + that was no go, for I warn’t born in the woods to be scared by an owl, + that’s a fact. Well, the fust time I went to lord’s party, I thought it + was another brag agin; I never see nothin’ like it. Heavens and airth, I + most jumpt out o’ my skin. Where onder the sun, sais I to myself, did he + rake and scrape together such super-superior galls as these. This party is + a kind o’ consarvitory, he has got all the raree plants and sweetest roses + in England here, and must have ransacked the whole country for ‘em. + Knowin’ I was a judge of woman kind, he wants me to think they are all + this way; but it’s onpossible. They are only “shew frigates” arter all; it + don’t stand to reason, they can’t be all clippers. He can’t put the leake + into me that way, so it tante no use tryin’. Well, the next time, I seed + jist such another covey of partridges, same plumage, same step, and same + breed. Well done, sais I, they are intarmed to pull the wool over my eyes, + that’s a fact, but they won’t find that no easy matter, I know. Guess they + must be done now, they can’t show another presarve like them agin in all + Britain. What trouble they do take to brag here, don’t they? Well, to make + a long story short; how do you think it eventuated, Squire? Why every + party I went to, had as grand a shew as them, only some on ‘em was better, + fact I assure you, it’s gospel truth; there ain’t a word of a lie in it, + text to the letter. I never see nothin’ like it, since I was raised, nor + dreamed nothin’ like it, and what’s more, I don’t think the world has + nothin’ like it nother. It beats all natur. It takes the rag off quite. If + that old Turk, Mahomed, had seed these galls, he wouldn’t a bragged about + his beautiful ones in paradise so for everlastinly, I know; for these + English heifers would have beat ‘em all holler, that’s a fact. For my + part, I call myself a judge. I have an eye there ain’t no deceivin’. I + have made it a study, and know every pint about a woman, as well as I do + about a hoss; therefore, if I say so, it must be so, and no mistake. I + make all allowances for the gear, and the gettin’ up, and the vampin’, and + all that sort o’ flash; but toggery won’t make an ugly gall handsum, nohow + you can fix it. It may lower her ugliness a leetle, but it won’t raise her + beauty, if she hante got none. But I warn’t a talkin’ of nobility; I was a + talkin’ of Life in the Country. But the wust of it is, when galls come on + the carpet, I could talk all day; for the dear little critters, I <i>do</i> + love ‘em, that’s a fact. Lick! it sets me crazy a’most. Well, where was + we? for petticoats always puts every thing out o’ my head. Whereabouts was + we?” + </p> + <p> + “You were saying that there were more things to be seen in London than in + the country.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly; now I have it. I’ve got the thread agin. So there is. + </p> + <p> + “There’s England’s Queen, and England’s Prince, and Hanover’s King, and + the old Swordbelt that whopped Bony; and he is better worth seem’ than any + man now livin’ on the face of the univarsal airth, let t’other one be + where he will, that’s a fact. He is a great man, all through the piece, + and no mistake. If there was—what do you call that word, when one + man’s breath pops into ‘nother man’s body, changin’ lodgins, like?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean transmigration?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; if there was such a thing as that, I should say it was old Liveoak + himself, Mr. Washington, that was transmigrated into him, and that’s no + mean thing to say of him, I tell you. + </p> + <p> + “Well now, there’s none o’ these things to the country; and it’s so + everlastin’ stupid, it’s only a Britisher and a nigger that could live in + an English country-house. A nigger don’t like movin’, and it would jist + suit him, if it warn’t so awful wet and cold. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Oh if I was President of these here United States, + I’d suck sugar candy and swing upon de gates; + And them I didn’t like, I’d strike ‘em off de docket, + And the way we’d go ahead, would be akin to Davy Crockit. + With my zippy dooden, dooden dooden, dooden dooden dey, + With my zippy dooden, dooden dooden, dooden dooden dey. +</pre> + <p> + “It might do for a nigger, suckin’ sugar candy and drinkin’ mint-julep; + but it won’t do for a free and enlightened citizen like me. A country + house—oh goody gracious! the Lord presarve me from it, I say. If + ever any soul ever catches me there agin, I’ll give ‘em leave to tell me + of it, that’s all. Oh go, Squire, by all means; you will find it monstrous + pleasant, I know you will. Go and spend a week there; it will make you + feel up in the stirrups, I know. Pr’aps nothin’ can exceed it. It takes + the rag off the bush quite. It caps all, that’s a fact, does ‘Life in the + Country.’” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. BUNKUM. + </h2> + <p> + I am not surprised at the views expressed by Mr. Slick in the previous + chapter. He has led too active a life, and his habits and thoughts are too + business-like to admit of his enjoying retirement, or accommodating + himself to the formal restraints of polished society. And yet, after + making this allowance for his erratic life, it is but fair to add that his + descriptions were always exaggerated; and, wearied as he no doubt was by + the uniformity of country life, yet in describing it, he has evidently + seized on the most striking features, and made them more prominent than + they really appeared, even to his fatigued and prejudiced vision. + </p> + <p> + In other respects, they are just the sentiments we may suppose would be + naturally entertained by a man like the Attache, under such circumstances. + On the evening after that on which he had described “Life in the Country” + to me, he called with two “orders” for admission to the House of Commons, + and took me down with him to hear the debates. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a great sight,” said he. “We shall see all their uppercrust men put + their best foot out. There’s a great musterin’ of the tribes, to-night, + and the Sachems will come out with a great talk. There’ll be some sport, I + guess; some hard hittin’, scalpin’, and tomahawkin’. To see a Britisher + scalp a Britisher is equal to a bullfight, anytime. You don’t keer whether + the bull, or the horse, or the rider is killed, none of ‘em is nothin’ to + you; so you can enjoy it, and hurror for him that wins. I don’t keer who + carries the day, the valy of a treat of julep, but I want to see the + sport. It’s excitin’, them things. Come, let’s go.” + </p> + <p> + We were shown into a small gallery, at one end of the legislative wall + (the two side ones being appropriated to members), and with some + difficulty found sitting room in a place that commanded a view of the + whole house. We were unfortunate. All the great speakers, Lord Stanley, + Sir Robert Peel, Sir James Graham, Shiel, and Lord John Russell, had + either already addressed the Chair, and were thereby precluded by the + rules of the House from coming forward again, or did not choose to answer + second-rate men. Those whom we did hear, made a most wretched exhibition. + About one o’clock, the adjournment took place, and we returned, fatigued + and disappointed. + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever see the beat of that, Squire?” said Mr. Slick. “Don’t that + take the rag off quite? Cuss them fellers that spoke, they are wuss than + assembly men, hang me if they aint; and <i>they</i> aint fit to tend a + bear trap, for they’d be sure to catch themselves, if they did, in their + own pit-fall. + </p> + <p> + “Did you hear that Irishman a latherin’ away with both arms, as if he was + tryin’ to thrash out wheat, and see how bothered he looked, as if he + couldn’t find nothin’ but dust and chaff in the straw? Well, that critter + was agin the Bill, in course, and Irish like, used every argument in + favour of it. Like a pig swimmin’ agin stream, every time he struck out, + he was a cuttin’ of his own throat. He then blob blob blobbered, and gog + gog goggled, till he choked with words and passion, and then sot down. + </p> + <p> + “Then that English Radical feller, that spoke with great voice, and little + sense. Aint he a beauty, without paint, that critter? He know’d he had to + vote agin the Bill, ‘cause it was a Government Bill, and be know’d he had + to speak for <i>Bunkum</i>, and therefore—” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Bunkum!</i>” I said, “pray, what is that?” + </p> + <p> + “Did you never hear of Bunkum?” + </p> + <p> + “No, never.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you don’t mean to say you don’t know what that is?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not indeed.” + </p> + <p> + “Not Bunkum? Why, there is more of it to Nova Scotia every winter, than + would paper every room in Government House, and then curl the hair of + every gall in the town. Not heer of <i>Bunkum</i>? why how you talk!” + </p> + <p> + “No, never.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if that don’t pass! I thought every body know’d that word. I’ll + tell you then, what Bunkum is. All over America, every place likes to hear + of its members to Congress, and see their speeches, and if they don’t, + they send a piece to the paper, enquirin’ if their member died a nateral + death, or was skivered with a bowie knife, for they hante seen his + speeches lately, and his friends are anxious to know his fate. Our free + and enlightened citizens don’t approbate silent members; it don’t seem to + them as if Squashville, or Punkinville, or Lumbertown was right + represented, unless Squashville, or Punkinville, or Lumbertown, makes + itself heard and known, ay, and feared too. So every feller in bounden + duty, talks, and talks big too, and the smaller the State, the louder, + bigger, and fiercer its members talk. + </p> + <p> + “Well, when a critter talks for talk sake, jist to have a speech in the + paper to send to home, and not for any other airthly puppus but + electioneering, our folks call it <i>Bunkum</i>. Now the State o’ Maine is + a great place for <i>Bunkum</i>—its members for years threatened to + run foul of England, with all steam on, and sink her, about the boundary + line, voted a million of dollars, payable in pine logs and spruce boards, + up to Bangor mills—and called out a hundred thousand militia, (only + they never come,) to captur’ a saw mill to New Brunswick—that’s <i>Bunkum</i>. + All that flourish about Right o’ Sarch was <i>Bunkum</i>—all that + brag about hangin’ your Canada sheriff was <i>Bunkum</i>. All the speeches + about the Caroline, and Creole, and Right of Sarch, was <i>Bunkum</i>, In + short, almost all that’s said <i>in Congress</i> in <i>the colonies</i>, + (for we set the fashions to them, as Paris galls do to our milliners,) and + all over America is <i>Bunkum</i>. + </p> + <p> + “Well, they talk Bunkum here too, as well as there. Slavery speeches are + all Bunkum; so are reform speeches, too. Do you think them fellers that + keep up such an everlastin’ gab about representation, care one cent about + the extension of franchise? Why no, not they; it’s only to secure their + seats to gull their constituents, to get a name. Do you think them goneys + that make such a touss about the Arms’ Bill, care about the Irish? No, not + they; they want Irish votes, that’s all—it’s <i>Bunkum</i>. Do you + jist go and mesmerise John Russell, and Macauley, and the other officers + of the regiment of Reformers, and then take the awkward squad of recruits—fellers + that were made drunk with excitement, and then enlisted with the promise + of a shillin’, which they never got, the sargeants having drank it all; go + and mesmerise them all, from General Russell down to Private Chartist, + clap ‘em into a caterwaulin’ or catalapsin’ sleep, or whatever the word + is, and make ‘em tell the secrets of their hearts, as Dupotet did the + Clear-voyancing gall, and jist hear what they’ll tell you. + </p> + <p> + “Lord John will say—‘I was sincere!’ (and I believe on my soul he + was. He is wrong beyond all doubt, but he is an honest man, and a clever + man, and if he had taken his <i>own</i> way more, and given Powlet + Thompson <i>his</i> less, he would a’ been a great colony secretary; and + more’s the pity he is in such company. He’ll get off his beam ends, and + right himself though, yet, I guess.) Well, he’d say—‘I was sincere, + I was disinterested; but I am disappointed. I have awakened a pack of + hungry villains who have sharp teeth, long claws, and the appetite of the + devil. They have swallered all I gave ‘em, and now would eat me up without + salt, if they could. Oh, that I could hark back! <i>there is no satisfyin’ + a movement party</i>.’ + </p> + <p> + “Now what do the men say, (I don’t mean men of rank, but the men in the + ranks),—‘Where’s all the fine things we were promised when Reform + gained the day?’ sais they, ‘ay, where are they? for we are wuss off than + ever, now, havin’ lost all our old friends, and got bilked by our new ones + tarnationly. What did all their fine speeches end in at last? Bunkum; damn + the thing but Bunkum. + </p> + <p> + “But that aint the wust of it, nother. Bunkum, like lyin’, is plaguy apt + to make a man believe his own bams at last. From telling ‘em so often, he + forgets whether he grow’d ‘em or dreamt ‘em, and so he stands’ right up on + end, kisses the book, and swears to ‘em, as positive as the Irishman did + to the gun, which he said he know’d ever since it was a pistol. Now, <i>that’s + Bunkum</i>. + </p> + <p> + “But to get back to what we was a talkin’ of, did you ever hear such bad + speakin’ in your life, now tell me candid? because if you have, I never + did, that’s all. Both sides was bad, it aint easy to say which is wus, six + of one and half a dozen of t’other, nothin to brag of nary way. That + government man, that spoke in their favour, warn’t his speech rich? + </p> + <p> + “Lord love you! I aint no speaker, I never made but one speech since I was + raised, and that was afore a Slickville legislatur, and then I broke down. + I know’d who I was a talkin’ afore; they was men that had cut their + eye-teeth, and that you could’nt pull the wool over their eyes, nohow you + could fix it, and I was young then. Now I’m growed up, I guess, and I’ve + got my narves in the right place, and as taught as a drum; and I <i>could</i> + speak if I was in the House o’ Commons, that’s a fact. If a man was to try + there, that was worth any thin’, he’d find he was a flute without knowin’ + it. They don’t onderstand nothin’ but Latin and Greek, and I’d buoy out + them sand banks, keep the lead agoin’, stick to the channel, and never + take ground, I know. The way I’d cut water aint no matter. Oh Solomon! + what a field for good speakin’ that question was to-night, if they only + had half an eye, them fellers, and what a’most a beautiful mess they made + of it on both sides! + </p> + <p> + “I ain’t a vain man, and never was. You know, Squire, I hante a mossel of + it in my composition; no, if you was to look at me with a ship’s glass you + wouldn’t see a grease spot of it in me. I don’t think any of us Yankees is + vain people; it’s a thing don’t grow in our diggins. We have too much + sense in a giniral way for that; indeed if we wanted any, we couldn’t get + none for love nor money, for John Bull has a monopoly of it. He won’t open + the trade. It’s a home market he looks to, and the best of it is, he + thinks he hante none to spare. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, John Bull, John Bull, when you are full rigged, with your white + cravat and white waistcoat like Young England, and have got your + go-to-meetin’ clothes on, if you ain’t a sneezer, it’s a pity, that’s all. + No, I ain’t a vain man, I despise it, as I do a nigger; but, Squire, what + a glorious field the subject to-night is for a man that knows what’s what, + and was up to snuff, ain’t it? Airth and seas! if I was there, I could + speak on either side; for like Waterloo it’s a fair field; it’s good + ground for both parties. Heavens what a speech I could make! I’d electrify + ‘em and kill ‘em dead like lightnin’, and then galvanise ‘em and fetch’ em + to life agin, and then give them exhiliratin’ gass and set ‘em a larfin’, + till they fairly wet themselves agin with cryin’. Wouldn’t it be fun, + that’s all? I could sting Peel so if I liked, he’d think a galley nipper + had bit him, and he’d spring right off the floor on to the table at one + jump, gout or no gout, ravin’ mad with pain and say, ‘I’m bit thro’ the + boot by Gosh;’ or if I was to take his side, for I care so little about + the British, all sides is alike to me, I’d make them Irish members dance + like ravin’, distractin’ bed bugs. I’d make ‘em howl, first wicked and + then dismal, I know. + </p> + <p> + “But they can’t do it, to save their souls alive; some has it in ‘em and + can’t get it out, physic ‘em as you would, first with vanity, and then + with office; others have got a way out, but have nothin’ to drive thro’ + the gate; some is so timid, they can’t go ahead; and others are in such an + infarnal hurry, they spend the whole time in false starts. + </p> + <p> + “No, there, is no good oratory to parliament now, and the English brag so, + I doubt if it ever was so good, as they say it was in old times. At any + rate, it’s all got down to “Bunkum” now. It’s makin’ a speech for + newspapers and not for the House. It’s to tell on voters and not on + members. Then, what a row they make, don’t they? Hear, hear, hear; divide, + divide, divide; oh, oh, oh; haw, haw, haw. It tante much different from + stump oratory in America arter all, or speakin’ off a whiskey barrel, is + it? It’s a sort of divil me-kear-kind o’ audience; independent critters, + that look at a feller full in the face, as sarcy as the divil; as much as + to say, ‘Talk away, my old ‘coon, you won’t alter me, I can tell you, it’s + all <i>Bunkum</i>.’ + </p> + <p> + “Lord, I shall never forget poor old Davy Crocket’s last speech; there was + no “bunkum” in that. He despised it; all good shots do, they aim right + straight for the mark and hit it. There’s no shootin’ round the ring, with + them kinder men. Poor old feller, he was a great hunter; a great shot with + the rifle, a great wit, and a great man. He didn’t leave his <i>span</i> + behind him, when he slipt off the handle, I know. + </p> + <p> + “Well he stood for an election and lost it, just afore he left the States; + so when it was over, he slings his powder horn on, over his shoulders, + takes his “Betsey,” which was his best rifle, onder his arm, and mounts on + a barrel, to talk it into his constituents, and take leave of ‘em. + </p> + <p> + “‘Feller citizens,’ sais he, ‘we’ve had a fair stand-up fight for it, and + I’m whipped, that are a fact; and thar is no denyin’ of it. I’ve come now + to take my leave of you. You may all go to H—l, and I’ll go to + Texas.’ + </p> + <p> + “And he stepped right down, and went over the boundary, and jined the + patriots agin Mexico, and was killed there. + </p> + <p> + “Why it will never be forgot, that speech. It struck into the bull’s eye + of the heart. It was noble. It said so much in a few words, and left the + mind to fill the gaps up. The last words is a sayin’ now, and always will + be, to all etarnity. Whenever a feller wants to shew how indifferent he + is, he jist sais, ‘you may go to (hem, hem, you know,) and I’ll go to + Texas.’ There is no <i>Bunkum</i> in that, Squire. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, there is no good speakin’ there, speakin’ is no use. Every feller is + pledged and supports his party. A speech don’t alter no man’s opinions; + yes it <i>may</i> alter his <i>opinions</i>, but it don’t alter his vote, + that ain’t his’n, it’s his party’s. Still, there is some credit in a good + speech, and some fun too. No feller there has any ridicule; he has got no + ginger in him, he can neither crack his whip, nor lay it on; he can + neither cut the hide nor sting it. Heavens! if I was there I and I’m sure + it’s no great boastin’ to say I’m better than such fellers, as them small + fry of white bait is. If I was there, give me a good subject like that + to-night, give me a good horn of lignum vitae—” + </p> + <p> + “Lignum vitae—what’s that?” + </p> + <p> + “Lord-o-massy on us! you don’t know nothin’, Squire. Where have you been + all your born days, not to know what lignum vitae is? why lignum vitae, is + hot brandy and water to be sure, pipin’ hot, scald an iron pot amost, and + spiced with cloves and sugar in it, stiff enough to make a tea-spoon stand + up in it, as straight as a dead nigger. Wine ain’t no good, it goes off as + quick as the white beads off of champaign does, and then leaves a stupid + head-ache behind it. But give me the subject and a horn of lignum vitae + (of the wickedest kind), and then let a feller rile me, so as to get my + back up like a fightin’ cat’s, and I’ll tell you what I’d do, I’d sarve + him as our Slickville boys sarve the cows to California. One on ‘em lays + hold of the tail, and the other skins her as she runs strait an eend. Next + year, it’s all growed ready for another flayin’. Fact, I assure you. Lord! + I’d skin a feller so, his hide would never grow agin; I’d make a caution + of him to sinners, I know. + </p> + <p> + “Only hear them fellers now talk of extendin’ of the representation; why + the house is a mob now, plaguy little better, I assure you. Like the house + in Cromwell’s time, they want “Sam Slick’s” purge. But talkin’ of mobs, + puts me in mind of a Swoi-ree, I told you I’d describe that to you, and I + don’t care if I do now, for I’ve jist got my talkin’ tacks aboard. A + Swoi-ree is— + </p> + <p> + “We’ll talk of that some other time, Mr. Slick,” said I; “it is now near + two o’clock, I must retire.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well,” said he, “I suppose it is e’en a’most time to be a movin’. + But, Squire, you are a Britisher, why the plague don’t you get into the + house? you know more about colony matters than the whole bilin’ of” them + put together, quite as much about other things, and speak like a—” + </p> + <p> + “Come, come, Mr. Slick,” said I, rising and lighting my bed-room candle, + “it is now high time to bid you good night, for you are beginning to talk + <i>Bunkum</i>.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. THROWING THE LAVENDER. + </h2> + <p> + Mr. Slick’s character, like that of many of his countrymen, is not so + easily understood as a person might suppose. We err more often than we are + aware of, when we judge of others by ourselves. English tourists have all + fallen into this mistake, in their, estimate of the Americans. They judge + them by their own standard; they attribute effects to wrong causes, + forgetting that a different tone of feeling, produced by a different + social and political state from their own, must naturally produce + dissimilar results. + </p> + <p> + Any person reading the last sketch containing the account, given by Mr. + Slick of the House of Commons, his opinion of his own abilities as a + speaker, and his aspiration after a seat in that body, for the purpose of + “skinning,” as he calls it, impertinent or stupid members, could not avoid + coming to the conclusion that he was a conceited block-head; and that if + his countrymen talked in that absurd manner, they must be the weakest, and + most vain-glorious people in the world. + </p> + <p> + That he is a vain man, cannot be denied—self-taught men are apt to + be so every where; but those who understand the New England humour, will + at once perceive, that he has spoken in his own name merely as a + personification, and that the whole passage means after all, when + transposed into that phraseology which an Englishman would use, very + little more than this, that the House of Commons presented a noble field + for a man of abilities as a public speaker; but that in fact, it contained + very few such persons. We must not judge of words or phrases, when used by + foreigners, by the sense we attribute to them, but endeavour to understand + the meaning they attach to them themselves. + </p> + <p> + In Mexico, if you admire any thing, the proprietor immediately says, “Pray + do me the honour to consider it yours, I shall be most happy, if you will + permit me, to place it upon you, (if it be an ornament), or to send it to + your hotel,” if it be of a different description. All this means in + English, a present; in Mexican Spanish, a civil speech, purporting that + the owner is gratified, that it meets the approbation of his visiter. A + Frenchman, who heard this grandiloquent reply to his praises of a horse, + astonished his friend, by thanking him in terms equally amplified, + accepting it, and riding it home. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Slick would be no less amazed, if understood literally. He has used a + peculiar style; here again, a stranger would be in error, in supposing the + phraseology common to all Americans. It is peculiar only to a certain + class of persons in a certain state of life, and in a particular section + of the States. Of this class, Mr. Slick is a specimen. I do not mean to + say he is not a vain man, but merely that a portion only of that, which + appears so to us, is vanity, and that the rest and by far the greater + portion too, is local or provincial peculiarity. + </p> + <p> + This explanation is due to the Americans, who have been grossly + misrepresented, and to the English, who have been egregiously deceived, by + persons attempting to delineate character, who were utterly incapable of + perceiving those minute lights and shades, without which, a portrait + becomes a contemptible daub, or at most a mere caricature. + </p> + <p> + “A droll scene that at the house o’ represen<i>tatives</i> last night,” + said Mr. Slick when we next met, “warn’t it? A sort o’ rookery, like that + at the Shropshire Squire’s, where I spent the juicy day. What a darned + cau-cau-cawin’ they keep, don’t they? These members are jist like the + rooks, too, fond of old houses, old woods, old trees, and old harnts. And + they are jist as proud, too, as they be. Cuss ‘em, they won’t visit a new + man, or new plantation. They are too aristocratic for that. They have a + circle of their own. Like the rooks, too, they are privileged to scour + over the farmers’ fields all round home, and play the very devil. + </p> + <p> + “And then a fellow can’t hear himself speak for ‘em; divide, divide, + divide, question, question, question; cau, cau, cau, cau, cau, cau. Oh! we + must go there again. I want you to see Peel, Stanley, Graham, Shiel, + Russell, Macauley, Old Joe, and so on. These men are all upper crust here. + Fust of all, I want to hear your opinion of ‘em. I take you to be a + considerable of a good judge in these matters.” + </p> + <p> + “No Bunkum, Mr. Slick.” + </p> + <p> + “D—— that word Bunkum! If you say that ‘ere agin, I won’t say + another syllable, so come now. Don’t I know who you are? You know every + mite, and morsel as well as I do, that you be a considerable of a judge of + these critters, though you are nothin’ but an outlandish colonist; and are + an everlastin’ sight better judge, too, if you come to that, than them + that judge <i>you</i>. Cuss ‘em, the state would be a nation sight better + sarved, if one o’ these old rooks was sent out to try trover for a goose, + and larceny for an old hat, to Nova Scotia, and you was sent for to take + the ribbons o’ the state coach here; hang me if it wouldn’t. You know + that, and feel your oats, too, as well as any one. So don’t be so infarnal + mealy-mouthed, with your mock modesty face, a turnin’ up of the whites of + your eyes as if you was a chokin’, and savin’ ‘No <i>Bun-kum</i>, Mr. + Slick.’ Cuss that word Bunkum! I am sorry I ever told you that are story, + you will be for everlastinly a throwin’ up of that are, to me now. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think if I warnted to soft sawder you, I’d take the white-wash + brush to you, and slobber it, on, as a nigger wench does to a board fence, + or a kitchen wall to home, and put your eyes out with the lime? No, not I; + but I could tickel you though, and have done it afore now, jist for + practice, and you warn’t a bit the wiser. Lord, I’d take a camel’s-hair + brush to you, knowin’ how skittish and ticklesome you are, and do it so it + would feel good. I’d make you feel kinder pleasant, I know, and you’d jist + bend your face over to it, and take it as kindly as a gall does a whisper, + when your lips keep jist a brushin’ of the cheek while you are a talkin’. + I wouldn’t go to shock you by a doin’ of it coarse; you are too quick, and + too knowin’ for that. You should smell the otter o’ roses, and sniff, + sniff it up your nostrils, and say to yourself, ‘How nice that is, ain’t + it? Come, I like that, how sweet it stinks!’ I wouldn’t go for to dash + scented water on your face, as a hired lady does on a winder to wash it, + it would make you start back, take out your pocket-handkercher, and say, + “Come, <i>Mister</i> Slick, no nonsense, if you please.” I’d do it + delicate, I know my man: I’d use a light touch, a soft brush, and a smooth + oily rouge.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me,” I said, “you overrate your own powers, and over-estimate my + vanity. You are flattering yourself now, you can’t flatter me, for I + detest it.” + </p> + <p> + “Creation, man,” said Mr. Slick, “I have done it now afore your face, + these last five minutes, and you didn’t know it. Well, if that don’t bang + the bush. It’s tarnation all over that. Tellin’ you, you was so knowin’, + so shy if touched on the flanks; how difficult you was to take-in, bein’ a + sensible, knowin’ man, what’s that but soft sawder? You swallowed it all. + You took it off without winkin’, and opened your mouth as wide as a young + blind robbin does for another worm, and then down went the Bunkum about + making you a Secretary of State, which was rather a large bolus to + swaller, without a draft; down, down it went, like a greased-wad through a + smooth rifle bore; it did, upon my soul. Heavens! what a take in! what a + splendid sleight-of-hand! I never did nothin’ better in all my born days. + I hope I may be shot, if I did. Ha! ha! ha! ain’t it rich? Don’t it cut + six inches on the rib of clear shear, that. Oh! it’s han<i>sum</i>, that’s + a fact.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s no use to talk about it, Mr. Slick,” I replied; “I plead guilty. You + took me in then. You touched a weak point. You insensibly flattered my + vanity, by assenting to my self-sufficiency, in supposing I was exempt + from that universal frailty of human nature; you “<i>threw the Lavender</i>” + well.” + </p> + <p> + “I did put the leake into you, Squire, that’s a fact,” said he; “but let + me alone, I know what I am about; let me talk on, my own way. Swaller what + you like, spit out what is too strong for you; but don’t put a drag-chain + on to me, when I am a doin’ tall talkin’, and set my wheels as fast as + pine stumps. You know me, and I know you. You know my speed, and I know + your bottom don’t throw back in the breetchin’ for nothin’ that way.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, as I was a-sayin’, I want you to see these great men, as they call + ‘em. Let’s weigh ‘em, and measure ‘em, and handle ‘em, and then price ‘em, + and see what their market valy is. Don’t consider ‘em as Tories, or Whigs, + or Radicals; we hante got nothin’ to do with none o’ them; but consider + ‘em as statesmen. It’s pot-luck with ‘em all; take your fork as the pot + biles up, jab it in, and fetch a feller up, see whether he is beef, pork + or mutton; partridge, rabbit or lobster; what his name, grain and flavour + is, and how you like him. Treat ‘em indifferent, and treat ‘em + independent. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t care a chaw o’ tobacky for the whole on ‘em; and none on ‘em care + a pinch o’ snuff for you or any Hortentort of a colonist that ever was or + ever will be. Lord love you! if you was to write like Scott, and map the + human mind like Bacon, would it advance you a bit in prefarment? Not it. + They have done enough for the colonists, they have turned ‘em upside down, + and given ‘em responsible government? What more do the rascals want? Do + they ask to be made equal to us? No, look at their social system, and + their political system, and tell ‘em your opinion like a man. You have + heard enough of their opinions of colonies, and suffered enough from their + erroneous ones too. You have had Durham reports, and commissioners’ + reports, and parliament reports till your stomach refuses any more on ‘em. + And what are they? a bundle of mistakes and misconceptions, from beginnin’ + to eend. They have travelled by stumblin’, and have measured every thing + by the length of their knee, as they fell on the ground, as a milliner + measures lace, by the bendin’ down of the forefinger—cuss ‘em! Turn + the tables on ‘em. Report on <i>them</i>, measure <i>them</i>, but take + care to keep your feet though, don’t be caught trippin’, don’t make no + mistakes. + </p> + <p> + “Then we’ll go to the Lords’ House—I don’t mean to meetin’ house, + though we must go there too, and hear Me Neil and Chalmers, and them sort + o’ cattle; but I mean the house where the nobles meet, pick out the big + bugs, and see what sort o’ stuff they are made of. Let’s take minister + with us—he is a great judge of these things. I should like you to + hear his opinion; he knows every thin’ a’most, though the ways of the + world bother him a little sometimes; but for valyin’ a man, or stating + principles, or talkin’ politics, there ain’t no man equal to him, hardly. + He is a book, that’s a fact; it’s all there what you want; all you’ve got + to do is to cut the leaves. Name the word in the index, he’ll turn to the + page, and give you day, date, and fact, for it. There is no mistake in + him. + </p> + <p> + “That cussed provokin’ visit of yours to Scotland will shove them things + into the next book, I’m afeered. But it don’t signify nothin’; you can’t + cram all into one, and we hante only broke the crust yet, and p’rhaps it’s + as well to look afore you leap too, or you might make as big a fool of + yourself, as some of the Britishers have a-writin’ about us and the + provinces. Oh yes, it’s a great advantage havin’ minister with you. He’ll + fell the big stiff trees for you; and I’m the boy for the saplin’s, I’ve + got the eye and the stroke for them. They spring so confoundedly under the + axe, does second growth and underwood, it’s dangerous work, but I’ve got + the sleight o’ hand for that, and we’ll make a clean field of it. + </p> + <p> + “Then come and survey; take your compass and chain to the ground and + measure, and lay that off—branch and bark the spars for snakin’ off + the ground; cord up the fire-wood, tie up the hoop poles, and then burn + off the trash and rubbish. Do it workman-like. Take your time to it as if + you was workin’ by the day. Don’t hurry, like job work; don’t slobber it + over, and leave half-burnt trees and logs strewed about the surface, but + make smack smooth work. Do that, Squire, do it well, and that is, only + half as good as you can, if you choose, and then—” + </p> + <p> + “And then,” said I, “I make no doubt you will have great pleasure ‘<i>in + throwin’ the Lavender again</i>.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. AIMING HIGH. + </h2> + <p> + “What do you intend to do, Squire, with your two youngest boys?” said Mr. + Slick to me to-day, as we were walking in the Park. + </p> + <p> + “I design them,” I said, “for professions. One I shall educate for a + lawyer, and the other for a clergyman.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” + </p> + <p> + “In Nova Scotia.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” says he. “It shews your sense; it’s the very place for ‘em. + It’s a fine field for a young man; I don’t know no better one no where in + the whole univarsal world. When I was a boy larnin’ to shoot, sais father + to me, one day, ‘Sam,’ sais he, ‘I’ll give you a lesson in gunnin’ that’s + worth knowin’. “<i>Aim high</i>,” my boy; your gun naterally settles down + a little takin’ sight, cause your arm gets tired, and wabbles, and the + ball settles a little while it’s a travellin’, accordin’ to a law of + natur, called Franklin’s law; and I obsarve you always hit below the mark. + Now, make allowances for these things in gunnin’, and “aim high,” for your + life, always. And, Sam,’ sais he, ‘I’ve seed a great deal of the world, + all mili<i>tary</i> men do. ‘I was to Bunker’s Hill durin’ the engagement, + and I saw Washington the day he was made President, and in course must + know more nor most men of my age; and I’ll give you another bit of advice, + “Aim high” in life, and if you don’t hit the bull’s eye, you’ll hit the + “fust circles,” and that ain’t a bad shot nother.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Father,’ sais I, ‘I guess I’ve seed more of the world than you have, + arter all.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘How so, Sam?’ sais he. + </p> + <p> + “‘Why,’ sais I, ‘father, you’ve only been to Bunker’s Hill, and that’s + nothin’; no part of it ain’t too steep to plough; it’s only a sizeable + hillock, arter all. But I’ve been to the Notch on the White Mountain, so + high up, that the snow don’t melt there, and seed five States all to once, + and half way over to England, and then I’ve seed Jim Crow dance. So there + now?’ He jist up with the flat of his hand, and gave me a wipe with it on + the side of my face, that knocked me over; and as I fell, he lent me a + kick on my musn’t-mention-it, that sent me a rod or so afore I took ground + on all fours. + </p> + <p> + “‘Take that, you young scoundrel!’ said he, ‘and larn to speak respectful + next time to an old man, a mili<i>tary</i> man, and your father, too.’ + </p> + <p> + “It hurt me properly, you may depend. ‘Why,’ sais I, as I picked myself + up, ‘didn’t you tell me to “aim high,” father? So I thought I’d do it, and + beat your brag, that’s all.’ + </p> + <p> + “Truth is, Squire, I never could let a joke pass all my life, without + havin’ a lark with it. I was fond of one, ever since I was knee high to a + goose, or could recollect any thin’ amost; I have got into a horrid sight + of scrapes by ‘em, that’s a fact. I never forgot that lesson though, it + was kicked into me: and lessons that are larnt on the right eend, ain’t + never forgot amost. I <i>have</i> “aimed high” ever since, and see where I + be now. Here I am an Attache, made out of a wooden clock pedlar. Tell you + what, I shall be “embassador” yet, made out of nothin’ but an “Attache,” + and I’ll be President of our great Republic, and almighty nation in the + eend, made out of an embassador, see if I don’t. That comes of “aimin’ + high.” What do you call that water near your coach-house?” + </p> + <p> + “A pond.” + </p> + <p> + “Is there any brook runnin’ in, or any stream runnin’ out?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that’s the difference between a lake and a pond. Now, set that down + for a traveller’s fact. Now, where do you go to fish?” + </p> + <p> + “To the lakes, of course; there are no fish in the ponds.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” said Mr. Slick, “that is what I want to bring you to; there is + no fish in a pond, there is nothin’ but frogs. Nova Scotia is only a pond, + and so is New Brunswick, and such outlandish, out o’ the way, little + crampt up, stagnant places. There is no ‘big fish’ there, nor never can + be; there ain’t no food for ‘em. A colony frog!! Heavens and airth, what + an odd fish that is? A colony pollywog! do, for gracious sake, catch one, + put him into a glass bottle full of spirits, and send him to the Museum as + a curiosity in natur. So you are a goin’ to make your two nice pretty + little smart boys a pair of colony frogs, eh? Oh! do, by all means. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll have great comfort in ‘em, Squire. Monstrous comfort. It will do + your old heart good to go down to the edge of the pond on the fust of May, + or thereabouts, accordin’ to the season, jist at sun down, and hear ‘em + sing. You’ll see the little fellers swell out their cheeks, and roar away + like young suckin’ thunders. For the frogs beat all natur there for noise; + they have no notion of it here at all. I’ve seed Englishmen that couldn’t + sleep all night, for the everlastin’ noise these critters made. Their + frogs have somethin’ else to do here besides singin’. Ain’t it a splendid + prospect that, havin’ these young frogs settled all round you in the same + mud-hole, all gathered in a nice little musical family party. All fine fun + this, till some fine day we Yankee storks will come down and gobble them + all up, and make clear work of it. + </p> + <p> + “No, Squire, take my advice now for once; jist go to your colony minister + when he is alone. Don’t set down, but stand up as if you was in airnest, + and didn’t come to gossip, and tell him, ‘Turn these ponds into a lake,’ + sais you, my lord minister, give them an inlet and an outlet. Let them be + kept pure, and sweet, and wholesome, by a stream, runnin’ through. Fish + will live there then if you put them in, and they will breed there, and + keep up the stock. At present they die; it ain’t big enough; there ain’t + room. If he sais he hante time to hear you, and asks you to put it into + writin’, do you jist walk over to his table, take up his lignum vitae + ruler into your fist, put your back to the door, and say ‘By the ‘tarnal + empire, you <i>shall</i> hear me; you don’t go out of this, till I give + you the butt eend of my mind, I can tell you. I am an old bull frog now; + the Nova Scotia pond is big enough for me; I’ll get drowned if I get into + a bigger one, for I hante got no fins, nothin’ but legs and arms to swim + with, and deep water wouldn’t suit me, I ain’t fit for it, and I must live + and die there, that’s my fate as sure as rates.’ If he gets tired, and + goes to get up or to move, do you shake the big ruler at him, as fierce as + a painter, and say, ‘Don’t you stir for your life; I don’t want to lay + nothin’ <i>on</i> your head, I only want to put somethin’ <i>in</i> it. I + am a father and have got youngsters. I am a native, and have got + countrymen. Enlarge our sphere, give us a chance in the world.’ ‘Let me + out,’ he’ll say, ‘this minute, Sir, or I’ll put you in charge of a + policeman.’ ‘Let you out is it,’ sais you. ‘Oh! you feel bein’ pent up, do + you? I am glad of it. The tables are turned now, that’s what we complain + of. You’ve stood at the door, and kept us in; now I’ll keep you in awhile. + I want to talk to you, that’s more than you ever did to us. How do you + like bein’ shut in? Does it feel good? Does it make your dander rise?’ + ‘Let me out,’ he’ll say agin, ‘this moment, Sir, how dare you.’ Oh! you + are in a hurry, are you?’ sais you. ‘You’ve kept me in all my life; don’t + be oneasy if I keep you in five minutes.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Well, what do you want then?’ he’ll say, kinder peevish; ‘what do you + want?’ ‘I don’t want nothin’ for myself,’ sais you. ‘I’ve got all I can + get in that pond; and I got that from the Whigs, fellers I’ve been abusin’ + all my life; and I’m glad to make amends by acknowledging this good turn + they did me; for I am a tory, and no mistake. I don’t want nothin’; but I + want to be an <i>Englishman</i>. I don’t want to be an English <i>subject</i>; + do you understand that now? If you don’t, this is the meanin’, that there + is no fun in bein’ a fag, if you are never to have a fag yourself. Give us + all fair play. Don’t move now,’ sais you, ‘for I’m gettin’ warm; I’m + gettin’ spotty on the back, my bristles is up, and I might hurt you with + this ruler; it’s a tender pint this, for I’ve rubbed the skin off of a + sore place; but I’ll tell you a gospel truth, and mind what I tell you, + for nobody else has sense enough, and if they had, they hante courage + enough. If you don’t make <i>Englishmen of us</i>, the force of + circumstances will <i>make Yankees</i> of us, as sure as you are born.’ + He’ll stare at that. He is a clever man, and aint wantin’ in gumption. He + is no fool, that’s a fact. ‘Is it no compliment to you and your + institutions this?’ sais you. ‘Don’t it make you feel proud that even + independence won’t tempt us to dissolve the connexion? Ain’t it a noble + proof of your good qualities that, instead of agitatin’ for Repeal of the + Union, we want a closer union? But have we no pride too? We would be + onworthy of the name of Englishmen, if we hadn’t it, and we won’t stand + beggin’ for ever I tell <i>you</i>. Here’s our hands, give us yourn; let’s + be all Englishmen together. Give us a chance, and if us, young English + boys, don’t astonish you old English, my name ain’t Tom Poker, that’s + all.’ ‘Sit down,’ he’ll say, ‘Mr. Poker;’ there is a great deal in that; + sit down; I am interested.’ + </p> + <p> + “The instant he sais that, take your ruler, lay it down on the table, pick + up your hat, make a scrape with your hind leg, and say, ‘I regret I have + detained you so long, Sir. I am most peskily afraid my warmth has kinder + betrayed me into rudeness. I really beg pardon, I do upon my soul. I feel + I have smashed down all decency, I am horrid ashamed of myself.’ Well, he + won’t say you hante rode the high hoss, and done the unhandsum thing, + because it wouldn’t be true if he did; but he’ll say, ‘Pray be seated. I + can make allowances, Sir, even for intemperate zeal. And this is a very + important subject, very indeed. There is a monstrous deal in what you say, + though you have, I must say, rather a peculiar, an unusual, way of puttin’ + it.’ Don’t you stay another minit though, nor say another word, for your + life; but bow, beg pardon, hold in your breath, that your face may look + red, as if you was blushin’, and back out, starn fust. Whenever you make + an impression on a man, stop; your reasonin’ and details may ruin you. + Like a feller who sais a good thing, he’d better shove off, and leave + every one larfin’ at his wit, than stop and tire them out, till they say + what a great screw augur that is. Well, if you find he opens the colonies, + and patronises the smart folks, leave your sons there if you like, and let + ‘em work up, and work out of it, if they are fit, and time and opportunity + offers. But one thing is sartain, <i>the very openin’ of the door will + open their minds</i>, as a matter of course. If he don’t do it, and I can + tell you before hand he won’t—for they actilly hante got time here, + to think of these things—send your boys here into the great world. + Sais you to the young Lawyer, ‘Bob,’ sais you, ‘“aim high.” If you don’t + get to be Lord Chancellor, I shall never die in peace. I’ve set my heart + on it. It’s within your reach, if you are good for anything. Let me see + the great seal—let me handle it before I die—do, that’s a + dear; if not, go back to your Colony pond, and sing with your provincial + frogs, and I hope to Heaven the fust long-legged bittern that comes there + will make a supper of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Then sais you to the young parson, ‘Arthur,’ sais you ‘Natur jist made + you for a clergyman. Now, do you jist make yourself ‘Archbishop of + Canterbury.’ My death-bed scene will be an awful one, if I don’t see you + ‘the Primate’; for my affections, my hopes, my heart, is fixed on it. I + shall be willin’ to die then, I shall depart in peace, and leave this + world happy. And, Arthur,’ sais you, ‘they talk and brag here till one is + sick of the sound a’most about “Addison’s death-bed.” Good people refer to + it as an example, authors as a theatrical scene and hypocrites as a grand + illustration for them to turn up the whites of their cold cantin’ eyes at. + Lord love you, my son,’ sais you, ‘let them brag of it; but what would it + be to mine; you congratulatin’ me on goin’ to a better world, and me + congratulatin’ you on bein’ “Archbishop.” Then,’ sais you, in a starn + voice like a boatsan’s trumpet—for if you want things to be + remembered, give ‘em effect, “Aim high,” Sir,’ sais you. Then like my old + father, fetch him a kick on his western eend, that will lift him clean + over the table, and say ‘that’s the way to rise in the world, you young + sucking parson you. “Aim high,” Sir.’ + </p> + <p> + “Neither of them will ever forget it as long as they live. The hit does + that; for a kick is a very <i>striking</i> thing, that’s a fact. There has + been <i>no good scholars since birch rods went out o’ school, and + sentiment went in</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “But you know,” I said, “Mr. Slick, that those high prizes in the lottery + of life, can, in the nature of things, be drawn but by few people, and how + many blanks are there to one-prize in this world.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what’s to prevent your boys gettin’ those prizes, if colonists was + made Christians of, instead of outlawed, exiled, transported, + oncarcumcised heathen Indgean niggers, as they be. If people don’t put + into a lottery, how the devil can they get prizes? will you tell me that. + Look at the critters here, look at the publicans, taylors, barbers, and + porters’ sons, how the’ve rose here, ‘in this big lake,’ to be chancellors + and archbishops; how did they get them? They ‘aimed high,’ and besides, + all that, like father’s story of the gun, by ‘aiming high,’ though they + may miss the mark, they will be sure to hit the upper circles. Oh, Squire, + there is nothing like ‘aiming high,’ in this world.” + </p> + <p> + “I quite agree with you, Sam,” said Mr. Hopewell. “I never heard you speak + so sensibly before. Nothing can be better for young men than “Aiming + high.” Though they may not attain to the highest honours, they may, as you + say, reach to a most respectable station. But surely, Squire, you will + never so far forget the respect that is due to so high an officer as a + Secretary of State, or, indeed, so far forget yourself as to adopt a + course, which from its eccentricity, violence, and impropriety, must leave + the impression that your intellects are disordered. Surely you will never + be tempted to make the experiment?” + </p> + <p> + “I should think not, indeed,” I said. “I have no desire to become an + inmate of a lunatic asylum.” + </p> + <p> + “Good,” said he; “I am satisfied. I quite agree with Sam, though. Indeed, + I go further. I do not think he has advised you to recommend your boys to + ‘aim high enough.’” + </p> + <p> + “Creation! said Mr. Slick, “how much higher do you want provincial frogs + to go, than to be ‘Chancellor’ and ‘Primate?’ + </p> + <p> + “I’ll tell you, Sam; I’d advise them to ‘aim higher’ than earthly honours. + I would advise them to do their duty, in any station of life in which it + shall please Providence to place them; and instead of striving after + unattainable objects here, to be unceasing in their endeavours to obtain + that which, on certain conditions, is promised to all hereafter. In their + worldly pursuits, as men, it is right for them to ‘<i>aim high</i>;’ but + as Christians, it is also their duty to ‘<i>aim higher</i>.’” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. A SWOI-REE. + </h2> + <p> + Mr. Slick visited me late last night, dressed as if he had been at a + party, but very cross, and, as usual when in that frame of mind, he vented + his ill-humour on the English. + </p> + <p> + “Where have you been to-night, Mr. Slick?” + </p> + <p> + “Jist where the English hosses will be,” he replied, “when Old Clay comes + here to this country;—no where. I have been on a stair-case, that’s + where I have been; and a pretty place to see company in, ain’t it? I have + been jammed to death in an entry, and what’s wus than all, I have given + one gall a black eye with my elbow, tore another one’s frock off with my + buttons, and near about cut a third one’s leg in two with my hat. Pretty + well for one night’s work, ain’t it? and for me too, that’s so fond of the + dear little critturs, I wouldn’t hurt a hair of their head, if I could + help it, to save my soul alive. What a spot o’ work! + </p> + <p> + “What the plague do people mean here by askin’ a mob to their house, and + invitin’ twice as many as can get into it? If they think it’s + complimental, they are infarnally mistaken, that’s all: it’s an insult and + nothin’ else, makin’ a fool of a body that way. Heavens and airth! I am + wringing wet! I’m ready to faint! Where’s the key of your cellaret? I want + some brandy and water. I’m dead; bury me quick, for I won’t be nice + directly. Oh dear! how that lean gall hurt me! How horrid sharp her bones + are! + </p> + <p> + “I wish to goodness you’d go to a Swoi-ree oncet, Squire, jist oncet—a + grand let off, one that’s upper crust and rael jam. It’s worth seein’ + oncet jist as a show, I tell <i>you</i>, for you have no more notion of it + than a child. All Halifax, if it was swept up clean and shook out into a + room, wouldn’t make one swoi-ree. I have been to three to night, and all + on ‘em was mobs—regular mobs. The English are horrid fond of mobs, + and I wonder at it too; for of all the cowardly, miserable, scarry mobs, + that ever was seen in this blessed world, the English is the wust. Two + dragoons will clear a whole street as quick as wink, any time. The instant + they see ‘em, they jist run like a flock of sheep afore a couple of bull + dogs, and slope off properly skeered. Lawful heart, I wish they’d send for + a dragoon, all booted, and spurred, and mounted, and let him gallop into a + swoi-ree, and charge the mob there. He’d clear ‘em out <i>I</i> know, + double quick: he’d chase one quarter of ‘em down stairs head over heels, + and another quarter would jump out o’ the winders, and break their + confounded necks to save their lives, and then the half that’s left, would + he jist about half too many for comfort. + </p> + <p> + “My first party to-night wus a conversation one; that is for them that <i>could</i> + talk; as for me I couldn’t talk a bit, and all I could think was, ‘how + infarnal hot it is! I wish I could get in!’ or, ‘oh dear, if I could only + get out!’ It was a scientific party, a mob o’ men. Well, every body + expected somebody would be squashed to death, and so ladies went, for they + always go to executions. They’ve got a kinder nateral taste for the + horrors, have women. They like to see people hanged or trod to death, when + they can get a chance. It <i>was</i> a conversation warn’t it? that’s all. + I couldn’t understand a word I heard. Trap shale Greywachy; a petrified + snail, the most important discovery of modern times. Bank governor’s + machine weighs sovereigns, light ones go to the right, and heavy ones to + the left. + </p> + <p> + “‘Stop,’ says I, ‘if you mean the sovereign people here, there are none on + ‘em light. Right and left is both monstrous heavy; all over weight, every + one on ‘em. I’m squeezed to death.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Very good, Mr. Slick. Let me introduce you to ——,’ they are + whipt off in the current, and I don’t see ‘em again no more. ‘A beautiful + shew of flowers, Madam, at the garden: they are all in full blow now. The + rhododendron—had a tooth pulled when she was asleep.’ ‘Please to let + me pass, Sir.’ ‘With all my heart, Miss, if I could; but I can’t move; if + I could I would down on the carpet, and you should walk over me. Take care + of your feet, Miss, I am off of mine. Lord bless me! what’s this? why as I + am a livin’ sinner, it’s half her frock hitched on to my coat button. Now + I know what that scream meant.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘How do you do, Mr. Slick? When did you come?’ ‘Why I came—’ he is + turned round, and shoved out o’ hearin.’ ‘Xanthian marbles at the British + Museum are quite wonderful; got into his throat, the doctor turned him + upside down, stood him on his head, and out it came—his own tunnel + was too small.’ ‘Oh, Sir, you are cuttin’ me.’ ‘Me, Miss! Where had I the + pleasure of seein’ you before, I never cut a lady in my life, could’nt do + so rude a thing. Havn’t the honour to recollect you.’ ‘Oh, Sir, take it + away, it cuts me.’ Poor thing, she is distracted, I don’t wonder. She’s + drove crazy, though I think she must have been mad to come here at all. + ‘Your hat, Sir.’ ‘Oh, that cussed French hat is it? Well, the rim is as + stiff and as sharp as a cleaver, that’s a fact, I don’t wonder it cut + you.’ ‘Eddis’s pictur—capital painting, fell out of the barge, and + was drowned.’ ‘Having been beat on the shillin’ duty; they will attach him + on the fourpence, and thimble rigg him out of that.’ ‘They say Sugden is + in town, hung in a bad light, at the Temple Church.’——‘Who is + that?’ ‘Lady Fobus; paired off for the Session; Brodie operated.’——Lady + Francis; got the Life Guards; there will be a division to-night.’