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Lorsque le document est trop grand pour Atre reproduit en un seul cllchA, II est filmA A partir de Tangle supArieur gauche, de geuche A droite, et de haut en has, en prenant le nombre d'images nAcesselre. Les disgrammes sulvants illustrent la mAthode. ta ure. : 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 r\ THE ATTACH^; OB, SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. BT TBI ACTHOS OF "SAM BUCK THE OLOOEHAEEB," "NATURE ADTD HUMAN NATURE," "SAM SLIOK IN 8BAR0H OF A WIFE," "the old judge," etc. Duplex libelll doa eit ; qnod riinm m«>T«t, Et qnod pradenti vitam conailio monet. NEW REVISED EDITION. NEW YORK: STRINGER & TOWNSEND. 1866. IP ni'j/iTA :inr ,!| A » f\ U I 4. 1\- / r, ;: .1 rKIITTID BV B. IT. OROMVAjr, 8S * M BMkiua ai ■^ ■'■••**^«;ivy r-r^JAK sirr ■*■ ".it-f^'i CONTENTS. -' '• '•""' •^^•?'« / tKCOKKINO A BOTTLS .'V 1 \c CHAPTER I CHAPTER H. 4 • • i mCV DAY IN THB COUIfTHT . CHAPTER m. ^YINO A NIOHT-OAP . cHAiPwaiiv. ttOXK AND THB 8BA ^ ; .. ■ CHAPTER V. VOTHXB EEMu Of THB OCN ; .r. <»IAPTER V!. SMALL POTATOES AND PKW IN A HILL {J CHAPTER Vn. A OINTLXIIAN AT LAROX SIBING LITXBPOOL OHANOINO A NAMB CHAPTER Vin. CHAPTER IX. "C'.K • 11 16 . 30 . 34 40 . 41 ■'■:<-i\ Si ;;:...-;:ETEB . . . . . ^^ CHAPTER XLVI. BBPEAL . • ' . . . • . . SS64 CHAPTER XLVII. THE H0B8B STEALER', OR AtL TRADES HAVfe TRICSS BUT OUR OWN . 267 CHAPTER XLVIII. THE PLEASUaSB OF HOPE .' . .' . . '. ' Hfi >\.v?; .•>^afe' OOMl'DPIB. JK GHAFTEai XUX. Mll*T t LOOK PALBI OB, THE IBON OQD ... >. MB .; >OHAFTBR I., nn coLONUL orrios . . .... . M4 . OHAFTER U. BAkNBT OZMAN AND THB DBTII. ... , . . SSS CHAPTER UI. BttQDIATION ....... • B98 CHAPTER LHL MB BAOKLOO, QB C00LMBS8 . . . . . 498 CHAPTER LIV. ^ MABBIAOB ........ 800 CHAPTER LV. ^^ PATINO AND BBTUBNINO VISITS . . . * . 304 CHAPTER LVI. THB CANADIAN BXILB.-— PABT I. ..... 809 CHAPTER LVH. THB CANADIAN BZILB. — ^PABT U. ..... . 313 CHAPTER LVni. \. WATERING PLACES ....... 817 CHAPTER LIX. THE BABL OF TUNBBIDSB ....... 824 CHAPTER LX. ENGLISH OENTLEKBN . . i . . . 838 CHAPTER LXI. ENGLISH NIGOEBS . • . . . . . 883 i* OONTINTS. CHAPTER LXU. IMDinifDiNOB \N ran ibb tidi CHAPTER LXIIi. CHAPTER Lxnr. BZnBIintlfTAL PHILOSOPHY CHAPTER LXV. PAKTINO lOBNB 848 348 858 CHAPTER LXVL """^▼ALBDIOTOBT ADOBBIB ....... 86V < /•:. ;vaV/ At, I .i-TM.;.-, THE ATTACHE; OB, SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND CHAPTER I. UNCORKING A BOTTLE. We left New Yprk 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 Attach^. I love brevity — I am a man of few words, and, therefore, oonsti- tuti(«ally economical of them ; but brevity is apt to degenenite into obscurity. Writing a book, however, and book-making, are two very different things. *' Spinning a yam " is mechanical, and book-mak- ing savors 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 bestow- ed on a book. A man, who writes thus, can write for ever. 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 n- IS THE ATTACH^; OB, greater part of his life in a colony is so accustomed to it, that he becomes quite enamored of it, and, wrapping himself up in it as a cloak, stalks abroad the " observed of all observers." I could un- dervalue this species of writing if I thought proper, affect a con- tempt for idiomatic humor, or hint at the employment being incon- sistent with the grave discharge of important official duties, which are so distressingly onerous, as not to leave me a moment for recrea- tion ; 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. In the year one thousand eight hundred and fourteen, I embarked at Halifax, on board the * Buffalo,' store-ship, for £ngland. 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, quorum parva pars fuL a youngster just emerged from college. On the banks of Newfoundland, we were becalmed, and the pas- sengers 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 execrate. 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. 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 everybody else had done, and might, by accident, shoot better. " Give me a gun. Captain," said I, " and I will show you how to uncork that bottle." I took the musket, but its weight was beyond my stitength of artn. 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 into the air a full yard, and then disappeared. I was amazed myself at my success. Everybody was surprised, but as everybody 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-Hke, I became a boaster. " Ah," said I, coolly, " you must be bom with a rifle in your hand, Captain, to shoot well. Everybody shoots well in America. I do not call myself a good shot. I have not had the requisite ex- SAM SLICK IN ENOLAND. 18 which rour ica. ex- perience ; but there are those who can take but the eje of a squirrel at a hundred yards.'* " Can you see the eye of a squirrel at that distance?" said the Captain, with a knowing wink of his own little ferret eye. That question, which raised a general laugh at my expense, was a puzzler. The absurdity of the story, which I had heard a thou- sand times, never struck me so forcibly. But I was not to be put down so easily. " See it 1" 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 doubt- ed 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 large mark like a quart bottle can easily be hit at a hundred yards — that is nothing." " I will take you a bet," said he, *' of a doubloon, you do not do it again." " Thank you," I replied, with great indiflference : " I never bet, and, besides, that gun has so injured my shoulder, that I could not, if I would." 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 bit 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 ft right to their opinion, and that opinion is fame. J value this repu- tation too highly not to take care of it. As I do not intend, then, to write often, I shall not wiredraw 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 pastiy-cook's apprentice, I see so much of both the sweet things around me daily, that I have no ap- petite for either of them. I might, perhaps, be pardoned, if I took it for granted, that the dramatis personse 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 un- known to fame, and then leave them to speak for themselves. The Reverend Mr. Hopewell is a very agcc'. clergyman of the u THB attaohI:; ob, 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 hun his dismissal. Afiable in his manners, and simple in his habits, with a mind well stored with human lore, and a heart fuU of kindness for his fellow-creatures, he wa$> at once an agreeable and an instruc- tive companion. Born and educated in the United States, when they were British dependencies, and possessed of a thorough know- ledge 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. Mr. Samuel Slick is a native of the same parish, and received his education from Mr. Hopewell. I first became acquainted with him I while travelling in Nova Scotia. He was then a manufacturer and I vendor of wooden cloj»».v ,j^^'^^ Mtao fiv^fiova £v/ifrorqv. .\>i sufficiently expkuns 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 pri^ege of exemption in right of that hospitality, through whose mediiun they have been alone exhibited. Public topics are public property; everybody 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 dis- tinction is alike obvious to good sense and right feeling. I have endeavored to keep it constantly in view ; and if at any time I shall be supposed to have erred (I say " supposed," for 1 am unconscious of having done so) I must claim the indulgence always granted to involuntary offences. 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, haviug been already quite long enough about " uncorking a bottle." '!(/■..•- O •••a tf'* .' CHAPTER II. ■' M •' .'. m>^y ' ■•: ^> • '..'l.;!).., A JUICY DAY IN THE COUNTRY. ^M' f , . ' , .. 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 everybody on board the ferry-boat that transported us across the harbor. ** 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, / know. Take a fool's advise, 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 16 THE ATTACHij; OR, i unirarse, 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 Eng^ land, 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 for- get a juicy day I once spent in one of them dismal old places. I'll tell you how I came to be there. ^'" ' " 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 to 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'U be very glad to see you to Norman Manor,' (that was the place where he staid, when he was to home). • If you will re- turn with me, I shall be glad to show you the country in my neigh- borhood, which is said to be considerable pretty.' " * Well,* says I, ' as I have nothin' above particular to see to, I don't care if I do go.' " 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. " 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.' " 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 j, 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. " Well, I had hardly got well housed a'most, afore it came on to rain, as if it was in rael right down aimest. 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 it would stop till it was done, that's a fact. But still, as it was too late to go out again that artemoon, 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. ■ ■ •■. *"v. *»* SAM SLICK Iir ENGLAND. it " A wet day is considerable tiresome, any vrhhre 6t any 1*r^y you can fix it ; but it's wus at an English country-house thani«ny where else, cause you are among strangers, formal, cold, gallus polite, and as thick in the head-piece as a puncheon. Tou 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 i^ left, and, then, go to the winder and see how the sky looks, and whether there is any chance of holdin' np or no. Well, that time I went to bed a little airlier than common, for I felt con- siderable sleepy, and considerable strange, too; so, as soon as I cleverly could, I off and turned in. " 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 again 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. " ' Hallo !' says I to myself, * what in natur is all this hubbub about ? Can this here confounded old house be hamted ? 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 Mead 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.' " So, I jist hops out of bed, and feels for my trunk, and outs with my talkin' irons, that was all r^ady loaded, pokes my way to the winder — shoves the sash up and outs with the shutter, ready to let slip among 'cm. 