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diff --git a/7821-h/7821-h.htm b/7821-h/7821-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..70b0668 --- /dev/null +++ b/7821-h/7821-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5700 @@ +<?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, Volume 1 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, Volume 1 + +Author: Thomas Chandler Haliburton + +Release Date: July 23, 2009 [EBook #7821] +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, Volume 1 + </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> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <p> + <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 /> + </p> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </td> + <td> + UNCORKING A BOTTLE + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </td> + <td> + A JUICY DAY IN THE COUNTRY + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </td> + <td> + TYING A NIGHT-CAP + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </td> + <td> + HOME AND THE SEA + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </td> + <td> + T’OTHER EEND OF THE GUN + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </td> + <td> + SMALL POTATOES AND FEW IN A HILL + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a> + </td> + <td> + A GENTLEMAN AT LARGE + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> + </td> + <td> + SEEING LIVERPOOL + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a> + </td> + <td> + CHANGING A NAME + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a> + </td> + <td> + THE NELSON MONUMENT + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a> + </td> + <td> + COTTAGES + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a> + </td> + <td> + STEALING THE HEARTS OF THE PEOPLE + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a> + </td> + <td> + NATUR’ + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> + </td> + <td> + THE SOCDOLAGER + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a> + </td> + <td> + DINING OUT + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <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> + <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 7821-h.htm or 7821-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/8/2/7821/ + +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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