——That’s + Sam Slick; I’ll introduce you; made a capital speech in the House of + Lords, in answer to Brougham—Lobelia—voted for the bill—The + Duchess is very fond of——Irish Arms—’ + </p> + <p> + “Oh! now I’m in the entry. How tired I am! It feels shockin’ cold here, + too, arter comin’ out o’ that hot room. Guess I’ll go to the grand musical + party. Come, this will do; this is Christian-like, there is room here; but + the singin’ is in next room, I will go and hear them. Oh! here they are + agin; it’s a proper mob this. Cuss, these English, they can’t live out of + mobs. Prince Albert is there in that room; I must go and see him. He is + popular; he is a renderin’ of himself very agreeable to the English, is + Prince: he mixes with them as much as he can; and shews his sense in that. + Church steeples are very pretty things: that one to Antwerp is + splendiriferous; it’s everlastin’ high, it most breaks your neck layin’ + back your head to look at it; bend backward like a hoop, and stare at it + once with all your eyes, and you can’t look up agin, you are satisfied. It + tante no use for a Prince to carry a head so high as that, Albert knows + this; he don’t want to be called the highest steeple, cause all the world + knows he is about the top loftiest; but he want’s to descend to the world + we live in. + </p> + <p> + “With a Queen all men love, and a Prince all men like, royalty has a root + in the heart here. Pity, too, for the English don’t desarve to have a + Queen; and such a Queen as they have got too, hang me if they do. They + ain’t men, they hante the feelin’s or pride o’ men in ‘em; they ain’t what + they used to be, the nasty, dirty, mean-spirited, sneakin’ skunks, for if + they had a heart as big as a pea—and that ain’t any great size, + nother—cuss ‘em, when any feller pinted a finger at her to hurt her, + or even frighten her, they’d string him right up on the spot, to the lamp + post. Lynch him like a dog that steals sheep right off the reel, and save + mad-doctors, skary judges, and Chartist papers all the trouble of findin’ + excuses. And, if that didn’t do, Chinese like, they’d take the whole crowd + present and sarve <i>them</i> out. They’d be sure to catch the right one + then. I wouldn’t shed blood, because that’s horrid; it shocks all + Christian people, philosophisin’ legislators, sentimental ladies, and + spooney gentlemen. It’s horrid barbarous that, is sheddin’ blood; I + wouldn’t do that, I’d jist hang him. A strong cord tied tight round his + neck would keep that precious mixtur, traitor’s blood, all in as close as + if his mouth was corked, wired, and white-leaded, like a champagne bottle. + </p> + <p> + “Oh dear! these are the fellers that come out a travellin’ among us, and + sayin’ the difference atween you and us is ‘the absence of loyalty.’ I’ve + heard tell a great deal of that loyalty, but I’ve seen precious little of + it, since I’ve been here, that’s a fact. I’ve always told you these folks + ain’t what they used to be, and I see more and more, on ‘em every day. + Yes, the English are like their hosses, they are so fine bred, there is + nothin’ left of ‘em now but the hide, hair, and shoes. + </p> + <p> + “So Prince Albert is there in that room; I must get in there and see him, + for I have never sot eyes on him since I’ve been here, so here goes. + Onder, below there, look out for your corns, hawl your feet in, like + turtles, for I am a comin’. Take care o’ your ribs, my old ‘coons, for my + elbows are crooked. Who wants to grow? I’ll squeeze you out as a + rollin’-pin does dough, and make you ten inches taller. I’ll make good + figures of you, my fat boys and galls, I know. Look out for scaldin’s + there. Here I am: it’s me, Sam Slick, make way, or I’ll walk right over + you, and cronch you like lobsters. ‘Cheap talkin’, or rather thinkin’, + sais I; for in course I couldn’t bawl that out in company here; they don’t + understand fun, and would think it rude, and ongenteel. I have to be + shockin’ cautious what I say here, for fear I might lower our great nation + in the eyes of foreigners. I have to look big and talk big the whole + blessed time, and I am tired of it. It ain’t nateral to me; and, besides + braggin’ and repudiatin’ at the same time, is most as bad as cantin’ and + swearin’. It kinder chokes me. I thought it all though, and said it all to + myself. ‘And,’ sais I, ‘take your time, Sam; you can’t do it, no how, you + can fix-it. You must wait your time, like other folks. Your legs is tied, + and your arms is tied down by the crowd, and you can’t move an inch beyond + your nose. The only way is, watch your chance, wait till you can get your + hands up, then turn the fust two persons that’s next to you right round, + and slip between them like a turn stile in the park, and work your passage + that way. Which is the Prince? That’s him with the hair carefully divided, + him with the moustaches. I’ve seed him; a plaguy handsum man he is, too. + Let me out now. I’m stifled, I’m choked. My jaws stick together, I can’t + open ‘em no more; and my wind won’t hold out another minute. + </p> + <p> + “I have it now, I’ve got an idea. See if I don’t put the leake into ‘em. + Won’t I <i>do</i> them, that’s all? Clear the way there, the Prince is a + comin’, <i>and</i> so is the Duke. And a way is opened: waves o’ the sea + roll hack at these words, and I walks right out, as large as life, and the + fust Egyptian that follers is drowned, for the water has closed over him. + Sarves him right, too, what business had he to grasp my life-preserver + without leave. I have enough to do to get along by my own wit, without + carry in’ double. + </p> + <p> + “‘Where is the Prince? Didn’t they say he was a comin’? Who was that went + out? He don’t look like the Prince; he ain’t half so handsum, that feller, + he looks, like a Yankee.’ ‘Why, that was Sam Slick.’ ‘Capital, that! What + a droll feller he is; he is always so ready! He desarves credit for that + trick.’ Guess I do; but let old Connecticut alone; us Slickville boys + always find a way to dodge in or out embargo or no embargo, blockade or no + blockade, we larnt that last war. + </p> + <p> + “Here I am in the street agin; the air feels handsum. I have another + invitation to-night, shall I go? Guess I will. All the world is at these + two last places, I reckin there will be breathin’ room at the next; and I + want an ice cream to cool my coppers, shockin’ bad.—Creation! It is + wus than ever; this party beats t’other ones all holler. They ain’t no + touch to it. I’ll jist go and make a scrape to old uncle and aunty, and + then cut stick; for I hante strength to swiggle my way through another + mob. + </p> + <p> + “‘You had better get in fust, though, hadn’t you, Sam? for here you are + agin wracked, by gosh, drove right slap ashore atween them two fat women, + and fairly wedged in and bilged. You can’t get through, and can’t get out, + if you was to die for it.’ ‘Can’t I though? I’ll try; for I never give in, + till I can’t help it. So here’s at it. Heave off, put all steam on, and + back out, starn fust, and then swing round into the stream. That’s the + ticket, Sam.’ It’s done; but my elbow has took that lady that’s two steps + furder down on the stairs, jist in the eye, and knocked in her dead light. + How she cries! how I apologize, don’t I? And the more I beg pardon, the + wus she carries on. But it’s no go; if I stay, I must fust fight somebody, + and then marry <i>her</i>; for I’ve spiled her beauty, and that’s the rule + here, they tell me.’ + </p> + <p> + “So I sets studen sail booms, and cracks on all sail, and steers for home, + and here I am once more; at least what’s left of me, and that ain’t much + more nor my shader. Oh dear! I’m tired, shockin’ tired, almost dead, and + awful thirsty; for Heaven’s sake, give me some lignum vitae, for I am so + dry, I’ll blow away in dust. + </p> + <p> + “This is a Swoi-ree, Squire, this is London society; this is rational + enjoyment, this is a meeting of friends, who are so infarnal friendly they + are jammed together so they can’t leave each other. Inseparable friends; + you must choke ‘em off, or you can’t part ‘em. Well, I ain’t jist so thick + and intimate with none o’ them in this country as all that comes to + nother. I won’t lay down my life for none on ‘em; I don’t see no occasion + for it, <i>do you</i>? + </p> + <p> + “I’ll dine with you, John Bull, if you axe me; and I ain’t nothin’ above + particular to do, and the cab hire don’t cost more nor the price of a + dinner; but hang me if ever I go to a Swoi-ree agin. I’ve had enough of + that, to last me <i>my</i> life, I know. A dinner I hante no objection to, + though that ain’t quite so bright as a pewter button nother, when you + don’t know you’re right and left, hand man. And an evenin’ party, I + wouldn’t take my oath I wouldn’t go to, though I don’t know hardly what to + talk about, except America; and I’ve bragged so much about that, I’m tired + of the subject. But a <i>Swoi-ree is the devil, that’s a fact</i>.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. TATTERSALL’S OR, THE ELDER AND THE GRAVE DIGGER. + </h2> + <p> + “Squire,” said Mr. Slick, “it ain’t rainin’ to-day; suppose you come along + with me to Tattersall’s. I have been studyin’ that place a considerable + sum to see whether it is a safe shop to trade in or no. But I’m dubersome; + I don’t like the cut of the sportin’ folks here. If I can see both eends + of the rope, and only one man has hold of one eend, and me of the tother, + why I know what I am about; but if I can only see my own eend, I don’t + know who I am a pullin’ agin. I intend to take a rise out o’ some o’ the + knowin’ ones here, that will make ‘em scratch their heads, and stare, I + know. But here we are. Cut round this corner, into this Lane. Here it is; + this is it to the right.” + </p> + <p> + We entered a sort of coach-yard, which was filled with a motley and mixed + crowd of people. I was greatly disappointed in Tattersall’s. Indeed, few + things in London have answered my expectations. They have either exceeded + or fallen short of the description I had heard of them. I was prepared, + both from what I was told by Mr. Slick, and heard, from others, to find + that there were but very few gentlemen-like looking men there; and that by + far the greater number neither were, nor affected to be, any thing but + “knowing ones.” I was led to believe that there would be a plentiful use + of the terms <i>of art</i>, a variety of provincial accent, and that the + conversation of the jockeys and grooms would be liberally garnished with + appropriate slang. + </p> + <p> + The gentry portion of the throng, with some few exceptions, it was said, + wore a dissipated look, and had that peculiar appearance of incipient + disease, that indicates a life of late hours, of excitement, and bodily + exhaustion. Lower down in the scale of life, I was informed, intemperance + had left its indelible marks. And that still further down, were to be + found the worthless lees of this foul and polluted stream of sporting + gentlemen, spendthrifts, gamblers, bankrupts, sots, sharpers and jockeys. + </p> + <p> + This was by no means the case. It was just what a man might have expected + to have found a great sporting exchange and auction mart, of horses and + carriages, to have been, in a great city like London, had he been merely + told that such was the object of the place, and then left to imagine the + scene. It was, as I have before said, a mixed and motley crowd; and must + necessarily be so, where agents attend to bid for their principals, where + servants are in waiting upon their masters, and above all, where the + ingress is open to every one. + </p> + <p> + It is, however, unquestionably the resort of gentlemen. In a great and + rich country like this, there must, unavoidably, be a Tattersall’s; and + the wonder is, not that it is not better, but that it is not infinitely + worse. Lake all striking pictures, it had strong lights and shades. Those + who have suffered, are apt to retaliate; and a man who has been duped, too + often thinks he has a right to make reprisals. Tattersall’s, therefore, is + not without its privateers. Many persons of rank and character patronize + sporting, from a patriotic but mistaken notion, that it is to the turf + alone the excellence of the English horse is attributable. + </p> + <p> + One person of this description, whom I saw there for a short time, I had + the pleasure of knowing before; and from him I learned many interesting + anecdotes of individuals whom he pointed out as having been once well + known about town, but whose attachment to gambling had effected their + ruin. Personal stories of this kind are, however, not within the scope of + this work. + </p> + <p> + As soon as we entered, Mr. Slick called my attention to the carriages + which were exhibited for sale, to their elegant shape and “beautiful + fixins,” as he termed it; but ridiculed, in no measured terms, their + enormous weight. “It is no wonder,” said he, “they have to get fresh + hosses here every ten miles, and travellin’ costs so much, when the + carriage alone is enough to kill beasts. What would Old Bull say, if I was + to tell him of one pair of hosses carryin’ three or four people, forty or + fifty miles a-day, day in and day out, hand runnin’ for a fortnight? Why, + he’d either be too civil to tell me it was a lie, or bein’ afeerd I’d jump + down his throat if he did, he’d sing dumb, and let me see by his looks, he + thought so, though. + </p> + <p> + “I intend to take the consait out of these chaps, and that’s a fact. If I + don’t put the leak into ‘em afore I’ve done with them, my name ain’t Sam + Slick, that’s a fact. I’m studyin’ the ins and the outs of this place, so + as to know what I am about, afore I take hold; for I feel kinder skittish + about my men. Gentlemen are the lowest, lyinest, bullyinest, blackguards + there is, when they choose to be; ‘specially if they have rank as well as + money. A thoroughbred cheat, of good blood, is a clipper, that’s a fact. + They ain’t right up-and-down, like a cow’s tail, in their dealin’s; and + they’ve got accomplices, fellers that will lie for ‘em like any thing, for + the honour of their company; and bettin’, onder such circumstances, ain’t + safe. + </p> + <p> + “But, I’ll tell you what is, if you have got a hoss that can do it, and no + mistake: back him, hoss agin hoss, or what’s safer still, hoss agin time, + and you can’t be tricked. Now, I’ll send for Old Clay, to come in Cunard’s + steamer, and cuss ‘em they ought to bring over the old hoss and his + fixins, free, for it was me first started that line. The way old Mr. + Glenelg stared, when I told him it was thirty-six miles shorter to go from + Bristol to New York by the way of Halifax, than to go direct warn’t slow. + It stopt steam for that hitch, that’s a fact, for he thort I was mad. He + sent it down to the Admiralty to get it ciphered right, and it took them + old seagulls, the Admirals a month to find it out. + </p> + <p> + “And when they did, what did they say? Why, cuss ‘em, says they, ‘any fool + knows that.’ Says I, ‘If that’s the case you are jist the boys then that + ought to have found it out right off at oncet.’ + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Old Clay ought to go free, but he won’t; and guess I am able to pay + freight for him, and no thanks to nobody. Now, I’ll tell you what, English + trottin’ is about a mile in two minutes and forty-seven seconds, and that + don’t happen oftener than oncet in fifty years, if it was ever done at + all, for the English brag so there is no telling right. Old Clay <i>can</i> + do his mile in two minutes and thirty-eight seconds. He <i>has</i> done + that, and I guess he <i>could</i> do more. I have got a car, that is as + light as whalebone, and I’ll bet to do it with wheels and drive myself. + I’ll go in up to the handle, on Old Clay. I have a hundred thousand + dollars of hard cash made in the colonies, I’ll go half of it on the old + hoss, hang me if I don’t, and I’ll make him as well knowd to England as he + is to Nova Scotia. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll allow him to be beat at fust, so as to lead ‘em on, and Clay is as + cunnin’ as a coon too, if he don’t get the word g’lang (go along) and the + Indgian skelpin’ yell with it, he knows I ain’t in airnest, and he’ll + allow me to beat him and bully him like nothin’. He’ll pretend to do his + best, and sputter away like a hen scratchin’ gravel, but he won’t go one + mossel faster, for he knows I never lick a free hoss. + </p> + <p> + “Won’t it be beautiful? How they’ll all larf and crow, when they see me a + thrashin’ away at the hoss, and then him goin’ slower, the faster I + thrash, and me a threatenin’ to shoot the brute, and a talkin’ at the tip + eend of my tongue like a ravin’ distracted bed bug, and offerin’ to back + him agin, if they dare, and planken down the pewter all round, takin’ + every one up that will go the figur’, till I raise the bets to the tune of + fifty thousand dollars. When I get that far, they may stop their larfin’ + till next time, I guess. That’s the turn of the fever—that’s the + crisis—that’s my time to larf then. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll mount the car then, take the bits of list up, put ‘em into right + shape, talk a little Connecticut Yankee to the old hoss, to set his + ebenezer up, and make him rise inwardly, and then give the yell,” (which + he uttered in his excitement in earnest; and a most diabolical one it was. + It pierced me through and through, and curdled my very blood, it was the + death shout of a savage.) “G’lang you skunk, and turn out your toes + pretty,” said he, and he again repeated this long protracted, shrill, + infernal yell, a second time. + </p> + <p> + Every eye was instantly turned upon us. Even Tattersall suspended his “he + is five years old—a good hack—and is to be sold,” to give time + for the general exclamation of surprise. “Who the devil is that? Is he + mad? Where did <i>he</i> come from? Does any body know him? He is a + devilish keen-lookin’ fellow that; what an eye he has! He looks like a + Yankee, that fellow.” + </p> + <p> + “He’s been here, your honour, several days, examines every thing and says + nothing; looks like a knowing one, your honour. He handles a hoss as if + he’d seen one afore to-day, Sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is that gentleman with him?” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t know, your honour, never saw him before; he looks like a furriner, + too.