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.' " * 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, / know.' But they was pets, was them rooks, and of course like all pets, everlastin' nui- sances to everybody else. ' '■ 18 THB ATTACH^; OB, ** Well, when a man's in a feeze, there's no more sleep that hitch ; so I dres^s and sits up ; but what was I to do ? It was jist half- past four, and as it was a rainin' like everything, I knowed break- &st 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. " 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. " ' Aint 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 8coldin' 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' I sinner, it was only five o'clock ; ' oh dear,' sais I, ' time is like a ^ woman and pigs, he more you want it to go, the more it won't. What on airth shall I do ? — guess, I '11 strap my rasor.' " Well, I strapped and strapped avay, 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 '11 mend my trowsers I tore, a goin' to see the ruin on* the road yesterday ;" so I takes out Sister Sail's little ceedle-case, and sows away till I got them to look con- siderable jam agin ; * and then,' sais I, ' here's a gallus button off, I '11 jist fix that,' and when that was done, there was a hole to my yam sock, so I turned too and darned that. " ' 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 I sakes,' sais I, * five hours and a quarter yet afore feedin' time ; well if that don't pass. What shall I dv/ next ?' * I'll teU 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 busi- ness have they to keep them horrid screetchin' infernal 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 you. I don't know as I ever enjoyed one half so much afore. It had a rael first chop 4avor had that cigar. "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.' " 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. " Well, smokin' makes a feller feel kinder good-natured, and I SAM SLICK m ENGLAND. A* « began.to think it wara'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 gaily nipper. Both my eyes was fiU'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 infernal neck off, that's a fact. '< 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 notlun' but water, and wink, and make faces. But I did ; I worked on and worked on, till all was sot rght once more. " ' Now,* sais I, * how's time ?' ' half-past seven,' sais I, * and three liours 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 * 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 re- collect that Mr. Slick is a Yankee, 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. " The United States cover an unmensd' 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 in different countries usually do. These sections differ also in dialect and in humor, 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 ruraZ districts of New England. His conversation is generally purely so ; but in some instances he uses, as his coun- trymen 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 dissimi- lar 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 neighbors. The dry, quaint humor of New England is occasionally found in the west, and the rich gasconade and exaggerative language of the west mi- 20 THB attach!:; OB, cowardly/ sais I, * call the footman, pick a quarrel with him, and i&ick 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 know, and then we shall have sunthin' to eat/ " 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. ' Ck)me,' sais I ' now for a walk down the avenue, and a com- fortable 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. ** 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.' ' ** So I stops and studies, ^ that's it,' sais I, and I opens a door : it was a bed-room — ^it w^ the likely chambermaid's. " * Softly, Sir,' sais she, a puttin' of her finger on her lip, * d(m't Oiake no noise ; Missus will hear you.' " * Yes,' sais I, ' I won't make no noise ;' and I outs and shuts the door too arter me gently. " * 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 con- flastrigated,' 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. *' * Ain't this too bad?' sais I ; ' I wish I could open a man's door, rd 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. " ♦ Any thing I can do for you. Sir ?* sais she, and she raelly did look pretty; all good-natured people, it appears to me, do look so. ■•:■'] - '-r ; i grates 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 lan- guage of the country." — 3d iSert«», p. 142. BAM 8LI0K nr ENGLAND. 21 ** * Will 70a be so good as to tell vne, which door leads to the staircase, Mann ? sais I. ^ < 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 J 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. ^ 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 chattered away with them for a considerable of a spell about matters and things in general, and then turned towards the house agin.' ' Hallo V sais I, * what's this ? wam't that a drop of rain ?' I looks up, it was another chower, by Gosh. I puUs foot for dear life : it was taU walking you may depend, but the shower wins, (comprehensive as my legs be), and down it c(»nes, as hard as all posset. * 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. ««What,Sir?' SAM SLICE IN ENOLAND. i>»». V 1 i ** ' That woke them confounded rooks up, out o' their fust nap, and kick't up Buch a bobbery. Where is the Parson ?* "♦Which one, Sir?' « * The one that's so fond of fishing.' "♦Ain'tupyet, Sir.' '■ -^ ' < • • • " * Well, the old boy, that wore breeches?* - . ** • Out on a sick visit to one of the cottages, sir.* •' " -' ■ • • " *■ When he comes in, send him to me : I'm shocking sick.* "■ With that, I goes to look arter the two pretty galls in tba draw- ing 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 wam't wanted there, it wam't the custom so airly ; so, I polled out o' that creek, stam first. They don't like men in the momin', in England, do the ladies ; they think 'em in the way. " What, on airth, shall I do ?' says I, < it's nothin' but rain, rain, rain, rain, here — in this awful dismal country. Nobody smokes, nobody ta^s, 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.' «* Waiter?' «,,*., ^ *■ Galls don't like to be tree'd here of a momin', do they T «*Sir?' " < 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 ?' "'Yes, Sir.' " ' It puts me in mj"d,' says I, * of the old seals down to Sable Island — ^you know where Sable Isle is, don't you ?* " ' Yes, Sir, it's in the cathedral down here.* ' " ' No, no, not that, it's an island on the coast of Nova Scotia. You know where that is, sartainly ?' " * I never heard of it. Sir.' '• - ' « * Well, Lord love you ! you know what an old seal is?* " * Oh, yes. Sir, I'll get you my master's in a moment.* « And oflf he sot full chisel. " 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. " So, I goes up Ptairs, as slowly as I cleverly could, jist liftin' one foot arter anothei as if it had a fifty-six tied to it, on puppus to spend time ; lit a cigar, opened the window nearest the rooks, and 24 THB ATTACHi!; OB, Bmoked ; 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 cata- mount, and as dull as a bachelor beaver. So, I trampousses off to the stable ; and, sais I to the head man, * A smart little boss that,'' sais I, ' you are a cleaning of; he looks like a first chop article that' " ' Y mae',' sais he. "* * Hullo,' says I, ' wl.at 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.' " So, I sais to him, ^ He looks,' says I, ' as if he'd trot a consider* able good stick, that horse,' sais I, ' I guess he is a goer.' " < Y' mae, ye un trotter da,' sais he. " ' Creation I' sais I, * if this don't beat ginend trainin'. I have hcerd, in my time, broken French, broken Scotch, broken Irish, broken Yankee, broken Nigger, and broken Indgin; but I have beam two pure genewine languages to-day, and no mistake, real 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. " Now, what do you think he said ? Why, you would suppose he'd say good-dye, 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 am't often I'm brought to a dead stare, and when I am, I am willin' to pay for it.' " There's two languages, Squire, that's univarsal : the language of love, and the language of money ; the galls onderstand the (me, and the men onderstand the other, all the wide world over, fix>m 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. ^ 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 Bepublic, 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 Uvin' 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 heem tell of. Yes, we can't speak English, do you take ?' ' Dim comrag,' says he, which in Yankee means, ' that's no English,' and be stood, looked puzzled, and scratched his head, rael honsum, 'Dim comrag,' sais he. ^ Well, it made me larf spiteful. I felt kinder wicked, and as I had a hat on, and I couldn't scratch my head, I stood jist like him, clown fashion, with my eyes wonderin' and my mouth wide open, WM SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 25 and put my hand behind mc, 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." ** Such a pair o' fools you never saw. Squire, since the last time you shaved afore a lookin' glass ; and the stable boys lari'ed, and he larfed, and I larfed, and it was the only larf I had all that juicy day. " 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.' " So I goes there : ' Squire,* sais I, * let me offer you a rael genewine Havana cigar ; I can reconimend 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 writin', I won't interrupt him. ^ Waiter, order me a post-chaise, to be here in the momin', when the rooks wake.' "* Yes, Sir,' " Come, m 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 on such a day as this. One on 'em blushes like a red cabbage, when she speaks to me, that's the one, I leckon, I disturbed this momin.' Cuss the rooks 1 I'll pyson them, and that won't make no noise. " 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 lifls 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. ** Next time, she goes first, and then it's my turn, * Stop, Miss,' sais X, ' your frock has this rose tree over,' and I loosens it ; once more, ' Miss, this rose has got tangled,' and I entangles it from her furbeloes. "I wonder what makes my ban J shake so, and my heart it bumps so, it has bust a button off. If I stay in this consarvitery, X 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 Heaven*! I shall escape from myself, and from this beautiful critter, too, for I'm gettin' spoony, and shall talk silly presently. " I don't like to be left alone with a gall, its plaguy apt to set me a soft sawderiu' and a courtin'. There's a sort of nateral attraction 2 lET I pp jm ■ II 26 THE ATTACH^ ; OR, like in this world. Two siiips in a calm, are sure to get up along- side 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 sartin. 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 dinaer-oell, for I ain't ready to marry yet, and when I am, I guess I must get a gall where I got my boss, in Old Connecticut, and that state takes the shine off all creation for geese, galls, and onions, that's a fact. " "Well, dinner won't wait, so I ups agin once more near the rooks, to brush up a bit ; but there it is again, 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 buskin' my voice, for there is no one to talk to ; but cuss it, it has softened my bones. " 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 no musick; the only thing that's light is a bed-room candid- heavens and airth how glad I am tins Juicy day is over I" CHAPTER III TYING A NIGHT-CAP. In the preceding sketch I have given Mr. Slick's account of the English climate, and his opinion of the dullness of a countryrhouse, as nearly as possible in his own words. It struck me at the time that they were exaggerated views ; but if the weather was unpro- pitious, and the company not well selected, I can easily conceive, that the impression on his mind would be as strong and unfavorable, as he has described it to have been. 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 SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 27 country dull, is not to be wondered at ; it is probable it wou^d 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 ap- pear to have been the best calculated to make the state of the weather a matter of indifference to him. 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 land- scape. With respect to my own visits at country-houses, I have generally been fortunate in the weather, and always in the com- pany ; but I can easily conceive, that a man situated as Mr. Slick appears to have been with respect to both, would find the combina- tion intolerably dull. But to return to my narrative. J^arJ' on the following day we accompanied our luggage to the wharf, where a small steamer lay to convey us to the usual anchor- age ground of the packets, in the bay. We were attended by a large concourse of people. The piety, learning, unaffected sim- plicity, 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. "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 ?" " 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." "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 num- bers. You understand me, Sam, don't you ?" " 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 1" said he, "to be sure I do. I have been that way often and often. That was the case when I was to Lowell 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, aU talkin' and ohatterin' at once, you couldn't hear no blessed one- of them ; and they jist fairly stunned a feller. For nothm' in natur*, unless it be perpetual mo- 28 THE ATTACHE: OR tion, can equal a woman's tongue. It's most a pity we hadn't some of the angiliferous little dears with us too, for they do make the time pass quick, that's a fact. I want some one on 'em to tie a night-cap for me to-night ; 1 don't commonly wear one, but I somehow kinder guess, I intend to have one this time, and no mistake." " A night-cap, Sam !" said he. " Why, what on auth do you mean ?" " Why, I'll tell you, minister," said he. " You recollect sister Sail, don't you ?" " Indeed I do," said he ; " and an excellent girl she is : a dutiful daughter, and ^ kind and affectionate sister. Yes, she is a good girl, is Sally, a very good girl indeed ; but what of her ?" *' Well, she was a most a beautiful critter, to brew a glass of whisky toddy, as ever I see'd in all my travels, was sister Sail, and I used to call that tipple, when I took it latfe, 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, igno- rant, insolent foreigners, you wouldn't object to a night-cap, now would you ?" " Well, I don't know as I would, Sam," said he ; " parting from friends, whether temporarily 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 keep- ing, who rules the wind and the waves : to Him who — " " Well, then, minister, what a dreadful awful-looking thing a night-cap is without a tatsel, 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 oft* 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, minis- ter, what an everlastin' miserable stingy, ongenteel critter a feller must be, that won't drink to the health of the Female Brewer I 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." " Oh, Sam, Sam !" said Mr. Hopewell, " for a man that is wide awake and duly sober, I never saw one yet that talked such non- sense as you do. You said you understood me, but you don't, one mite or morsel ; but men are made difterently : some people's «« SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 29 narves operate on the brain aensitiveli/, 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 sue-" cession, 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 is a last fare- well. 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 lain with my kindred, to repose in death with those that were the com- panions 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.' " 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 honor 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 feel- ing. 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. " 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." Having thus engaged him in conversation with his friends, we proceeded on board the steamer, which, in a short time, was along- side of the great '< Liner." The day was now spent, and Mr. \ •< \ A 80 THE AlTACHt; OB, Hopewell having taken leave of his escort, retired to his cabin, very much overpowered by his feelings. ' 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. As soon a^ they had gone, l^fr. Slick ordered materials for brew- ing, 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 : " Come now, Squire, before we turn in, let us tie the nightcap,'* CHAPTER IV. HOME AND THE SEA. 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 tlie highlands still met the eye, appearing as if they had advanced to the very edge of the water, to prolong thw view of us till the last moment. 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 bom in a British province in this hemisphere. I there* fore sympathized with the feelings of my two companions, whose straining eyes were still fixed on those dim and distant specks in the horizon. " 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 oader the sun ; travel where you will, SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 81 you won't ditto it no where. It is the toplofliest place in all crea- tion, ain't it, minister ?" There was no response to all this bombast. It was evident he had not been heard ; and turning to Mr. Hopewell, I observed hi§ eyes were fixed intently on the distance, and his mind pre-occupied by painful reflections, for tears were coursing after each other down his furrowed but placid cheek. " 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 everything 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 you. Try to cheer him up, and I will go down below and give you a chance." 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 yoUj 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 exuber- ance of his spirits. I own I am depressed at times ; it is natural I should bC) but I shall endeavor not to be the cause of sadness in others. I not only like cheerfulness myself, but I like to pro- mote 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 everything around him? Sour sectarians, who address our fears, rather than our affections, may say what they please. Sir, 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 ^ laves his home at a period of life, when the probabilities are, he may not be spared to revisit it. '' 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 stiU warm, while "^f^PW^^)^P»WW"«"1P'^^ nmtm . 82 THE ATTACHi;; OR, his nerves are weak, and whose affections are greater than his firm- ness. But I weary you with this egotism ?" "Not at all," I replied, "I am both instructed and delighted by your conversation. Pray proceed. Sir." " Well, it is kind, very kind of you," said he, ""Xo say so. I will explain these sensations to you, and then endeavor 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 forop 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 s^ise, to be our home also. " 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,* she said, ^ among mine own people.' What a characteristic answer ! all history furnishes no parallel to it. " I too dwell * amonp; my own people i my affections are there, and there aV » a sphere of my duties; and if I am depressed .:D by the tb justice V- } i" , witness tb. u).:cr". " But thi" i;; •' ng from * my people,' I will do you the cu would rather bear with its effects, than ch natural affection. sole cause : independently of some afflic- tions of a clerical nature in my late parish, to which it is not neces- sary 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 SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 8& comet in the firmament, to the flower that blossoms in the field ; in all animate, and inanimate matter ; in all that is animal, vegetablti or mineral, I see His infinite wisdom, aLaighty power, and ever- lasting glory. *' 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 connection 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 I one. When man was formed, the voice of the ocean was heard, as j it now is, speaking of its mysteries, and proclaiming His glory, who I alone lifteth its waves, or stilleth the rage thereof. " 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 : I gold or blood is their object, and the fear of God is not always in I them. Yet the sea shall give up its dead, as well as the grave ; I and all shall " But it is not my intention to preach to you. To intrude seri- i ous topics upon our friends at all times, has a tendency to make both ourselves and our topics distasteful. I mention these things to i 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. " 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 sensi- bly your kindnecjR in soUciting my company on this tour, and will endeavor 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.' " 2* -I 84 THE ArrAOH^; ob, CHAPIER V. T'OTHER EEND OF THE GUN. ** Squibe," 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 con- cerned 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 trafiic in clocks, rather as profita- ble 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. " He has been reading that foolish book of Cooper's * Gleanings in Europe,' iind intends to show fight, he says. He called my at- tention, yesterday, to this absurd passage, which he maintains is the most manly and sensible thing that Cooper ever wrote: 'This indif- ference to the feelings of others is a dark spot on the national man- ners 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 retort''d in kind, if there was the smallest opening for such retaliation.' ** Now, every gentleman in the States repudiates such sentiments as these. My object in mentioning the subject to you, is to request the favor 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 behavior. But here he comes : I shall withdraw, and leave you together." " Fortunately, Mr. Slick commenced talking upon a topic which SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 85 naturally led to that to which Mr. Hopewell had wished me to durect his attention. " Well, Squire," said he, " I am glad, too, you are a goin' to £ngland along with me : we will ti^e a rise out of John Bull, won't we ? "We've hit Blue-nose and Brother Jonathan hoth pretty ^ considerable tarnation hard, and John has split his sides with larfter. > Let's tickle him now, by feelin' his own short ribs, and see how he will liko 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." " What is the meaning of that saying ?" I asked. " I never heard it before." " Why," said he, " when I was a considerable of a growd 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 chat- terin' 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. " Well, one day I was out as usual, and our Irish help. Faddy 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 1 the squirrel has no chance with that gun — it's an excellent one entirely.* " 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 entirely, as you say ; ain't there a little dust of skill in it ? Do you think you could fetch one down?* " * Oh, it's a capital gun entirely,* said he. " * Well,' said I, * if it 'tis, try it now, and see what sort of a fist you'll make of it.' " 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 anything, chee, chee, chee, proper frightened ; he know*d it wam'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 wam't the man to handle * Old Bull-Dog.' I used to call my rifle Bull- Dog, 'cause she always bit afore she barked. "■ Pat threw one foot out astam, like a skuUin* oar, and then bent forrards like a hoop, and fetched the rifle slowly up to the line, and shot to the right eye. Ghee, chee, chee, went the squirrel. He see'd it was wrong. * By the powers !' sais Pat, ' this is a left-hand- ed boot,* and he brought the gun to the other shoulder, and then II "^JiWWI r 11 'II TH^ ATTACHi;; OR, shot to his left eye. ' Fegs !' sais Pat, * thia gun was made for a squint eye, for I can't get a right strait sight of the critter, either Bide.' So I fixt it for him and told him which eye to sight by. * An excellent gun entirely,' says Pat, * but it tante made like the rifles we have.