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, Mr. Slick,” said I, “we are attracting too much attention here, let + us go.” + </p> + <p> + “Cuss ‘em,” said he, “I’ll attract more attention afore I’ve done yet, + when Old Clay comes, and then I’ll tell ‘em who I am—Sam Slick, from + Slickville, Onion County, State of Connecticut, United States of America. + But I do suppose we had as good make tracks, for I don’t want folks to + know me yet. I’m plaguy sorry I let put that countersign of Old Clay too, + but they won’t onderstand it. Critters like the English, that know + everything have generally weak eyes, from studyin’ so hard. + </p> + <p> + “Did you take notice of that critter I was a handlin’ of, Squire? that one + that’s all drawed up in the middle like a devil’s darnin’ needle; her hair + a standin’ upon eend as if she was amazed at herself, and a look out of + her eye, as if she thort the dogs would find the steak kinder tough, when + they got her for dinner. Well, that’s a great mare that ‘are, and there + ain’t nothin’ onder the sun the matter of her, except the groom has stole + her oats, forgot to give her water, and let her make a supper sometimes + off of her nasty, mouldy, filthy beddin’. I hante see’d a hoss here equal + to her a’most—short back, beautiful rake to the shoulder, great + depth of chest, elegant quarter, great stifle, amazin’ strong arm, + monstrous nice nostrils, eyes like a weasel, all outside, game ears, first + chop bone and fine flat leg, with no gum on no part of it. She’s a sneezer + that; but she’ll be knocked down for twenty or thirty pound, because she + looks as if she was used up. + </p> + <p> + “I intended to a had that mare, for I’d a made her worth twelve hundred + dollars. It was a dreadful pity, I let go, that time, for I actilly forgot + where I was. I’ll know better next hitch, for boughten wit is the best in + a general way. Yes, I’m peskily sorry about that mare. Well, swappin’ I’ve + studied, but I doubt if it’s as much the fashion here as with us; and + besides, swappin’ where you don’t know the county and its tricks, (for + every county has its own tricks, different from others), is dangersome + too. I’ve seen swaps where both sides got took in. Did ever I tell you the + story of the “Elder and the grave-digger?” + </p> + <p> + “Never,” I replied; “but here we are at our lodgings. Come in, and tell it + to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said he, “I must have a glass of mint julip fust, to wash down + that ere disappointment about the mare. It was a dreadful go that. I jist + lost a thousand dollars by it, as slick as grease. But it’s an excitin’ + thing is a trottin’ race, too. When you mount, hear the word ‘Start!’ and + shout out ‘G’lang!’ and give the pass word.” + </p> + <p> + Good heavens! what a yell he perpetrated again. I put both hands to my + ears, to exclude the reverberations of it from the walls. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be skeered, Squire; don’t be skeered. We are alone now: there is no + mare to lose. Ain’t it pretty? It makes me feel all dandery and on wires + like.” + </p> + <p> + “But the grave-digger?” said I. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” says he, “the year afore I knowed you, I was a-goin’ in the fall, + down to Clare, about sixty miles below Annapolis, to collect some debts + due to me there from the French. And as I was a-joggin’ on along the road, + who should I overtake but Elder Stephen Grab, of Beechmeadows, a mounted + on a considerable of a clever-lookin’ black mare. The Elder was a pious + man; at least he looked like one, and spoke like one too. His face was as + long as the moral law, and p’rhaps an inch longer, and as smooth as a + hone; and his voice was so soft and sweet, and his tongue moved so ily on + its hinges, you’d a thought you might a trusted him with ontold gold, if + you didn’t care whether you ever got it agin or no. He had a bran new hat + on, with a brim that was none of the smallest, to keep the sun from makin’ + his inner man wink, and his go-to-meetin’ clothes on, and a pair of silver + mounted spurs, and a beautiful white cravat, tied behind, so as to have no + bows to it, and look meek. If there was a good man on airth, you’d a said + it was him. And he seemed to feel it, and know it too, for there was a + kind of look o’ triumph about him, as if he had conquered the Evil One, + and was considerable well satisfied with himself. + </p> + <p> + “‘H’are you,’ sais I, ‘Elder, to-day? Which way are you from?” + </p> + <p> + “‘From the General Christian Assembly, sais he, ‘to Goose Creek. We had a + “<i>most refreshin’ time on’t</i>.” There was a great “<i>outpourin’ of + the spirit</i>.”’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Well, that’s awful,’ says I, ‘too. The magistrates ought to see to that; + it ain’t right, when folks assemble that way to worship, to be a-sellin’ + of rum; and gin, and brandy, and spirits, is it?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘I don’t mean that,’ sais he, ‘although, p’rhaps, there was too much of + that wicked traffic too, I mean the preachin’. It was very peeowerful; + there was “<i>many sinners saved</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “‘I guess there was plenty of room for it,’ sais I, ‘onless that + neighbourhood has much improved since I knowed it last.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘It’s a sweet thing,’ sais he. ‘Have you ever “<i>made profession</i>,” + Mr. Slick?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Come,’ sais I to myself, ‘this is cuttin’ it rather too fat. I must put + a stop to this. This ain’t a subject for conversation with such a + cheatin’, cantin’, hippocrytical skunk as this is. Yes,’ sais I, ‘long + ago. My profession is that of a clockmaker, and I make no pretension to + nothin’ else. But come, let’s water our hosses here and liquor ourselves.’ + </p> + <p> + “And we dismounted, and gave ‘em a drop to wet their mouths. + </p> + <p> + “‘Now,’ sais I, a-takin’ out of a pocket-pistol that I generally travelled + with, ‘I think I’ll take a drop of grog;’ and arter helpin’ myself, I + gives the silver cover of the flask a dip in the brook, (for a clean rinse + is better than a dirty wipe, any time), and sais I, ‘Will you have a + little of the “<i>outpourin’ of the spirit?</i>” What do you say, Elder?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Thank you,’ sais he, ‘friend Slick. I never touch liquor, it’s agin our + rules.’ + </p> + <p> + “And he stooped down and filled it with water, and took a mouthful, and + then makin’ a face like a frog afore he goes to sing, and swellin’ his + cheeks out like a Scotch bagpiper, he spit it all out. Sais he, ‘That is + so warm, it makes me sick; and as I ain’t otherwise well, from the + celestial exhaustion of a protracted meetin’, I believe I will take a + little drop, as medicine.’ + </p> + <p> + “Confound him! if he’d a said he’d only leave a little drop, it would a + been more like the thing; for he e’en a’most emptied the whole into the + cup, and drank it off clean, without winkin’. + </p> + <p> + “‘It’s a “<i>very refreshin’ time</i>,”’ sais I, ‘ain’t’ it?’ But he + didn’t make no answer. Sais I, ‘that’s a likely beast of yourn, Elder,’ + and I opened her mouth, and took a look at her, and no easy matter nother, + I tell you, for she held on like a bear trap, with her jaws. “‘She won’t + suit you,’ sais he, “with a smile, ‘Mr. Slick.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘I guess not,’ sais I. + </p> + <p> + “‘But she’ll jist suit the French,’ sais he. + </p> + <p> + “‘It’s lucky she don’t speak French then,’ sais I, ‘or they’d soon find + her tongue was too big for her mouth. That critter will never see + five-and-twenty, and I’m a thinkin’, she’s thirty year old, if she is a + day.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘I was a thinkin’, said he, with a sly look out o’ the corner of his eye, + as if her age warn’t no secret to him. ‘I was a thinkin’ it’s time to put + her off, and she’ll jist suit the French. They hante much for hosses to + do, in a giniral way, but to ride about; and you won’t say nothin’ about + her age, will you? it might endamnify a sale.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Not I,’ sais I, ‘I skin my own foxes, and let other folks skin their’n. + I have enough to do to mind my own business, without interferin’ with + other people’s.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘She’ll jist suit the French,’ sais he; ‘they don’t know nothin’ about + hosses, or any thing else. They are a simple people, and always will be, + for their priests keep ‘em in ignorance. It’s an awful thing to see them + kept in the outer porch of darkness that way, ain’t it?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘I guess you’ll put a new pane o’ glass in their porch,’ sais I, ‘and + help some o’ them to see better; for whoever gets that mare, will have his + eyes opened, sooner nor he bargains for, I know.’ + </p> + <p> + “Sais he, ‘she ain’t a bad mare; and if she could eat bay, might do a good + deal of work yet,’ and he gave a kinder chuckle laugh at his own joke, + that sounded like the rattles in his throat, it was so dismal and deep, + for he was one o’ them kind of fellers that’s too good to larf, was Steve. + </p> + <p> + “Well, the horn o’ grog he took, began to onloosen his tongue; and I got + out of him, that she come near dyin’ the winter afore, her teeth was so + bad, and that he had kept her all summer in a dyke pasture up to her + fetlocks in white clover, and ginn’ her ground oats, and Indgian meal, and + nothin’ to do all summer; and in the fore part of the fall, biled + potatoes, and he’d got her as fat as a seal, and her skin as slick as an + otter’s. She fairly shined agin, in the sun. + </p> + <p> + “‘She’ll jist suit the French’, said he, ‘they are a simple people and + don’t know nothin’, and if they don’t like the mare, they must blame their + priests for not teachin’ ‘em better. I shall keep within the strict line + of truth, as becomes a Christian man. I scorn to take a man in.’ + </p> + <p> + “Well, we chatted away arter this fashion, he a openin’ of himself and me + a walk in’ into him; and we jogged along till we came to Charles Tarrio’s + to Montagon, and there was the matter of a thousand French people gathered + there, a chatterin’, and laughin’, and jawin’, and quarrellin’, and + racin’, and wrastlin’, and all a givin’ tongue, like a pack of village + dogs, when an Indgian comes to town. It was town meetin’ day. + </p> + <p> + “Well, there was a critter there, called by nickname, ‘Goodish Greevoy,’ a + mounted on a white pony, one o’ the scariest little screamers, you ever + see since you was born. He was a tryin’ to get up a race, was Goodish, and + banterin’ every one that had a hoss to run with him. + </p> + <p> + “His face was a fortin’ to a painter. His forehead was high and narrer, + shewin’ only a long strip o’ tawny skin, in a line with his nose, the rest + bein’ covered with hair, as black as ink, and as iley as a seal’s mane. + His brows was thick, bushy and overhangin’, like young brush-wood on a + cliff, and onderneath, was two black peerin’ little eyes, that kept + a-movin’ about, keen, good-natured, and roguish, but sot far into his + skull, and looked like the eyes of a fox peepin’ out of his den, when he + warn’t to home to company hisself. His nose was high, sharp, and crooked, + like the back of a reapin’ hook, and gave a plaguy sight of character to + his face, while his thinnish lips, that closed on a straight line, curlin’ + up at one eend, and down at the other, shewed, if his dander was raised, + he could be a jumpin’, tarin’, rampagenous devil if he chose. The pint of + his chin projected and turned up gently, as if it expected, when Goodish + lost his teeth, to rise in the world in rank next to the nose. When good + natur’ sat on the box, and drove, it warn’t a bad face; when Old Nick was + coachman, I guess it would be as well to give Master Frenchman the road. + </p> + <p> + “He had a red cap on his head, his beard hadn’t been cut since last sheep + shearin’, and he looked as hairy as a tarrier; his shirt collar, ‘which + was of yaller flannel, fell on his shoulders loose, and a black hankercher + was tied round his neck, slack like a sailor’s. He wore a round jacket and + loose trowsers of homespun with no waistcoat, and his trowsers was held up + by a gallus of leather on one side, and of old cord on the other. Either + Goodish had growed since his clothes was made, or his jacket and trowsers + warn’t on speakin’ tarms, for they didn’t meet by three or four inches, + and the shirt shewed atween them like a yaller militia sash round him. His + feet was covered with moccasins of ontanned moose hide, and one heel was + sot off with an old spur and looked sly and wicked. He was a sneezer that, + and when he flourished his great long withe of a whip stick, that looked + like a fishin’ rod, over his head, and yelled like all possessed, he was a + caution, that’s a fact. + </p> + <p> + “A knowin’ lookin’ little hoss, it was too, that he was mounted on. Its + tail was cut close off to the stump, which squared up his rump, and made + him look awful strong in the hind quarters. His mane was “hogged” which + fulled out the swell and crest of the neck, and his ears being cropped, + the critter had a game look about him. There was a proper good + onderstandin’ between him and his rider: they looked as if they had growed + together, and made one critter—half hoss, half man with a touch of + the devil. + </p> + <p> + “Goodish was all up on eend by what he drank, and dashed in and out of the + crowd arter a fashion, that was quite cautionary, callin’ out, ‘Here comes + “the grave-digger.” Don’t be skeered, if any of you get killed, here is + the hoss that will dig his grave for nothin’. Who’ll run a lick of a + quarter of a mile, for a pint of rum. Will you run?’ said he, a spunkin’ + up to the Elder, ‘come, let’s run, and whoever wins, shall go the treat.’ + </p> + <p> + “The Elder smiled as sweet as sugar candy, but backed out; he was too old, + he said, now to run. + </p> + <p> + “‘Will you swap hosses, old broad cloth then?’ said the other, ‘because if + you will, here’s at you.’ + </p> + <p> + “Steve took a squint at pony, to see whether that cat would jump or no, + but the cropt ears, the stump of a tail, the rakish look of the horse, + didn’t jist altogether convene to the taste or the sanctified habits of + the preacher. The word no, hung on his lips, like a wormy apple, jist + ready to drop the fust shake; but before it let go, the great strength, + the spryness, and the oncommon obedience of pony to the bit, seemed to + kinder balance the objections; while the sartan and ontimely eend that + hung over his own mare, during the comin’ winter, death by starvation, + turned the scale. + </p> + <p> + “‘Well,’ said he, slowly, ‘if we like each other’s beasts, friend, and can + agree as to the boot, I don’t know as I wouldn’t trade; for I don’t care + to raise colts, havin’ plenty of hoss stock on hand, and perhaps you do.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘How old is your hoss?’ said the Frenchman. + </p> + <p> + “‘I didn’t raise it,’ sais Steve, ‘Ned Wheelock, I believe, brought her to + our parts.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘How old do you take her to be?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Poor critter, she’d tell you herself, if she could,’ said he, ‘for she + knows best, but she can’t speak; and I didn’t see her, when she was + foalded.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘How old do you think?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Age,’ sais Steve, ‘depens on use, not on years. A hoss at five, if ill + used, is old; a hoss at eight, if well used is young.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Sacry footry!’ sais Goodish, ‘why don’t you speak out like a man? Lie or + no lie, how old is she?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Well, I don’t like to say,’ sais Steve, ‘I know she is eight for + sartain, and it may be she’s nine. If I was to say eight, and it turned + out nine, you might be thinkin’ hard of me. I didn’t raise it. You can see + what condition she is in; old hosses ain’t commonly so fat as that, at + least I never, see one that was.’ + </p> + <p> + “A long banter then growed out of the ‘boot money.’ The Elder, asked 7 + pounds 10s. Goodish swore he wouldn’t give that for him and his hoss + together; that if they were both put up to auction that blessed minute, + they wouldn’t bring it. The Elder hung on to it, as long as there was any + chance of the boot, and then fort the ground like a man, only givin’ an + inch or so at a time, till he drawed up and made a dead stand, on one + pound. + </p> + <p> + “Goodish seemed willing to come to tarms too; but like a prudent man, + resolved to take a look at the old mare’s mouth, and make some kind of a + guess at her age; but the critter knowed how to keep her own secrets, and + it was ever so long, afore he forced her jaws open, and when he did, he + came plaguy near losin’ of a finger, for his curiosity; and as he hopped + and danced about with pain, he let fly such a string of oaths, and + sacry-cussed the Elder and his mare, in such an all-fired passion, that + Steve put both his hands up to his ears, and said, ‘Oh, my dear friend, + don’t swear, don’t swear; it’s very wicked. I’ll take your pony, I’ll ask + no boot, if you will only promise not to swear. You shall have the mare as + she stands. I’ll give up and swap even; and there shall be no after claps, + nor ruin bargains, nor recantin’, nor nother, only don’t swear.’ + </p> + <p> + “Well, the trade was made, the saddles and bridles was shifted, and both + parties mounted their new hosses. ‘Mr. Slick,’ sais Steve,’ who was afraid + he would lose the pony, if he staid any longer, ‘Mr. Slick,’ sais he, ‘the + least said, is the soonest mended, let’s be a movin’, this scene of noise + and riot is shockin’ to a religious man, ain’t it?’ and he let go a groan, + as long as the embargo a’most. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we had no sooner turned to go, than the French people sot up a + cheer that made all ring again; and they sung out, “La Fossy Your,” “La + Fossy Your,” and shouted it agin and agin ever so loud. + </p> + <p> + “‘What’s that?’ sais Steve. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I didn’t know, for I never heerd the word afore; but it don’t do to + say you don’t know, it lowers you in the eyes of other folks. If you don’t + know What another man knows he is shocked at your ignorance. But if he + don’t know what you do, he can find an excuse in a minute. Never say you + don’t know. + </p> + <p> + “‘So,’ sais I, ‘they jabber so everlastin’ fast, it ain’t no easy matter + to say what they mean; but it sounds like “good bye,” you’d better turn + round and make ‘em a bow, for they are very polite people, is the French.’ + </p> + <p> + “So Steve turns and takes off his hat, and makes them a low bow, and they + larfs wus than ever, and calls out again, “La Fossy Your,” “La Fossy + Your.” He was kinder ryled, was the Elder. His honey had begun to farment, + and smell vinegery. ‘May be, next Christmas,’ sais he, ‘you won’t larf so + loud, when you find the mare is dead. Goodish and the old mare are jist + alike, they are all tongue them critters. I rather think it’s me,’ sais + he, ‘has the right to larf, for I’ve got the best of this bargain, and no + mistake. This is as smart a little hoss as ever I see. I know where I can + put him off to great advantage. I shall make a good day’s work of this. It + is about as good a hoss trade as I ever made. The French don’t know + nothin’ about hosses; they are a simple people, their priests keep ‘em in + ignorance on purpose, and they don’t know nothin’.’ + </p> + <p> + “He cracked and bragged considerable, and as we progressed we came to + Montagon Bridge. The moment pony sot foot on it, he stopped short, pricked + up the latter eends of his ears, snorted, squeeled and refused to budge an + inch. The Elder got mad. He first coaxed and patted, and soft sawdered + him, and then whipt and spurred, and thrashed him like any thing. Pony got + mad too, for hosses has tempers as well as Elders; so he turned to, and + kicked right straight up on eend, like Old Scratch, and kept on without + stoppin’ till he sent the Elder right slap over his head slantendicularly, + on the broad of his back into the river, and he floated down thro’ the + bridge and scrambled out at t’other side. + </p> + <p> + “Creation! how he looked. He was so mad, he was ready to bile over; and as + it was he smoked in the sun, like a tea-kettle. His clothes stuck close + down to him, as a cat’s fur does to her skin, when she’s out in the rain, + and every step he took his boots went squish, squash, like an old woman + churnin’ butter; and his wet trowsers chafed with a noise like a wet + flappin’ sail. He was a shew, and when he got up to his hoss, and held on + to his mane, and first lifted up one leg and then the other to let the + water run out of his boots. I couldn’t hold in no longer, but laid back + and larfed till I thought on my soul I’d fall off into the river too. + </p> + <p> + “‘Elder,’ says I, ‘I thought when a man jined your sect, ‘he could never “<i>fall + off agin</i>,” but I see you ain’t no safer than other folks arter all.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Come,’ says he, ‘let me be, that’s a good soul, it’s bad enough, without + being larfed at, that’s a fact. I can’t account for this caper, no how.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘It’s very strange too, ain’t it! What on airth got into the hoss to make + him act so ugly. Can you tell, Mr. Slick?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Why,’ sais I, ‘he don’t know English yet, that’s all. He waited for them + beautiful French oaths that Goodish used. Stop the fust Frenchman you meet + and give him a shillin’ to teach you to swear, and he’ll go like a lamb.’ + </p> + <p> + “I see’d what was the matter of the hoss by his action as soon as we + started; but I warn’t agoin’ for to let on to him about it. I wanted to + see the sport. Well, he took his hoss by the bridle and led him over the + bridge, and he follered kindly, then he mounted, and no hoss could go + better. Arter a little, we came to another bridge agin, and the same play + was acted anew, same coaxin’, same threatenin’, and same thrashin’; at + last pony put down his head, and began to shake his tail, a gettin’ ready + for another bout of kickin’; when Steve got off and led him, and did the + same to every bridge we come to. + </p> + <p> + “‘It’s no use,’ sais I, ‘you must larn them oaths, he’s used to ‘em and + misses them shocking. A sailor, a hoss, and a nigger ain’t no good without + you swear at ‘em; it comes kinder nateral to them, and they look for it, + fact I assure you. Whips wear out, and so do spurs, but a good sneezer of + a cuss hain’t no wear out to it; it’s always the same.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘I’ll larn him sunthin’, sais he, ‘when I get him to home, and out o’ + sight that will do him good, and that he won’t forget for one while, I + know.’ + </p> + <p> + “Soon arter this we came to Everett’s public-house on the bay, and I + galloped up to the door, and went as close as I cleverly could on purpose, + and then reined up short and sudden, when whap goes the pony right agin + the side of the house, and nearly killed himself. He never stirred for the + matter of two or three minutes. I actilly did think he had gone for it, + and Steve went right thro’ the winder on to the floor, with a holler + noise, like a log o’ wood thrown on to the deck of a vessel. ‘Eugh!’ says + he, and he cut himself with the broken glass quite ridikilous. + </p> + <p> + “‘Why,’ sais Everett, ‘as I am a livin’ sinner this is “the Grave-digger,” + he’ll kill you, man, as sure as you are born, he is the wickedest hoss + that ever was seen in these clearins here; and he is as blind as a bat + too. No man in Nova Scotia can manage that hoss but Goodish Greevoy, and + he’d manage the devil that feller, for he is man, horse, shark, and + sarpent all in one, that Frenchman. What possessed you to buy such a + varmint as that?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Grave digger!’ said doleful Steve, ‘what is that?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Why,’ sais he, ‘they went one day to bury a man, down to Clare did the + French, and when they got to the grave, who should be in it but the pony. + He couldn’t see, and as he was a feedin’ about, he tumbled in head over + heels and they called him always arterwards ‘the Grave-digger.’” + </p> + <p> + “‘Very simple people them French,’ sais I, ‘Elder; they don’t know nothin’ + about hosses, do they? Their priests keep them in ignorance on purpose.’ + </p> + <p> + “Steve winced and squinched his face properly; and said the glass in his + hands hurt him. Well, arter we sot all to rights, we began to jog on + towards Digby. The Elder didn’t say much, he was as chop fallen as a + wounded moose; at last, says he, ‘I’ll ship him to St. John, and sell him. + I’ll put him on board of Captain Ned Leonard’s vessel, as soon as I get to + Digby.’ Well, as I turned my head to answer him, and sot eyes on him agin, + it most sot me a haw, hawin’ a second time, he <i>did</i> look so like Old + Scratch. Oh Hedges! how haggardised he was! His new hat was smashed down + like a cap on the crown of his head, his white cravat was bloody, his face + all scratched, as if he had been clapper-clawed by a woman, and his hands + was bound up with rags, where the glass cut ‘em. The white sand of the + floor of Everett’s parlour had stuck to his damp clothes, and he looked + like an old half corned miller, that was a returnin’ to his wife, arter a + spree. A leetle crest fallen for what he had got, a leetle mean for the + way he looked, and a leetle skeered for what he’d catch, when he got to + home. The way he sloped warn’t no matter. He was a pictur, and a pictur I + must say, I liked to look at. + </p> + <p> + “And now Squire, do you take him off too, ingrave him, and bind him up in + your book, and let others look at it, and put onder it ‘<i>the Elder and + the Grave-digger</i>.’” + </p> + <p> + “Well, when we got to town, the tide was high, and the vessel jist ready + to cast off, and Steve, knowin’ how skeer’d pony was of the water, got off + to lead him, but the critter guessed it warn’t a bridge, for he smelt salt + water on both sides of him, and ahead too, and budge he wouldn’t. Well, + they beat him most to death, but he beat back agin with his heels, and it + was a drawd fight. Then they goes to the fence and gets a great strong + pole, and puts it across his hams, two men at each eend of the pole, and + shoved away, and shoved away, till they progressed a yard or so; when pony + squatted right down on the pole, throwd over the men, and most broke their + legs, with his weight. + </p> + <p> + “At last, the captain fetched a rope, and fixes it round his neck, with a + slip knot, fastens it to the windlass, and dragged him in as they do an + anchor, and tied him by his bridle to the boom; and then shoved off, and + got under weigh. + </p> + <p> + “Steve and I sot down on the wharf, for it was a beautiful day, and looked + at them driftin’ out in the stream, and hystin’ sail, while the folks was + gettin’ somethin’ ready for us to the inn. + </p> + <p> + “When they had got out into the middle of the channel, took the breeze, + and was all under way, and we was about turnin’ to go back, I saw the pony + loose, he had slipped his bridle, and not likin’ the motion of the vessel, + he jist walked overboard, head fust, with a most a beautiful splunge. + </p> + <p> + “‘<i>A most refreshin’ time</i>,’ said I, ‘Elder, that critter has of it. + I hope <i>that sinner will be saved</i>.’ + </p> + <p> + “He sprung right up on eend, as if he had been stung by a galley nipper, + did Steve, ‘Let me alone,’ said he. ‘What have I done to be jobed, that + way? Didn’t I keep within the strict line o’ truth? Did I tell that + Frenchman one mossel of a lie? Answer me, that, will you? I’ve been + cheated awful; but I scorn to take the advantage of any man. You had + better look to your own dealin’s, and let me alone, you pedlin’, cheatin’ + Yankee clockmaker you.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Elder,’ sais I, ‘if you warn’t too mean to rile a man, I’d give you a + kick on your pillion, that would send you a divin’ arter your hoss; but + you ain’t worth it. Don’t call me names tho’, or I’ll settle your coffee + for you, without a fish skin, afore you are ready to swaller it I can <i>tell</i> + you. So keep your mouth shut, my old coon, or your teeth might get + sun-burnt. You think you are angry with me; but you aint; you are angry + with yourself. You know you have showd yourself a proper fool for to come, + for to go, for to talk to a man that has seed so much of the world as I + have, bout “<i>refreshin’ time</i>,” and “<i>outpourin’ of spirit</i>,” + and “<i>makin’ profession</i>” and what not; and you know you showd + yourself an everlastin’ rogue, a meditatin’ of cheatin’ that Frenchman all + summer. It’s biter bit, and I don’t pity you one mossel; it sarves you + right. But look at the grave-digger; he looks to me as if he was a diggin’ + of his own grave in rael right down airnest.’ + </p> + <p> + “The captain havin’ his boat histed, and thinkin’ the hoss would swim + ashore of hisself, kept right straight on; and the hoss swam this way, and + that way, and every way but the right road, jist as the eddies took him. + At last, he got into the ripps off of Johnston’s pint, and they wheeled + him right round and round like a whip-top. Poor pony! he got his match at + last. He struggled, and jumpt, and plunged and fort, like a man, for dear + life. Fust went up his knowin’ little head, that had no ears; and he tried + to jump up and rear out of it, as he used to did out of a mire hole or + honey pot ashore; but there was no bottom there; nothin’ for his hind foot + to spring from; so down he went agin ever so deep: and then he tried + t’other eend, and up went his broad rump, that had no tail; but there was + nothin’ for the fore feet to rest on nother; so he made a summerset, and + as he went over, he gave out a great long end wise kick to the full + stretch of his hind legs. + </p> + <p> + “Poor feller! it was the last kick he ever gave in this world; he sent his + heels straight up on eend, like a pair of kitchen tongs, and the last I + see of him was a bright dazzle, as the sun shined on his iron shoes, afore + the water closed over him for ever. + </p> + <p> + “I railly felt sorry for the poor old ‘grave-digger,’ I did upon my soul, + for hosses and ladies are two things, that a body can’t help likin’. + Indeed, a feller that hante no taste that way ain’t a man at all, in my + opinion. Yes, I felt ugly for poor ‘grave-digger,’ though I didn’t feel + one single bit so for that cantin’ cheatin’, old Elder. So when I turns to + go, sais I, ‘Elder,’ sais I, and I jist repeated his own words—‘I + guess it’s your turn to laugh now, for you have got the best of the + bargain, and no mistake. Goodish and the old mare are jist alike, all + tongue, ain’t they? But these French is a simple people, so they be; they + don’t know nothin’, that’s a fact. Their priests keep ‘em in ignorance a + puppus. + </p> + <p> + “The next time you tell your experience to the great Christian meetin’ to + Goose Creek, jist up and tell ‘em, from beginnin’ to eend, the story of + the—‘<i>Elder and the Grave-digger</i>.’” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. LOOKING BACK. + </h2> + <p> + In the course of the evening, Mr. Hopewell adverted to his return as a + matter of professional duty, and spoke of it in such a feeling and earnest + manner, as to leave no doubt upon my mind, that we should not be able to + detain him long in this country, unless his attention should be kept fully + occupied by a constant change of scene. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Slick expressed to me the same fear, and, knowing that I had been + talking of going to Scotland, entreated me not to be long absent, for he + felt convinced that as soon as he should be left alone, his thoughts and + wishes would at once revert to America. + </p> + <p> + “I will try to keep him up,” said he, “as well as I can, but I can’t do it + alone. If you do go, don’t leave us long. Whenever I find him dull, and + can’t cheer him up no how I can fix it, by talk, or fun, or sight seein’ + or nothin’, I make him vexed, and that excites him, stirs him up with a + pot stick, and is of great sarvice to him. I don’t mean actilly makin’ him + wrathy in airnest, but jist rilin of him for his own good, by pokin’ a + mistake at him. I’ll shew you, presently, how I do it.” + </p> + <p> + As soon as Mr. Hopewell rejoined us, he began to inquire into the probable + duration of our visit to this country, and expressed a wish to return, as + soon as possible, to Slickville. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Minister,” said Mr. Slick, tapping him on the shoulder, “as father + used to say, we must ‘right about face’ now. When we are at home let us + think of home, when we are here, let us think of this place. Let us look + a-head, don’t let’s look back, for we can’t see nothin’ there.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, Sam,” said he, with a sad and melancholy air, “it would be better + for us all if we looked back oftener than we do. From the errors of the + past, we might rectify our course for the future. Prospective sin is often + clothed in very alluring garments; past sin appears in all its naked + deformity. Looking back, therefore—” + </p> + <p> + “Is very well,” said Mr. Slick, “in the way of preachin’; but lookin’ back + when you can’t see nothin’, as you are now, is only a hurtin’ of your + eyes. I never hear that word, ‘lookin’ back,’ that I don’t think of that + funny story of Lot’s wife.” + </p> + <p> + “Funny story of Lot’s wife, Sir! Do you call that a funny story, Sir?” + </p> + <p> + “I do, Sir.” + </p> + <p> + “You do, Sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do, Sir; and I defy you or any other man to say it ain’t a funny + story.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh dear, dear,” said Mr. Hopewell, “that I should have lived to see the + day when you, my son, would dare to speak of a Divine judgment as a funny + story, and that you should presume so to address me.” + </p> + <p> + “A judgment, Sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, a judgment, Sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you call the story of Lot’s wife a judgment?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do call the story of Lot’s wife a judgment; a monument of the + Divine wrath for the sin of disobedience.” + </p> + <p> + “What! Mrs. Happy Lot? Do you call her a monument of wrath? Well, well, if + that don’t beat all, Minister. If you had a been a-tyin’ of the night-cap + last night I shouldn’t a wondered at your talkin’ at that pace. But to + call that dear little woman, Mrs. Happy Lot, that dancin’, laughin’ + tormentin’, little critter, a monument of wrath, beats all to immortal + smash.” + </p> + <p> + “Why who are you a-talkin’ of, Sam?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Mrs. Happy Lot, the wife of the Honourable Cranbery Lot, of Umbagog, + to be sure. Who did you think I was a-talkin’ of?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I thought you was a-talkin’ of—of—ahem—of + subjects too serious to be talked of in that manner; but I did you wrong, + Sam; I did you injustice. Give me your hand, my boy. It’s better for me to + mistake and apologize, than for you to sin and repent. I don’t think I + ever heard of Mr. Lot, of Umbagog, or of his wife either. Sit down here, + and tell me the story, for ‘with thee conversing, I forget all time.’” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Minister,” said Mr. Slick, “I’ll tell you the ins and outs of it; + and a droll story it is too. Miss Lot was the darter of Enoch Mosher, the + rich miser of Goshen; as beautiful a little critter too, as ever slept in + shoe-leather. She looked for all the world like one of the Paris fashion + prints, for she was a parfect pictur’, that’s a fact. Her complexion was + made of white and red roses, mixed so beautiful, you couldn’t tell where + the white eended, or the red begun, natur’ had used the blendin’ brush so + delicate. Her eyes were screw augurs, I tell <i>you</i>; they bored right + into your heart, and kinder agitated you, and made your breath come and + go, and your pulse flutter. I never felt nothin’ like ‘em. When lit up, + they sparkled like lamp reflectors; and at other tunes, they was as soft, + and mild, and clear as dew-drops that hang on the bushes at sun-rise. When + she loved, she loved; and when she hated, she hated about the wickedest + you ever see. Her lips were like heart cherries of the carnation kind; so + plump, and fall, and hard, you felt as if you could fall to and eat ‘em + right up. Her voice was like a grand piany, all sorts o’ power in it; + canary-birds’ notes at one eend, and thunder at t’other, accordin’ to the + humour she was in, for she was a’most a grand bit of stuff was Happy, + she’d put an edge on a knife a’most. She was a rael steel. Her figur’ was + as light as a fairy’s, and her waist was so taper and tiny, it seemed jist + made for puttin’ an arm round in walkin’. She was as ac<i>tive</i> and + springy on her feet as a catamount, and near about as touch me-not a sort + of customer too. She actilly did seem as if she was made out of steel + springs and chicken-hawk. If old Cran, was to slip off the handle, I think + I should make up to her, for she is ‘a salt,’ that’s a fact, a most a + heavenly splice. + </p> + <p> + “Well, the Honourable Cranbery Lot put in for her, won her, and married + her. A good speculation it turned out too, for he got the matter of one + hundred thousand of dollars by her, if he got a cent. As soon as they were + fairly welded, off they sot to take the tour of Europe, and they larfed + and cried, and kissed and quarrelled, and fit and made up all over the + Continent, for her temper was as onsartain as the climate here—rain + one minit and sun the next; but more rain nor sun. + </p> + <p> + “He was a fool, was Cranbery. He didn’t know how to manage her. His bridle + hand warn’t good, I tell you. A spry, mettlesome hoss, and a dull critter + with no action, don’t mate well in harness, that’s a fact. + </p> + <p> + “After goin’ every where, and every where else amost, where should they + get to but the Alps. One arternoon, a sincerely cold one it was too, and + the weather, violent slippy, dark overtook them before they reached the + top of one of the highest and steepest of them mountains, and they had to + spend the night at a poor squatter’s shanty. + </p> + <p> + “Well, next mornin’, jist at day-break, and sun-rise on them everlastin’ + hills is tall sun-rise, and no mistake, p’rhaps nothin was ever seen so + fine except the first one, since creation. It takes the rag off quite. + Well, she was an enterprisin’ little toad, was Miss Lot too, afeered of + nothin’ a’most; so nothin’ would sarve her but she must out and have a + scramb up to the tip-topest part of the peak afore breakfast. + </p> + <p> + “Well, the squatter there, who was a kind o’ guide, did what he could to + dispersuade her, but all to no purpose; go she would, and a headstrong + woman and a runaway hoss are jist two things it’s out of all reason to try + to stop; The only way is to urge ‘em on, and then, bein’ contr<i>ary</i> + by natur’, they stop of themselves. + </p> + <p> + “‘Well,’ sais the guide, ‘if you will go, marm, do take this pike staff, + marm,’ sais he; (a sort of walkin’-stick with a spike to the eend of it), + ‘for you can’t get either up or down them slopes without it, it is so + almighty slippy there.’ So she took the staff, and off she sot and climbed + and climbed ever so far, till she didn’t look no bigger than a snowbird. + </p> + <p> + “At last she came to a small flat place, like a table, and then she turned + round to rest, get breath, and take a look at the glorious view; and jist + as she hove-to, up went her little heels, and away went her stick, right + over a big parpendicular cliff, hundreds and hundreds, and thousands of + feet deep. So deep, you couldn’t see the bottom for the shadows, for the + very snow looked black down there. There is no way in, it is so steep, but + over the cliff; and no way out, but one, and that leads to t’other world. + I can’t describe it to you, though. I have see’d it since myself. There + are some things too big to lift; some, too big to carry after they be + lifted; and some too grand for the tongue to describe too. There’s a notch + where dictionary can’t go no farther, as well as every other created + thing, that’s a fact. P’rhaps if I was to say it looked like the mould + that that ‘are very peak was cast in, afore it was cold and stiff, and sot + up on eend, I should come as near the mark as any thing I know on. + </p> + <p> + “Well away she slid, feet and hands out, all flat on her face, right away, + arter her pike staff. Most people would have ginn it up as gone goose, and + others been so frightened as not to do any thing at all; or at most only + jist to think of a prayer, for there was no time to say one. + </p> + <p> + “But not so Lot’s ‘wife. She was of a conquerin’ natur’. She never gave + nothin’ up, till she couldn’t hold on no longer. She was one o’ them + critters that go to bed mistress, and rise master; and just as she got to + the edge of the precipice, her head hangin’ over, and her eyes lookin’ + down, and she all but ready to shoot out and launch away into bottomless + space, the ten commandments brought her right short up. Oh, she sais, the + sudden joy of that sudden stop swelled her heart so big, she thought it + would have bust like a byler; and, as it was, the great endurin’ long + breath she drew, arter such an alfired escape, almost killed her at the + ebb, it hurt her so.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Mr. Hopewell, “how did the ten commandments save her? Do you + mean that figuratively, or literally. Was it her reliance on providence, + arising from a conscious observance of the decalogue all her life, or was + it a book containing them, that caught against some thing, and stopt her + descent. It is very interesting. Many a person, Sam, has been saved when + at the brink of destruction, by laying fast hold on the bible. Who can + doubt, that the commandments had a Divine origin? Short, simple and yet + comprehensive; the first four point to our duty to our Maker, the last + six, towards our social duties. In this respect there is a great + similarity of structure, to that excellent prayer given us—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Minister,” said Mr. Slick, “I beg your pardon, I do, indeed, I don’t + mean that at all; and I do declare and vow now, I wasn’t a playin’ possum + with you, nother. I won’t do it no more, I won’t, indeed.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what did you mean then?” + </p> + <p> + “Why I meant her ten fingers, to be sure. When a woman clapper claws her + husband, we have a cant tarm with us boys of Slickville, savin’ she gave + him her ten commandments.” + </p> + <p> + “And a very improper expression too, Sir,” said Mr. Hopewell; “a very + irreverent, indecent, and I may say profane expression; I am quite + shocked. But as you say you didn’t mean it, are sorry for it, and will not + repeat it again, I accept your apology, and rely on your promise. Go on, + Sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, as I was a savin’, the moment she found herself a coasting of it + that way, flounder fashion, she hung on by her ten com—I mean her + ten fingers, and her ten toes, like grim death to a dead nigger, and it + brought her up jist in time. But how to get back was the question? To let + go the hold of any one hand was sartain death, and there was nobody to + help her, and yet to hold on long that way, she couldn’t, no how she could + fix it. + </p> + <p> + “So what does she do, (for nothin’ equals a woman for contrivances), but + move one finger at a time, and then one toe at a time, till she gets a new + hold, and then crawls backward, like a span-worm, an inch at a hitch. + Well, she works her passage this way, wrong eend foremost, by backin’ of + her paddles for the matter of half an hour or so, till she gets to where + it was roughish, and somethin’ like standin’ ground, when who should come + by but a tall handsome man, with a sort of a half coat, half cloak-like + coverin’ on, fastened round the waist with a belt, and havin’ a hood up, + to ambush the head. + </p> + <p> + “The moment she clapt eyes on him, she called to him for help. ‘Oh,’ sais + she, ‘for heaven’s sake, good man, help me up! Jist take hold of my leg + and draw me back, will you, that’s a good soul?’ And then she held up fust + one leg for him, and then the other, most beseechin’, but nothin’ would + move him. He jist stopt, looked back for a moment and then progressed + agin. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it ryled her considerable. Her eyes actilly snapped with fire, like + a hemlock log at Christmas: (for nothin’ makes a woman so mad as a + parsonal slight, and them little ankles of hern were enough to move the + heart of a stone, and make it jump out o’ the ground, that’s a fact, they + were such fine-spun glass ones), it made her so mad, it gave her fresh + strength; and makin’ two or three onnateral efforts, she got clear back to + the path, and sprung right up on eend, as wicked as a she-bear with a sore + head. But when she got upright agin, she then see’d what a beautiful + frizzle of a fix she was in. She couldn’t hope to climb far; and, indeed, + she didn’t ambition to; she’d had enough of that, for one spell. But + climbin’ up was nothin’, compared to goin’ down hill without her staff; so + what to do, she didn’t know. + </p> + <p> + “At last, a thought struck her. She intarmined to make that man help her, + in spite of him. So she sprung forward for a space, like a painter, for + life or death, and caught right hold of his cloak. ‘Help—help me!’ + said she, ‘or I shall go for it, that’s sartain. Here’s my puss, my rings, + my watch, and all I have got; but oh, help me! for the love of God, help + me, or my flint is fixed for good and all.’ + </p> + <p> + “With that, the man turned round, and took one glance at her, as if he + kinder relented, and then, all at once, wheeled back again, as amazed as + if he was jist born, gave an awful yell, and started off as fast as he + could clip, though that warn’t very tall runnin’ nother, considerin’ the + ground. But she warn’t to be shook off that way. She held fast to his + cloak, like a burr to a sheep’s tail, and raced arter him, screamin’ and + screechin’ like mad; and the more she cried, the louder he yelled, till + the mountains all echoed it and re-echoed it, so that you would have + thought a thousand devils had broke loose, a’most. + </p> + <p> + “Such a gettin’ up stairs you never did see. + </p> + <p> + “Well, they kept up this tantrum for the space of two or three hundred + yards, when they came to a small, low, dismal-lookin’ house, when the man + gave the door a kick, that sent the latch a flyin’ off to the t’other eend + of the room, and fell right in on the floor, on his face, as flat as a + flounder, a groanin’ and a moanin’ like any thing, and lookin’ as mean as + a critter that was sent for, and couldn’t come, and as obstinate as a pine + stump. + </p> + <p> + “‘What ails you?’ sais she, ‘to act like Old Scratch that way? You ought + to be ashamed of yourself, to behave so to a woman. What on airth is there + about me to frighten you so, you great onmannerly, onmarciful, coward, + you. Come, scratch up, this minute.’ + </p> + <p> + “Well, the more she talked, the more he groaned; but the devil a word, + good or bad, could she get out of him at all. With that, she stoops down, + and catches up his staff, and says she, ‘I have as great a mind to give + you a jab with this here toothpick, where your mother used to spank you, + as ever I had in all my life. But if you want it, my old ‘coon, you must + come and get it; for if you won’t help me, I shall help myself.’ + </p> + <p> + “Jist at that moment, her eyes being better accustomed to the dim light of + the place, she see’d a man, a sittin’ at the fur eend of the room, with + his back to the wall, larfin’ ready to kill himself. He grinned so, he + showed his corn-crackers from ear to ear. She said, he stript his teeth + like a catamount, he look’d so all mouth. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that encouraged her, for there ain’t much harm in a larfin’ man; + it’s only them that never larf that’s fearfulsome. So sais she ‘My good + man, will you he so kind as to lend me your arm down this awful peak, and + I will reward you handsomely, you may depend.’ + </p> + <p> + “Well, he made no answer, nother; and thinkin’ he didn’t onderstand + English, she tried him in Italian, and then in broken French, and then + bungled out a little German; but no, still no answer. He took no more + notice of her and her mister, and senior, and mountsheer, and mynheer, + than if he never heerd them titles, but jist larfed on. + </p> + <p> + “She stopped a minit, and looked at him full in the face, to see what he + meant by all this ongenteel behaviour, when all of a sudden, jist as she + moved one step nearer to him, she saw he was a dead man, and had been so + long there, part of the flesh had dropt off or dried off his face; and it + was that that made him grin that way, like a fox-trap. It was the + bone-house they was in. The place where poor, benighted, snow-squalled + stragglers, that perish on the mountains, are located, for their friends + to come and get them, if they want ‘em; and if there ain’t any body that + knows ‘em or cares for ‘em, why they are left there for ever, to dry into + nothin’ but parchment and atomy, as it’s no joke diggin’ a grave in that + frozen region. + </p> + <p> + “As soon as she see’d this, she never said another blessed word, but jist + walked off with the livin’ man’s pike, and began to poke her way down the + mountain as careful as she cleverly could, dreadful tired, and awful + frighted. + </p> + <p> + “Well, she hadn’t gone far, afore she heard her name echoed all round her—Happy! + Happy! Happy! It seemed from the echoes agin, as if there was a hundred + people a yelling it put all at once. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, very happy,’ said she, ‘very happy, indeed; guess you’d find it so if + you was here. I know I should feel very happy if I was out of it, that’s + all; for I believe, on my soul, this is harnted ground, and the people in + it are possessed. Oh, if I was only to home, to dear Umbagog agin, no soul + should ever ketch me in this outlandish place any more, <i>I</i> know.’ + </p> + <p> + “Well, the sound increased and increased so, like young thunder she was + e’en a’most skeared to death, and in a twitteration all over; and her + knees began to shake so, she expected to go for it every minute; when a + sudden turn of the path show’d her her husband and the poor squatter a + sarchin’ for her. + </p> + <p> + “She was so overcome with fright and joy, she could hardly speak—and + it warn’t a trifle that would toggle her tongue, that’s a fact. It was + some time after she arrived at the house afore she could up and tell the + story onderstandable; and when she did, she had to tell it twice over, + first in short hand, and then in long metre, afore she could make out the + whole bill o’ parcels. Indeed, she hante done tellin’ it yet, and wherever + she is, she works round, and works round, till she gets Europe spoke of, + and then she begins, ‘That reminds me of a most remarkable fact. Jist + after I was married to Mr. Lot, we was to the Alps.’ + </p> + <p> + “If ever you see her, and she begins that way, up hat and cut stick, + double quick, or you’ll find the road over the Alps to Umbagog, a little + the longest you’ve ever travelled, I know. + </p> + <p> + “Well, she had no sooner done than Cranbery jumps up on eend, and sais he + to the guide, ‘Uncle,’ sais he, ‘jist come along with me, that’s a good + feller, will you? We must return that good Samaritan’s’ cane to him; and + as he must be considerable cold there, I’ll jist warm his hide a bit for + him, to make his blood sarculate. If he thinks I’ll put that treatment to + my wife, Miss Lot, into my pocket, and walk off with it, he’s mistaken in + the child, that’s all, Sir. He may be stubbeder than I be, Uncle, that’s a + fact; but if he was twice as stubbed, I’d walk into him like a thousand of + bricks. I’ll give him a taste of my breed. Insultin’ a lady is a weed we + don’t suffer to grow in our fields to Umbagog. Let him be who the devil he + will, log-leg or leather-breeches—green-shirt or blanket-coat—land-trotter + or river-roller, I’ll let him know there is a warrant out arter him, I + know.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Why,’ sais the guide, ‘he couldn’t help himself, no how he could work + it. He is a friar, or a monk, or a hermit, or a pilgrim, or somethin’ or + another of that kind, for there is no eend to them, they are so many + different sorts; but the breed he is of, have a vow never to look at a + woman, or talk to a woman, or touch a woman, and if they do, there is a + penance, as long as into the middle of next week.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Not look at a woman?’ sais Cran, ‘why, what sort of a guess world would + this be without petticoats?—what a superfine superior tarnation fool + he must be, to jine such a tee-total society as that. Mint julip I could + give up, I <i>do</i> suppose, though I had a plaguy sight sooner not do + it, that’s a fact: but as for womankind, why the angeliferous little + torments, there is no livin’ without <i>them</i>. What do you think, + stranger?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Sartainly,’ said Squatter; ‘but seein’ that the man had a vow, why it + warn’t his fault, for he couldn’t do nothin’ else. Where <i>he</i> did + wrong, was <i>to look back</i>; if he hadn’t a <i>looked back</i>, he + wouldn’t have sinned.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Well, well,’ sais Cran, ‘if that’s the case, it is a hoss of another + colour, that. I won’t look back nother, then. Let him he. But he is + erroneous considerable.’ + </p> + <p> + “So you see, Minister,” said Mr. Slick, “where there is nothin’ to be + gained, and harm done, by this retrospection, as you call it, why I think + lookin’ a-head is far better than—<i>lookin’ back</i>.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. CROSSING THE BORDER. + </h2> + <p> + The time had now arrived when it was necessary for me to go to Scotland, + for a few days. I had two very powerful reasons for this excursion:—first, + because an old and valued friend of mine was there, whom I had not met for + many years, and whom I could not think of leaving this country without + seeing again; and secondly, because I was desirous of visiting the + residence of my forefathers on the Tweed, which, although it had passed + out of their possession many years ago, was still endeared to me as their + home, as the scene of the family traditions; and above all, as their + burial place. + </p> + <p> + The grave is the first stage on the journey, from this to the other world. + We are permitted to escort our friends so far, and no further; it is there + we part for ever. It is there the human form is deposited, when mortality + is changed for immortality. This burial place contains no one that I have + ever seen or known; but it contains the remains of those from whom I + derived my lineage and my name. I therefore naturally desired to see it. + </p> + <p> + Having communicated my intention to my two American companions, I was very + much struck with the different manner in which they received the + announcement. + </p> + <p> + “Come back soon, Squire,” said Mr. Slick; “go and see your old friend, if + you must, and go to the old campin’ grounds of your folks; though the + wigwam I expect has gone long ago, but don’t look at anythin’ else. I want + we should visit the country together. I have an idea from what little I + have seed of it, Scotland is over-rated. I guess there is a good deal of + romance about their old times; and that, if we knowed all, their old + lairds warn’t much better, or much richer than our Ingian chiefs; much of + a muchness. Kinder sorter so, and kinder sorter not so, no great odds. + Both hardy, both fierce; both as poor as Job’s Turkey, and both tarnation + proud, at least, that’s my idea to a notch. + </p> + <p> + “I have often axed myself what sort of a gall that splenderiferous, ‘Lady + of the Lake’ of Scott’s was, and I kinder guess she was a red-headed + Scotch heifer, with her hair filled with heather, and feather, and lint, + with no shoes and stockings to her feet, and that + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Her lips apart + Like monument of Grecian art” + </pre> + <p> + meant that she stared with her eyes and mouth wide open, like other county + galls that never see’d nothing before—a regilar screetch owl in + petticoats. And I suspicion, that Mr. Rob Roy was a sort of thievin’ devil + of a white Mohawk, that found it easier to steal cattle, than raise them + himself; and that Loch Katrin, that they make such a touss about, is jist + about equal to a good sizeable duck-pond in our country; at least, that’s + my idea. For I tell you it does not do to follow arter a poet, and take + all he says for gospel. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, let’s go and see Sawney in his “Ould <i>Reeky</i>.” Airth and seas! + if I have any nose at all, there never was a place so well named as that. + Phew! let me light a cigar to get rid of the fogo of it. + </p> + <p> + “Then let’s cross over and see “Pat at Home;” let’s look into matters and + things there, and see what “Big Dan” is about, with his “association” and + “agitation” and “repail” and “tee-totals.” Let’s see whether it’s John + Bull or Patlander that’s to blame, or both on ‘em; six of one and + half-a-dozen of tother. By Gosh! Minister would talk, more sense in one + day to Ireland, than has been talked there since the rebellion; for common + sense is a word that don’t grow like Jacob’s ladder, in them diggins, I + guess. It’s about, as stunted as Gineral Nichodemus Ott’s corn was. + </p> + <p> + “The Gineral was takin’ a ride with a southerner one day over his farm to + Bangor in Maine, to see his crops, fixin mill privileges and what not, and + the southerner was a turning up his nose at every thing amost, proper + scorney, and braggin’ how things growed on his estate down south. At last + the Gineral’s ebenezer began to rise, and he got as mad as a hatter, and + was intarmed to take a rise out of him. + </p> + <p> + “‘So,’ says he, ‘stranger,’ says he, ‘you talk about your Indgian corn, as + if nobody else raised any but yourself. Now I’ll bet you a thousand + dollars, I have corn that’s growd so wonderful, you can’t reach the top of + it a standin’ on your horse.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Done,’ sais Southener, and ‘Done,’ sais the General, and done it was. + </p> + <p> + “‘Now,’ sais the Giniral, ‘stand up on your saddle like a circus rider, + for the field is round that corner of the wood there.’ And the entire + stranger stood up as stiff as a poker. ‘Tall corn, I guess,’ sais he, ‘if + I can’t reach it, any how, for I can e’en a’most reach the top o’ them + trees. I think I feel them thousand dollars of yourn, a marchin’ quick + step into my pocket, four deep. Reach your corn, to be sure I will. Who + the plague, ever see’d corn so tall, that a man couldn’t reach it a + horseback.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Try it,’ sais the Gineral, as he led him into the field, where the corn + was only a foot high, the land was so monstrous, mean and so beggarly + poor. + </p> + <p> + “‘Reach it,’ sais the Gineral. + </p> + <p> + “‘What a damned Yankee trick,’ sais the Southener. ‘What a take in this + is, ain’t it?’ and he leapt, and hopt, and jumped like a snappin’ turtle, + he was so mad. Yes, common sense to Ireland, is like Indgian corn to + Bangor, it ain’t overly tall growin’, that’s a fact. We must see both + these countries together. It is like the nigger’s pig to the West Indies + “little and dam old.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come back soon, Squire, I have a thousand things, I want to tell you, + and I shall forget one half o’ them, if you don’t; and besides,” said he + in an onder tone, “<i>he</i>” (nodding his head towards Mr. Hopewell,) + “will miss you shockingly. He frets horridly about his flock. He says, + ‘’Mancipation and Temperance have superceded the Scriptures in the States. + That formerly they preached religion there, but now they only preach about + niggers and rum.’ Good bye, Squire.” + </p> + <p> + “You do right, Squire,” said Mr. Hopewell, “to go. That which has to be + done, should be done soon, for we have not always the command of our time. + See your friend, for the claims of friendship are sacred; and see your + family tomb-stones also, for the sight of them, will awaken a train of + reflections in a mind like yours, at once melancholy and elevating; but I + will not deprive you of the pleasure you will derive from first + impressions, by stripping them of their novelty. You will be pleased with + the Scotch; they are a frugal, industrious, moral and intellectual people. + I should like to see their agriculture, I am told it is by far the best in + Europe. + </p> + <p> + “But, Squire, I shall hope to see you soon, for I sometimes think duty + calls me home again. Although my little flock has chosen other shepherds + and quitted my fold, some of them may have seen their error, and wish to + return. And ought I not to be there to receive them? It is true, I am no + longer a labourer in the vineyard, but my heart is there. I should like to + walk round and round the wall that encloses it, and climb up, and look + into it, and talk to them that are at work there. I might give some advice + that would be valuable to them. The blossoms require shelter, and the + fruit requires heat, and the roots need covering in Winter. The vine too + is luxuriant, and must be pruned, or it will produce nothing but wood. It + demands constant care and constant labour; I had decorated the little + place with flowers too, to make it attractive and pleasant. + </p> + <p> + “But, ah me! dissent will pull all these up like weeds, and throw them + out; and scepticism will raise nothing but gaudy annuals. The perennials + will not flourish without cultivating and enriching the ground; <i>their + roots are in the heart</i>. The religion of our Church, which is the same + as this of England, is a religion which inculcates love: filial love + towards God; paternal love to those committed to our care; brotherly love, + to our neighbour, nay, something more than is known by that term in its + common acceptation, for we are instructed to love our neighbour as + ourselves. + </p> + <p> + “We are directed to commence our prayer with “Our Father.” How much of + love, of tenderness, of forbearance, of kindness, of liberality, is + embodied in that word—children: of the same father, members of the + same great human family I Love is the bond of union—love dwelleth in + the heart; and the heart must be cultivated, that the seeds of affection + may germinate in it. + </p> + <p> + “Dissent is cold and sour; it never appeals to the affections, but it + scatters denunciations, and rules by terror. Scepticism is proud and + self-sufficient. It refuses to believe in mysteries and deals in rhetoric + and sophistry, and flatters the vanity, by exalting human reason. My poor + lost flock will see the change, and I fear, feel it too. Besides, absence + is a temporary death. Now I am gone from them, they will forget my + frailties and infirmities, and dwell on what little good might have been + in me, and, perhaps, yearn towards me. + </p> + <p> + “If I was to return, perhaps I could make an impression on the minds of + some, and recall two or three, if not more, to a sense of duty. What a + great thing that would be, wouldn’t it? And if I did, I would get our + bishop to send me a pious, zealous, humble-minded, affectionate, able + young man, as a successor; and I would leave my farm, and orchard, and + little matters, as a glebe for the Church. And who knows but the Lord may + yet rescue Slickville from the inroads of ignorant fanatics, political + dissenters, and wicked infidels? + </p> + <p> + “And besides, my good friend, I have much to say to you, relative to the + present condition and future prospects of this great country. I have lived + to see a few ambitious lawyers, restless demagogues, political preachers, + and unemployed local officers of provincial regiments, agitate and sever + thirteen colonies at one time from the government of England. I have + witnessed the struggle. It was a fearful, a bloody and an unnatural one. + My opinions, therefore, are strong in proportion as my experience is + great. I have abstained on account of their appearing like preconceptions + from saying much to you yet, for I want to see more of this country, and + to be certain, that I am quite right before I speak. + </p> + <p> + “When you return, I will give you my views on some of the great questions + of the day. Don’t adopt them, hear them and compare them with your own. I + would have you think for yourself, for I am an old man now and sometimes I + distrust my powers of mind. + </p> + <p> + “The state of this country you, in your situation, ought to be thoroughly + acquainted with. It is a very perilous one. Its prosperity, its integrity, + nay its existence as a first-rate power, hangs by a thread, and that + thread but little better and stronger than a cotton one. <i>Quem Deus vult + perdere prius dementat</i>. I look in vain for that constitutional vigour, + and intellectual power, which once ruled the destinies of this great + nation. + </p> + <p> + “There is an aberration of intellect, and a want of self-possession here + that alarms me. I say, alarms me, for American as I am by birth, and + republican as I am from the force of circumstances, I cannot but regard + England with great interest, and with great affection. What a beautiful + country! What a noble constitution! What a high minded, intelligent, and + generous people! When the Whigs came into office, the Tories were not a + party, they were the people of England. Where and what are they now? Will + they ever have a lucid interval, or again recognise the sound of their own + name? And yet, Sam, doubtful as the prospect of their recovery is, and + fearful as the consequences of a continuance of their malady appear to be, + one thing is most certain, <i>a Tory government is the proper government + for a monarchy, a suitable one for any country, but it is the only one for + England</i>. I do not mean an ultra one, for I am a moderate man, and all + extremes are equally to be avoided. I mean a temperate, but firm one: + steady to its friends, just to its enemies, and inflexible to all. “When + compelled to yield, it should be by the force of reason, and never by the + power of agitation. Its measures should be actuated by a sense of what is + right, and not what is expedient, for to concede is to recede—to + recede is to evince weakness—and to betray weakness is to invite + attack. + </p> + <p> + “I am a stranger here. I do not understand this new word, Conservatism. I + comprehend the other two, Toryism and Liberalism. The one is a + monarchical, and the other a republican word. The term, Conservatism, I + suppose, designates a party formed out of the moderate men of both sides, + or rather, composed of Low-toned Tories and High Whigs. I do not like to + express a decided opinion yet, but my first impression is always adverse + to mixtures, for a mixture renders impure the elements of which it is + compounded. Every thing will depend on the preponderance of the wholesome + over the deleterious ingredients. I will analyse it carefully. See how one + neutralizes or improves the other, and what the effect of the compound is + likely to be on the constitution. I will request our Ambassador, Everett, + or Sam’s friend, the Minister Extraordinary, Abednego Layman, to introduce + me to Sir Robert Peel, and will endeavour to obtain all possible + information from the best possible source. + </p> + <p> + “On your return I will give you a candid and deliberate opinion.” + </p> + <p> + After a silence of some minutes, during which he walked up and down the + room in a fit of abstraction, he suddenly paused, and said, as if thinking + aloud— + </p> + <p> + “Hem, hem—so you are going to cross the border, eh? That northern + intellect is strong. Able men the Scotch, a little too radical in + politics, and a little too liberal, as it is called, in a matter of much + greater consequence; but a superior people, on the whole. They will give + you a warm reception, will the Scotch. Your name will insure that; and + they are clannish; and another warm reception will, I assure you, await + you here, when, returning, you again <i>Cross the Border</i>.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. THE IRISH PREFACE. + </h2> + <h3> + Gentle reader, + </h3> + <p> + If an Irishman were asked what a preface was, he would, without hesitation + reply, that it was the last chapter of a book, and we should + unquestionably pronounce that answer to be a bull; for how can prefatory + remarks be valedictory ones? A few moments’ consideration, however, would + induce us to withdraw such a hasty opinion, and convince us that his idea + is, after all, a correct one. It is almost always the part that is last + written, and <i>we</i> perpetrate the bull, by placing it at the beginning + instead of the end of the book, and denominating our parting words + introductory remarks. + </p> + <p> + The result of our arrangement is, that nobody reads it. The public do not + want to hear an apology or explanation, until it first ascertains, whether + the one can be accepted, or the other is required. This contemptuous + neglect arises from two causes, first because it is out of place, and + secondly because it too often contains a great deal of twaddle. + Unfortunately, one half of what is said in this world is unmeaning + compliment. A man who wishes to mark his respect for you, among other + inconvenient methods of shewing it, offers to accompany you to the Hall. + You are in consequence arrested in your progress. You are compelled to + turn on your pursuer, and entreat him not to come to the door. After a + good deal of lost time he is prevailed upon to return. This is not fair. + Every man should be suffered to depart in peace. + </p> + <p> + Now, it is my intention to adopt the Irish definition. The word preface is + a misnomer. What I have to say I shall put into my last chapter, and + assign to it its proper place. I shall also adopt another improvement, on + the usual practice. I shall make it as short as possible, and speak to the + point. + </p> + <p> + My intention then, gentle reader, was when I commenced this work, to write + but one volume, and at some future time to publish a second. The + materials, however, were so abundant, that selection became very + difficult, and compression much more so. To touch as many topics as I + designed, I was compelled to extend it to its present size, and I still + feel that the work is only half done. Whether I shall ever be able to + supply this deficiency I cannot say. I do not doubt your kind reception; I + have experienced too much indulgence and favour at your hands, to suppose + that you will withdraw it from one whom you have honoured with repeated + marks of approbation; but I entertain some fears that I shall not be able + to obtain the time that is necessary for its completion, and that if I can + command the leisure, my health will insist on a prior claim to its + disposal. + </p> + <p> + If, however, I shall be enabled so to do, it is my intention, hereafter to + add another series of the Sayings and Doings of the Attache, so as to make + the work as complete as possible. + </p> + <p> + I am quite confident it is not necessary to add, that the sentiments + uttered by Mr. Slick, are not designed either as an expression of those of + the author, or of the Americans who visit this country. With respect to + myself no disavowal is necessary; but I feel it due to my American + friends, for whose kindness I can never be sufficiently grateful, and + whose good opinion I value too highly to jeopardise it by any + misapprehension, to state distinctly, that I have not the most remote idea + of putting Mr. Slick forward, as a representative of any opinions, but his + own individual ones. They are peculiar to himself. They naturally result + from his shrewdness—knowledge of human nature—quickness of + perception and appreciation of the ridiculous on the one hand; and on the + other from his defective education, ignorance of the usages of society, + and sudden elevation, from the lower walks of life, to a station for which + he was wholly unqualified. + </p> + <p> + I have endeavoured, as far as it was possible, in a work of this kind, to + avoid all personal allusions to <i>private</i> persons, or in any way to + refer to scenes that may be supposed to have such a hearing. Should any + one imagine that he can trace any resemblance, to any private occurrence I + can only assure him that such resemblance is quite accidental. + </p> + <p> + On the other hand, I have lost no opportunity of inculcating what I + conceive to be good sound constitutional doctrines. Loyal myself, a great + admirer of the monarchical form of government; attached to British + Institutions, and a devoted advocate for the permanent connexion between + the parent State, and its transatlantic possessions, I have not hesitated + to give utterance to these opinions. Born a Colonist, it is natural I + should have the feelings of one, and if I have obtruded local matters on + the notice of the reader oftener than may be thought necessary, it must be + remembered that an inhabitant of those distant countries has seldom an + opportunity of being heard. I should feel, therefore, if I were to pass + over in silence our claims or our interests, I was affording the best + justification for that neglect, which for the last half century, has + cramped our energies, paralized our efforts, and discouraged and + disheartened ourselves. England is liberal in concessions, and munificent + in her pecuniary grants to us; but is so much engrossed with domestic + politics, that she will bestow upon us neither time nor consideration. + </p> + <p> + It has been my object, therefore, to convey to the public some important + truths, under a humorous cover, which, without the amusement afforded by + the wrapper would never be even looked at. + </p> + <p> + This portion of the work requires no apology. To do as I have done, is a + duty incumbent on any person who has the means of doing good, afforded him + by such an extensive circulation of his works, as I have been honoured + with. + </p> + <p> + I have already expressed some doubts whether I shall be enabled to furnish + a second series of this work or not. In this uncertainty, I will not omit + this, perhaps my only opportunity, of making my most grateful + acknowledgments, for the very great measure of indulgence I have received, + from the public on both sides of the Atlantic, and of expressing a hope + that Mr. Slick, who has been so popular as a Clockmaker may prove himself + equally deserving of favour as “an Attache.” + </p> + <p> + I have the honour to subscribe myself, + </p> + <p> + Your most obedient servant, + </p> + <p> + THE AUTHOR. + </p> + <p> + London, July 1st., 1843. + </p> + <p> + THE END. <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s The Attache, by Thomas Chandler Haliburton + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ATTACHE *** + +***** This file should be named 7823-h.htm or 7823-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/8/2/7823/ + +Produced by Gardner Buchanan, and David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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