* "Ain't they strange critters, the in Irish, Squire? That feller never handled a rifle afore in all liis bom 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 everything. " * 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. Ghee, 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. " ' By the piper that played before Moses I' 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. " ' 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.' " 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 I then : let's see if they will sing out chee, chee, chee, now, when we take a shot at them. 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.** SAM SLICK nt ENGLAND. 87 " Pardon me, Mr. Slick," I said, ** this is not the temper with which you should visit England." " 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 nattW, 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. Ko ! 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 'tamal 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 honored him ; did he honor us ? What did he say of us when he returned ? Read his book. • >• " 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 again 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 note-book 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 rafl 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. " But it tante no matter. Let any man give me any sarce in England, about my country, or not give me the right /position in society, as Attache to our Legation, and, as Cooper says, I'll be- come 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 down through some o' their jackets, I know. " Jube, you infamal black scoundrel, you odoriferous nigger you, what's that you've got there ?" " An apple, massa." " 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." Then taking a pistol out of the side-pocket of his mackintosh, he deliberately walked over to the other side of the deck, and exam- ined his priming. " Good heavens, Mr. Slick !" said I in great alarm, " what are you about ?" '^ I am goin'," he said with the greatest coolness, but at the same HWI||lki|i 'fy^r^-mrw^^vr' 1 68 THB ATTAOHi; OB, time with equal sternness, "to bore a hole through that apple, Sir." ** For shame, Sir I" I said. " How can you think of such a thing ? Suppose you were to miss your shot, and kill that unfortu- nate boy?" ** 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 oncarcumcised Amalikite ain't worth over three hundred dollars at the fardest, that's a fact ; and the way he'd pyson a shark ain't no matter. Are you ready, Jube ?" " Yes, massa." " 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 vou. You ought to be ashamed of your- self. Sir." ^ 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 ob de squirrel so slick, he neber miss it, till he go scratchin' his head. Let him appel hab it, massa." " 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 tlie bottle as a lord's has; oh, him and a Britisher is all one bro- ther—oh, by all means— Him fader's hope — him mudder's joy, Him darlin little nigger boy. 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 we'll soon see whether her father was a taUcin' 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." " 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 con- duct has evinced a kind heart, and cheerful disposition, could have entertained such a revengeful spirit, or given utterance to such un- christian and uncharitable language, as you have used to-day. We part—" "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 bade. I won't SAM 8LI0K IN SHOLAKD. 8d deny IVe got some grit, but I ain't ugly. Fnt me on the back and I soon cool down, drop in a soft word and f. ivon't bile over ; but don't talk big, don't threaten, or I curl directly." "Mr. Slick," said I, "neither my countrjrmen, the Nova Sco- tians, nor your friends the Americans, took anything 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 showing them up, but were incidental to the topic we were discussing, and their whole tenor showed that while we were alive to the ludicrous, we fully appreciated, and properly valued their many excellent and sterling qualities. My country- men, for whose good I published them, had the most reason to com- plain, for I took the liberty to apply ridicule to them with no sparing hand. They urrderstood 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. K 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 endeavor to offend neither. If Dickens omit- ted to mention the festivals that were given in honor 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 hb own book.** " 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'rhaps is, seeln' 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 J am dubersome whether he will say *chee, chee, chee,' when he gets 't'other eend of the gun.'" ^«fag||iP^fqpiPPnm«^npV for everlastinly a cringin', fawnin', And coaxin', or snarlin', grum- blin*, 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 infar- nal 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. " The only thing you get for nothin' here is rain and smoke, the xumatiz, and scorny airs. If you would buy an Englishman at what he was worth, and sell him at his own valiation, he would realize 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. Fat ain't no better nother ; he ain't SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. a 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 genuwine free and enlightened citizens, and then I wouldn't swap without large boot, I tell you. Guess I'll go, and pack up my fixins, and have 'em ready to land." 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 instruc- tion. The pilot was immovable ; he let the cause against his coun- try 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 favorable to the Attache. 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 feeUngs of curiosity and admiration, until a thick volume of sulphureous smoke from the copper furnaces of Anglesey intercepted our view. ^ Squire," said he, '* it is impossible for us to contemplate this country, that t-"'" 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 stUl continue to do so in the provinces. Our nursery tales taught our infant lips to lisp in English, and the ballads, that first exercised onr memories, stored the mind with the traditions of our forefathers ; their litera- ture was our literature, their religion our religion, their history our history. The battle of Hastings, the murder of Becket, the signa- ture of Bimymede, the execution at Whitehall ; the divines, the poets, the orators, the heroes, the martyrs, each and all were familiar to us. " In approaching this country now, after a lapse of many, many years, and approaching it too for the last time, tor 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 kuoweth me no more. Great and good, and brave ll» UPM PfPilHJPMUHiii^Pili iiHIWqwiV^pWIMff^ 44 THE ATTACH^; OB, and free are the English ; and may God grant that they may ever continue so !" " I cordially join in that prayer, Sir," said I. " You have a country of your own. The old colonies having ripened into matu- rity, formed a distinct and separate family, in the great community of mankind. You are now a nation of yourselves, and your attach- ment to England is of course subordinate to that of your own coun- try ; you view it as a 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 ex- pression. 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 funds, has for years supplied the Church, the Bar, and the Legislature with scholars and gentlemen. Where national assistance has failed, private contribution has volunteered its aid, and means are never wanting for any useful or beneficial object. " Our condition is a most enviable one. The history of the world has no example to offer of such noble disinterestedness and such liberal '•lie, as that exhibited by Great Britain to her colonies. If the polic^ 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 connection, we, 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 of 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." " Minister," said Mr. Slick, who had just mounted the compan- ion-ladder, " will your honor," touching his hat, " jist look at your honor's plunder, and see it's all right ; remember me. Sir ; thank your honor. This way. Sir ; let me help your honor down. Re- member me again. Sir. Thank your honor. Now you may go and break your neck, your honor, 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 Eng- lish 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 ?" " The Secretary of the Colonies," I said. SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 45 fear tually east, and the your give from ipan- your lank Be- go I've ;lish, Ing- was I'of " 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'rhaps, than he can afford. John Russell, that had the ribbons afore him, ap- pointed 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 may 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 ster- ling, your honor.' 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 and 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. " No, don't send State-Secretary to Minister, send him to me at eleven o'clock to-night, for I shall be the top-loftiest feller above 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." He then uttered the negro ejaculation, " Chah ! — chah I" and putting his arms a-kimbo, danced in a most extraordinary style to the music of a song, which he gave with great expression : *' Oh hab you neber heerd ob de battle ob Orleans, "Where de dandy Yankee lads gave de Britishers de beans 1 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. " Oh yes, send Secretary to me at eleven or twelve to-night — I'll be in tune then, jist about up to consart 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 anything 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 honor? Don't forget the tip?' Lord, how I long to walk into some o' these chaps, and give 'em the beans ! and I will 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 !— thah 1 " 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 dey. Wee my zippy dooden dooden dooden, dooden dooden dey. 46 THE attachA; or, I " Yes, Tve been pent up in that drawer-like lookin' berth, till I've growed like a pine-tree with its branches oflf — straight up and down. My legs is like a pair o' compasses that's got wet ; tliey are rusty on the hinges, and won't work. I'll play leap-frog up the street, over every feller's head, till I get to the Liner's Hotel ; I hope I may be shot if I don't. Jube, you villain, stand still there on the deck, and hold stiff, you nigger. Warny once — ^wamy twice — wamy three times ; now I come." And he ran forward, and putting a hand on each shoulder, jumped over him. " Turn round agin, you young sv ^king Satan, you ; and don't give one mite or morsel, or you i:;i; ' break massa's precious i eck,' p'rhaps. Wamy once — wainj •>- '"amy three times." And he repeated the feat agR" . " That's the way I'll shin it up street, with a hop, skip, and a jump. "Won't I make Old Bull njsc whe.' '*-'^ finds his head under my coat tails, and me jist makiu' a le.cr oi h-m? He'll think he has run foul of a snag, /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 ain'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 ?' " « What, Sir ?" " * Tread on my foot.' « * I didn't. Sir.' " * 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 bar-maid, about the quickest and wickedest she ever heerd tell of, and then off to bed as sober as a judge. ' Chamber-maid, bring a pan of coals and air my bed.* * Yea, Sir.' FoUer 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 ' Gentleman at large' " SAM SLICE IN ENGLAND. 47 >,)« :^m CHAPTER VIII. SEEING LIVERPOOL. 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. But this observation is more peculiarly applicable to a short pas- sage 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 evi- dence of our own senses. Who is there that, on landing, has not asked himself the ques- tion, " Is it possible that I am in England ? It seems but as yes- terday that I was in America, to-day I am in Europe. Is it a dream, or a reality ?" 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 imper- ceptibly, 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 colors — no dissolving views in the retrospect — ^no open- ing or expanding ones in prospect. I have no difficulty in ascer- taining the point where one terminates and the other begins. 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 sud- denly 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 Eng- land, that place I was taught to call home par excellence^ the liome 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 48 THE ATTACHfi; OK, 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 ? I have read of it, so have I read of old Rome ; but the sight of Rome, Cajsar, and the Senate, would not astonish me more than that of London, the Queen and the Parliament Both are yet ideal ; the imagination ha3 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 love old England. 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 viola- ting nature by attempting to make men equal, wisely follow its dic- tates, by securing freedom to all. 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 real 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 re- spect 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. The drafts of these chapters were read to Mr. Slick, at his partic- ular 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 favorite 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 afiectioned and approbated with all his heart. " 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, * Harm, my first wife was a Pursy, and she never preSumed to take that liberty.* Yes, that's good. Squire. Go it, my shirt-tails I you'll win if you get in fust, see if you don't. Patronisin' 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 I Give me your figgery-four Squke, Xl\ SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 49 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." But to return to my narrative. I was under the necessity of de- voting the day next after our landing at Liverpool, to writing letters announcing ray 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. " 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." " I was once at the Cataract House to Niagara. It is just 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 cliflF. " Well, Rufus come all the way from Boston to see the Falls : he said he did'nt care much about them hisself, seein' that he wam'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 Niag- ara, 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. " 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. " ' Yes, Sir,' sais the waiter. " ' Hem !' sais Rufe, ' them's the Falls of Niagara, eh ! So I've seen the Falls at last, eh ! Well, its pretty too : they a'int bad, that's a fact. So them's the Falls of Niagara 1 How long is it afore the stage starts ?' *' < An hour, Sir.' " ' Go and book me for Boston, and then bring me a paper.' «*Yes, Sir.' " 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 altogetlier worth comin' so far to see. So I've seen the Falls at last!' " Arter a while in comes a Britisher. " ' Waiter,' says he, ' how far is it to the Falls ?* ' " * Little over half a mile. Sir.' " * Which way do you get there ?* 3 60 THE AITACUE; OB, ) I 1 " ' Turn to the right, and then to the left, and then go a-head/ '^ Rate heard all this, and it kinder seemed dark to him ; 8o arter cypherin' it over in his head a bit, ' Waiter,' says he, * aint them the Falls of Niagara, I see there ?' "'No, Sir.' " ' Well, that's tarnation all over now. Not the Falls P "'No, Sir.' " ' Why, you don't mean to say, that them are ain't the Falls?* "'Yes, I do. Sir.' " ' Heaven and airth ! "I've come hundreds of miles a purpus to to see 'em, and nothin' else ; not a bit of trade, or speckelation, or any airi.dy thing but to see them cussed Falls, and come as near as 100 cents to a dollar, startin' off without sein' 'em ai'ter all. If it hadn't a been for that are Britisher I wiis sold, that's a fact. Can I run down there and back in half an hour in time for the stage?' " ' Yes, Sir, but you will have no time to see them.' " ' 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 seed the Falls of Niagara after 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. " Now, you are as like llufe, as two peas, Squire. You want to say you was to Liverpool, but you don't want to see nothin.' " Waiter." "Sir." " Is this Liverpool, I see out of the winder ?" " Yes, Sir." " Guess I have seen Liverpool then. So this is the great city of Liverpool, eh ? When does the train start for London ?" " In half an hour, Sir." " Book me for London then, for I have been to Liverpool and seen the city. Oh, tiike your place, Squire, you have seen Liver- pool ; 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. " I am sorry too, you won't go. Squire," added he, " for minister seems kinder dull." " Don't say another word, Mr. Slick," said I ; everything shall give way to him." And locking up my writing-desk I said : " I am ready." " Stop, Squire," said he, " I've got a favor 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 SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 61 like, 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 waa cleverly up this mornin', lookin' as full of importance, as Jube Japan did when I put the Legation button on him. " • Bad business this, Sir,' says he ; 'never had such a scene in my house before, Sir ; have had great ditficulty to prevent mj sarvants takin' the law of you." " ' 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.' " ' You will have to satisfy them. Sir,' says he, • or take the con- sequences.' " • Sartainly,' said I, ' any thing you please ; I leave it entirely to you ; just name what you think proper, and I will liquidate it.' " I said, I knew you would behave like a gentleman. Sir,' said 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.' " ' You said right,' sais I, • and now. Sir, what's the damage ?' •' ' Fifty pounds, I should think about the thing, Sir,' said he. " ' Certainly,' said I, ' you shall have the fifty pounds, but you must give me a receipt in full for it.' •"By all means,' said he, and he was acuttin' off full chisel to get a stamp, vhen I sais, ' Stop,' sais I, ' uncle, mind and put in the re- ceipt, the bill of items, and charge 'em separate 1' " ' Bill of items ?' sais he. " ' 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 New York Liners. This house convenes the Americans — they all know me. I want them to know how their Attache 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.' " ' You wouldn'nt take that advantage of me, Sir ?' said he. " ' 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.' " • You must keep your money then. Sir,' said he, ' but this is not a fair deal ; no gentleman would do it.' •• ' 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 ' 62 THE ATTACH^; OR, nothing', for ahe nevor got so innocent a kiss nfore, in all her born days I know, for I did'nt moan no harm, and she never f»ot so good a one ntuiv nother, that's a fact ; but then /ought to pay, I do sup- pose, because 1 hadn't ought to treat a lady that way ; it was oidian- 8um', 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. Aiid here's a sovereign for the scoldin' and slscerarin' you gave the maid that spilt the coals and that's an eend of the matter, and I don't wan't no receipt.' " Well he bowed and walked off, without sayin' of a word." Here Mr. Hopewell joined us, and we descended to tlu; 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. " 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 Liver- pool. Book me for London. So I have seen Liverpool at last, eh 1 or, as Rufus said, 1 have felt it too, for this wet day reminds me of the rest of his story. " In about a half-hour arter Rufus raced off to the Falls, back he comes as hard as he could tear, a-puHing and a blowin' like a size- able 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, th it 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. " * Well,* sais I, * Stranger, did you see the Falls ?' " ' Yes,' sais he, ' I have see'd 'em and felt 'era 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 win- der 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, seen' some folks comin' out from onder the Fall, I pushed straight 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 could'nt 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. " ' Oh creation, how cold it was ! The moment that spirit rose, mine fell, and I actilly thought I should have dropt lumpus, I was 80 skeered. Give me your hand, said Ghost, for I didn't see nothin' i SAM SLICK JN KNOLAND. but a kinder dark shader. Give me your hand. I think it must lia' bee •» squttw, Ibr it begged for nil the world, jist like oil Indgian l see you hanged i'ust, said I ; I wouldn't toueh that are dead tacky hand o' your'n for half a nnllion 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 atones was all wet and slimy, and onnateral slippy, and I expected every minute, I should heels up and go for it : atwecn them two critters, the Ghost and the juicy ledge, 1 felt awful skeered, I tell you. So I begins to say my catechism. What's your name ? sais I. Uufus 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 far- ther, I stuck fast there, for I had forgot it. " ' 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 1 to heart most went out along with it, for I thought my time had CO) You black sea-sinner of a heathen Indgian ! sais I ; let me gc blessed minute, 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 hyajna, 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. " ' Oh blazes I how cold my face is yet ! Waiter, half a pint of clear cocktail ; somethin' to .warm me. Oh, that cold hand 1 Did you ever touch a dead man's hand ? it's awful cold, you may de- pend. Is there any marks on my face ? Do you see the tracks of the fingers there ?' " ' No, Sir,* sais I, * I can't say I do.* "'Well, then, I feel them there,' sais he, *as plain as any- thing.' " ' Stranger,' sais I, * it was nothin' but some poor no-souled crit- ter, like yourself, that was skeered a'most to death, and wanted to be helped out, that's all.' " * 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 it's bein' a livin' human, I tell you. 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 ■^WW'1'1 ."l^"""' TW"" ITSUJ«»>IVJi|M"H W <«*l|fWljnW*1>7^0>V>r.^ 54 THE ATTACH^; OB, I see you ; he ran out afore me, and couldn't stop or look back, as long as I said catechism. 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.' " ' 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 lummo- kin coward, you. An American citizen is afeerd of nothin' but a bad spekilation, or bein' found out.' " Well, that posed him — he seemed kinder bothered, and looked down. " * An eel, eh ! "Well, it mought be an eel,' sais I, ' that's a fact. I didn't think of that ; but then if it was, it was godmother granny -ells, that promised I should renounce the devil and all his works, ')iat took that shape, and come to keep me to my bargcv'n. She died fifty years ago, poor old soul, and never kept company with Indgians, or niggers, or any such trash. Heavens and airthl 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.' " ' Yes, Sir,' and he swallered it like wink. " * The stage is ready. Sir.' " ' Is it ?' said he, and he jumped in, all wet as he was ; for time is monej', 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 !' • " Now, we are better off than Rufus Dodge was, Squire ; for he 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.' " ,K.J.i <.'yiK:. SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. I»6 CHAPTER IX. CHANGING A NAME. The rain having confined us to the house this afternoon, we sat over our wiae 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 defer- ence to the opinions of Mr. PLopewell, was anxious to ascertain from him what he thought upon the subject, in order to regulate his con- duct and conversation by it hereafter. " Minister," said he, " what do you think of the politics of the British?" " 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 iwo classes, the knaves and the dupes. Don't let us talk of such exciting things." *' 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 re- sults. 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 anything else ; they jist cut him as dead as a skunk ; but among the Whigs he was quite an oracle on ballot, universal suffrage, and all other democratic institu- tions." *'• 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 iftiould like you to ask him, the next time you see him, how many gentlemen called upon him? Jist ask him that, and it will ^.top him from writing such stuff any more." " But, Minister, jist tell us now, here you are, as a body might say in England, now what are you ?" *' I am a man, Sam : — Homo sum, kumani nihil a me alienum piUo" • " Well, what's all that when it's fried ?" " Why, that when away from home, I am a citizen of the world. »»p"">p"">(nn»™"^"»w«^!""«'ii"M» I""- ' i"* "H'lw fnwpfivjwwpwwi^ I 66 mS ATTACH^; OB, party, but take an interest in the whole human I belong to no family." " 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 ?" " No." " Are you a Whig ?" " No." « A Radical ?" « God forbid !" " What in natur* are you, then ?" « A Tory." " A Tory I Well, I thought that a Tory and a Consarvative were, as the Indgians say, * all same one brudder.* Where is the difference ?" " You will soon find that out, Sam : go and talk to a Consarva- tive 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. " My wardens wanted me to do that ; they came to me, and saiu, * Minister,' says they, ' we don't want you to change, we don't ask it ; jist let us call you a Unitarian, and you can remain Episcopa- lian still. We are tired of that old-fashioned name — it's generally thought unsuited to the times, and behind the enhghtenment of the age ; it's only fit for benighted Europeans. Change the name, you needn't change anything else. What's in a name ?" ** ' Everything,* says I, * everything, my brethren : one name be- longs 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 sur- render my principles.' " " Exactly," said Mr. Slick : " that's what Brother Eldad used to say. ' Sam,' said he, < a man with an alias is the worst character SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 57 human ; but I if you i you a ill 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.' " " 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." " Well, I don't know," said Mr. Slick : " p'rhaps their old name was so infarnal dry-cotted, 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 says, ' 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 charac- ter is better nor a bad one.* " Well, the old judge and the whole court larfed right out like anythin' ; and the jury, without stirrin' from the box, returned a vardict for the defendant. P'rhaps, now, that mought be the case with the Tories." " 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 have no reference to America) are Tory, and I don't want to go to Sir Robert Peel, or Lord John Russell either." " As for Johnny Russell," said Mr. Slick, "he is a clever little chap that ; he — " " 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 smd St. Paul, when addressing people of rank, use the word * xpaTitfToff,' which, as nearly as possible, answers to the title of ' Your Excellency.' Honor, we are told, should be given to those to whom honor 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, honor the King, and meddle not with those that are given to change.' " "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 3* '^wfn^rjm.mT^mf^^ "(WWPfWWW^^ li 58 THE ATTACHi:; OR, 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 *01d Minister,' don't it ?" " Oh, if you go for to talk that way, Sam, I am done ; but I will show you that the Tories are the men to govern this great nation. A Tory I may say * noscitur a sociis.' " " What in natur is that, when it's biled and the skin took off?" asked Mr. Slick. " "Why, is it possible you don't know that ? Have you forgotten that common schoolboy phrase ?" " Guess I do know ; but it don't tally jist altogether nohow, as it were. Known as a Socialist, isn't it ?" " 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 quota- tions from classical writers, you would have been more like an Attach^, and less like a peddling clockmaker than you are." " 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." " 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 " " Well," said Mr. Slick, " to get back to what we was a sayin*, for you do talk like a book, that's a fact; * noscitur a sociis,' says you." " Ay, ' Birds of a feather flock together,' as the old maxim goes. Now, Sam, who supported the Whigs ?" " 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." " Wcii, who supported the Tories ?" " 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 march- ants, capitalists, bankers, lawyers, army and navy officers, and so on." " Now don't take your politics from me, Sam, for I am no politi- cian ; 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 ?" ^ . -, , M ,, iiiniiiiiiipiii^ SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 69 sure as ckville :' iignature s better, ut I will t nation. ok off?'» brgotten ow, as it *, instead miserable >oth east h quota- like an u are in el it. I ny short e fair to lerable." o speak )ut don't you do yin', for s you." m goes. try, the ists, the ed, and gentry, hole of march- so on." politi- f those like to •-.-■w " "Well, I must say,** replied he, " I do think that the lamin', 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." " Well now, Sam, you know we are a calculatin* people, a com- mercial people, a practical people. Europe laughs at us for it. Per- haps 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 ?" " Yes, with all the world." " How did the Whigs leave it?" " 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." " Well, now for dollars and cents. How did the Tories leave the treasury ?' " With a surplus revenue of millions." "Plow did the Whigs?" " With a deficiency that made the nation scratch their head, and stare agin." " 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, wi^h 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. "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 puz- zles 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 connection of Church and State, and so on ; and that as the wealthiest man in England, he offers to prove his sincerity, by pay- ing the greatest part of the taxes to uphold these things. Well, then I ask what is Conservatism ? I am told that it means, what it imports, a conservation of things as they are. Where, then, is the difference? 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." " Tell you what," said Mr. Slick, " I heerd an old critter to Hali- fax once describe 'em beautiful. He said he could tell a man's poli- ticks 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 60 THE attache; or, 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.' " " Pooh !" said Mr. Hopewell, " now don't talk nonsense ; but as I was a-goin' to say, I am a plain man, and a straight-forward 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 Consarvatives, 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 sarv- nfss 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 can- didly. 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 — ' changing a name^ " CHAPTER X. THE NELSON MONUMENT. 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 wagons, conveying to the docks the manufactures of the country, or carrying inward the productions of foreign nations. It was an animating and busy scene. " 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 sur- rounded 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. " The solitude of the vast American forest is not equal to this. Encompassed by the great objects of nature, you recognize nature's God everywhere ; you feel his presence, and rely on his protection. Everything in a city is artificial, the predominant idea is man ; and SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. n man, under circumstances like the present, is neither your friend nop protector. You form no part of tlie social system here. Gregarious by nature, you cannot associate ; dependent, you cannot attach your- self; 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. " 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 wil- derness, whose ear is always open to our petitions, and who has in- vited us to rely on his goodness and mercy. " 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. " 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 liquidate interest on capital. The worst of it is, too, wliile we pay for all this, we hante got the direction of the works." " 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 proba- ble you will have half of it ceded to you, for the purpose of concilia- tion. 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 na- tional emblem of ill-directed ambition, and vulgar preteu: .ou." " 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 show you sun- thin* in this town, that's as false as parjury — sunthin' that's a dis- grace to this country and an insult to our great nation ; and there is no jeest in it nother, but a downright lie ; ad, 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 ''P"'w»www^nTW*WfWWI»wpw»»- ; i l!- 1 62 THE attach6; OB, a touss about; that cripple-gaited, one-eyed, one-armed little naval critter?" " Do you mean Lord Nelson ?" " 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 ? Jist 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 thawed him right up I " No, there never was an ofiicer among you that had anything 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 Ijiin* false monument, erected to this man that never see'd one of our na- tional ships, much less smelt thunder and lightning out of one, that English like, has got this for what he didn't do. " I am sorry Mr. Lett* is dead to Canada, or I'd give him a hint about this. I'd say, ' I hope none of our free and enlightened citi- zens 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 contrary 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. " 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 * This was the man that blew up the Brock monument in Canada. Ht was a Patriot. 1 f SAM SLICE IN ENGLAND. as enormous sneezer of a lion has one part o' the chain in his mouth and is a-growlin' and a-grinnin' and a-snarlin' 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 mince-meat 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 tamt me with the Eagle and the anchor no more, for I don't like it a bit; you'd better look to your ^Nekon monument^ and let us alone. So come, now !" Amidst much that was coarse, and more that was exaggerated, there was still some foundation for the remarks of the Attache. " 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 com- posed 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 your- selves that high character, which you now so justly enjoy, for skill and gallantry. I agree with you, however, in thinking the monu- ment is in bad taste. The name of Lord Nelson is its own monu- ment. 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 men- tion of his name oftener than 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 '^e&ow JWonwrnew^' " CHAPTER XI COTTAGES. 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. Hopewell. !T ivmiwqHi^iqjpi 111 14 III iiMnv««n9*f>m>iin 64 THE ATTACU6; OR, Of the little incidents of travel that occurred to us, or of the va- rious objects of attraction on the route, it is not my intention to give any account. Our journey wlis doubtless much like the joup- neya of other people, and everything of local interest is to be found in Guide Books, or topographical works, which are within the reach of everybody. This book, however imperfect its execution may be, is altogether of another kind. I shall therefore pass over this and other subse- quent journeys, with no other remark, than that they were per- formed, until something shall occur illustrative of the objects I have in view. On this occasion I shall select from my diary a description of the laborers' cottage, and the parish churcli ; because the one shows the habits, tastes, and condition of the poor of this country, in contrast with that of America — and the otht>r, the relative means of religious instruction, and its effect on the lower orders. On the Saturday morning, while preparing to resume our jour- ney, 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 fii>e, he said he should like to ramble about the neighborhood, and enjoy the fresh air. His attention was soon drawn to some very beautiful new cottages. " These," said he, " art" no doubt erected at the expense, and for the gratification of some great landed proprietor. They are not the abodes of ordinary laborers, but designed for some favorite de- pendant or aged servant. They are expensive toys, but still they are not without their use. They diffuse a taste among the peasan- try — they present them with models, which, though they cannot imitate in costliness of material or finish, they can copy in arrange- ment, 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." 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 thatclied 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 eaeli side of the dpor, 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. We therefore opened a little gate, and proceeded through a neat SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 65 psinleri, in which flowers and vegetables were intermixed. It had a {?!iy appearance from the pear, apple, thorn and cherry being all in lull 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 inti- mation of our intention, I took particular notice of everything I saw, because I regarded its appearance as a fair specimen of its constant and daily slate. 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 favor. Mrs. Hodgins, for such was her name, received us with that mix- ture of respect and ease, which showed she was accustomed to con- verse 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 gar- denei*'s laborer, 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. 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. Passing through this place, we were shown into the parlor, 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 colored 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 shepherdesses, and a small looking-glass, the whole being surmounted by a gun hung transversely. The Lord's Prayer and the Ten Command- ments worked in worsted, were suspended in a wooden frame be- 66 THE ATTACH^; OK, tween the windows, which hnd white muslin blinds, and opened on hinges, like a door. A cupboard made to Jit the corner, in a man- ner to economize room, was filled with china mugs, cups and saucers of different sizes and patterns, some old tea-spoons and a plated tea-pot. 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 fiiiding 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. " 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 les- eons of duty." 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. " Oh, here is a pretty little child !" said he. " Come here, dear, and shake hands along with me. What beautiful hair she has I and she looks so clean and nice, too. Everything and everybody here is so neat, so tidy, and so appropriate. Kiss me, dear ; and then talk to me ; for 1 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 inno- cence." He then took her on his knee. " Can you say the Lord's Prayer, dear?" " Yes, Sir." " Very good. And the Ten Commandments .'"' " Yes, Sir." « Who taught you ?" " My mother. Sir ; and the parson taught me the Catechism." " Why, Sam, this child can say the Lord's Prayer, the Ten Com- mandments, and the Catechism. Ain't this beautiiul? Tell me the fifth, dear." And the child repeated it distinctly and accurately. " 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, 8A]if SLICK IN ENGLAND. 6T^ « you never saw so old a man as me, and never will again ; and one, too, that came iVom a far-otF 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.'" 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." To which she replied, " I have— oh yes. Sir — by all means." She then advanced to Mr. Hopewell, and asked him if he would like to smoke. " Indeed I would, dear, but I have no pipe here." 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 pro- duced a long white clay pipe and some cut tobacco. Having filled and lighted his pipe, Mr. Hopewell said, " What church do you go to, dear ?" " The parish church. Sir." " Right ; you will hear sound doctrine and good morals preached there. Oh, this is 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?" " 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 gSo kind, also. When my poor daughter Mary was so ill with the ever, I do think she would have died but for the attentions of those jng In les; >u. . when she grew better, they sent her wine and M ' ^ things from their own table. They will be so glad to see 1 r, at the Pi ry. Oh, I wish you could see them I" iliere it is, Suiii," he continued : " That illustrates what I always toiu you c [heir social system here. We may boast of our indepen- dence, bu that independence produces isolation. There is an indi- viduality about every man an' every family in America, that gives no right of inquiry, and imposes no duty of relief on any one. Sick- ness, 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 that passage of Scripture, * The heart knoweth its own bitterness, and a stranger intermeddleth not with its joy.' " Now, look at this poor family ; here is a clergyman provided 68 TUE ATTACH^; OK, '!i for them, whom they do not, and are not even expected to pay ; their spiritual wants are ministered to, faithfully and zealously, as we 8ee 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-govemraent, 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 Piford the remedies, and by his countenance, his kindness, and advice, to alleviate their trou- bles. Here it is, a positive duty arising from their relative situa- tions of landlord and tenant. The tenants support the owner, the landlord protects the tenants : the duties are reciprocal. " With us 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, ho'.v *vicked, how diabolicrj 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 ?" " That's what I often say, Sir," said Mrs. Hodgiws, " to my old man, to keep away from them Chartists." " Chartists ! dear, who are they? I never heard of them." " Why, Sir, they are the men that want the five pints." " 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 di'ink if it was water ; and if anything else, it is beastly drunkenness. Have nothing to do with them." " Oh ! no, Sir, it is five points of law." " Tut — tut — tut ! what have you got to do with law, my dear ?" " By gosh. Aunty," said Mr. Slick, " you had better not cut tliat pie : you will find it rather sour in the apple sarce, and tough in the paste, I tell yow." " Yes, Sir," she replied, " but they are a unsettling of his mind. What shall I do ? for J don't like these night meetings, and he always comes home from 'em cross and sour-like." " 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 culti- vated, so adorned by nature and art, and contains so much comfort and happin.56s, that it resembles almost the garden of Eden. But, s illl. SAM SLICK m ENGLAND. 69 Sam, the Serpent is here, the Serpent is here beyond a doubt. It changes its shape, and alters its name, and takes a new color, 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. Some- times 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 lire to buildings, and burns up com to increase disireas ; and, when hunted away, it dives down into the collieries, or visits the manufactories, and mad- dens 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. " Stay, dear, I'll tel' •- ^u what I will do for you. I'll inquire about these Chartists; and \. len I go to London, I will write a .little tract so plain that any child may read it and understand it ; and call it The C' yrtist, and get it printed, and I will send you one "for your imsbai i, and two or three others, to give to those whom they may I benefit. " And now, dear, I must go. You and I will never meet again in Ithij 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 obedi- ence to the commands of your Spiritual Pastor, and a respect for all [that are placed in authority over you !" " Well, it is pretty, too, is this cottajr^," said Mr. Slick, as we BtroUed back to the inn, " but the handsu^nestest thing is to hear that Igood 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 ^o sup on at nigh^. " I shall be off to the highlands this fall ; but, cuss 'em, they hante got no woods there ; nothin' but heather, and that's 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 everlast- inly, they can't aftbrd it ; so they let em scratch and tear their skin, for that will grow agin, and trowsers won't. il -M f I, P i l\ !» 70 THE ATTACH^:; OB, " Yes, it's a pretty cotta^^e that, and a nice tidy body that too, is Mrs. Ilodgins. 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 dif- ference atween that cottage and a log hut of a poor back emigrant settler, you and I knojvr where. Did ever I tell you of the night I spent at Lake Teal, with old Judge Sandford?" " No, not that I recollect." " Well, once upon a time I was a-goin' from Mill-bridge to Shad- brooke, 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. " ' Mornin,' sais the Judge, for he was a sociable man, and had a kind word for everybody, 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.' " 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 : " ' 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 ?* " Well we chattered along the road this way a leetle, jist a leetle faster than we travelled, lor 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 ! " 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 'era on their parsons, in a common way, as they cleverly can. Some on 'em ai*e 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 entertain- ment tor man and beast. For critters that ain't human, I do sup- pose it spoke the truth, for it was enough to make a boss larf, if he could understand it, that's a fact ; but dirt, wretchedness and rags, don't have that effect on me. " The house was built of rough spruce logs, f*^ e only thing spruce about it) with the bark on, and the cracks ai seams was stuffed SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 71 ly that too, is given a good )me little dif- ick emigrant f the night I ige to Shad- i and lonely and the road bridges. It on the way er Traverse hour at the n, and had a ow'd human hilosophy of is he, ' lor it e our united 'd we should jritter's gig, n a steam- 7 company, ke, was the riptur', Mr. n in stony ist a leetle it, that's a )i liafuse's, teen miles, ise it was ! ly so fond of it about in. Some e of them, entertain- I do sup- larf, if he and rags, ng spruce IS 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, aiiu slopped 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 wam't good. " 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. " Well, when we alighted, and got the baggage off, away starts the guide with the Judge's traps, and ups a path through th'^ 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 bosses. 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. " ' 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.' " 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. " ' Of two evils,' sais I to the lawyer, ' clioose the least. It ain't a bad thing to be well housed in a night like this, is it?' " The critter groaned, for both cases was so bad he did'nt 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 maj"^ depend. " 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 pleu- risy ; t'other was for the judge. The loft was for the old woman, his mother, and the hearth, or anj^ other soft place we could find, was allocated for lawyer and me. ( ! I- iL; Ml 1 I IIE Rl f 72 THE ATTACH^; OR, " What a scarecrow lookin' critter old aunty was, wam'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, tliey ' 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. " The floor of the room was blacker nor ink, because that is pale sometimes ; and the utensils, 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 6' 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. " 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 tor 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 alongside of her, to put the fire out in its tail and cool itself. "Aunty took up the screamin' then, where the pig left off; but her voice wai'n't so good, poor thing ! she was too old for that, it sounded 1 ke 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. " ' Judge,* sais I, * I'm sorry, too, I singed that pig's tail arter SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 73 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,' says I, ' you'd better move. Sir ; tl'.at old woman is juicy, and I see it a comin' through the cracks of the floor above, like a streak of molasses.' " * Mr. Slick,' sais he, * this is dreadful. I never saw anything so bad before in all this country ; hut 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 plaee to stop at, is it ? Tliere 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 anything that old woman touches.' ^ 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 sensi- ble man was the judge, and we made a small check, for there warn't enough for a feed. " 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 tbldin' himself up in it, he went and laid down without on- dressin'. 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. *^ * 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 slie railly did like it. " ' 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. " ' 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.' " I thought I should a died a holdin' in of a haw haw that way. ifling a larf a'most stifles oneself, that's a fact. I felt sorry for Stiflins her, too ; but sorrow won't always keep you from larfin', unless you be sorry for yourself. So, as I didn't want to oflend her, I up legs again to the jam, and shot my eyes, and tried to go to sleep, " Well, I can snooze through most anythin', but I couldn't get much sleep that night. The pigs kept close to the door, a shovia' agin it every now and then, to see all was right for a dash in, if the 74 THE ATTACHE; OR, ' n bears came ; and the geese kept sentry, too, agin the foxes ; and one old feller would squake out ' all's well ' eveiy five minuts, as he marched up and down and back agin on the bankan' of the house. " 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 roUin* 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, tliat 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. " Well, then, a little cowardly good-nutured 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. " 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 Ihey 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. " ' 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.' " ' Somebody has stole my horse,' said he. " 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 boss, a-standin' on the bridge, with his long tail hanging down straight at one eend, and his long neck and head a hanging down straight at t'other eend, so that you couldn't tell one from t'other, or which eend was towai'ds 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. " ' There is your boss,' sais I. » " * Where ?' sais he. " ' 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 i? f» cold, I do suppose he can't feel it.' -. , U SAM SLICE IN ENGLAND. 75 " 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 oflF of the old woman. Give it to hei; — I hope it is big enough to cover it.' And he fell back op the bed, and larfed and coughed, and coughed and larfed, till the tears ran down his cheeks. " 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." " Which, alone," I said, " make a most important difference. No, Mr. Slick, there is nothing to be compared to this little cot- tage." " 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 — an English cottage." CHAPTER XII. "STEALING THE HEARTS OF THE PEOPLE." Shortly after our return to the inn, a carriage drove up to the door, and the cards of Mr. Merton, and the Rev. Mr. Homily, which were presented by the servant, were soon followed by the gentlemen themselves. 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 de- scribed 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 indispen- sable. 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, 76 THE ATTACHE; OR, I I ■ ,1 t r 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 him, and as it was his maxim never to omit an opportunity of doing good, he would with the bless- ing of God, make the attempt. The next day was remuikably fine, and as the scene was new to me, and most probably will be so to most of my colonial readers, I shall endeavor to describe it with some minuteness. 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 churchyard in different directions. The church and the rectox'y were contiguous to each other, and situated in a deep dell. The former was a long and rather low structure, originally built of light-colored 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 condi- tion of their neighbors. The old rectory stood close to the church and was very irregu- larly built ; one part looking as if it had stepped forward to take a peep at us, and another as if endeavoring to conceal itself from view, behind a screen of ivy. The windows, which were con- structed 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 peeped very inquisitively upon the assem- bled congregation. Altogether, it looked like the residence of a vigilant man, who could both see and be unseen if he pleased. 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. 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 un- painted, 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. 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 Yirgiu, with a hoop and vellow petticoat^ crimson vest. SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 77 illy built It had a each of naments 00(1 still e condi- irregu- take a f from re con- opened se-tree assem- of a clean dark Jalthj, srican It as of aces, e un- rude >d an t the ined est^ 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. There was another window of beautiful 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. 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 to- gether, giving this part of the building a heavy and gloomy appear- ance. As we entered the church, Mr. Hopewell said he had selected a text suitable to the times, and that he would endeavor to save the poor people in the neighborhood from the delusions of the chartist demagogues, who, it appear«;d, were endeavoring to undermine the throne and the altar, and bring universal ruin upon the country. 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. He took for his text these words : " So Absolom 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 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 / were a judge in the land, that every man which hath a suit or cause might come unto me, and / 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 as " men who went out in their simplicity, and knew not anything." 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 ^ 78 THE ATTACHfi; OB, know not anything," to achieve tlieir 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 hai)py 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. Among the first of these, he placed the provision made by the Btate 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 ov 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. He then portrayed in a rapid and most masterly manner the sin and the disastrous consequences of rebellion ; pointed out the neces- sity 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 effi- cacious, more paternal, and more touching than ever, when uttered by him, in his peculiarly patriarchal manner. 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 judg- ment, it did not affect the heart like that of the " Old Minister." At the door we met, on our return, Mrs. Hodgins. " Ah ! ray 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." It was thus that this good man, while honoring this poor woman, avoided the appearance of condescension, and received her arm as a favor to himself. 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. " 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 SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 79 plcasantcst place he can find any where, and he won't want to seek amusement elsewhere, or excitement either ; for these seditioua 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.' " In this way they chatted, until they arrived at the cottage, which Ilodgins had just reached by a shorter, but more rugged path. " It is such a lovely afternoon," said Mr. Hopewell, " I believe I will rest in this arbor here awhile, and enjoy the fresh breeze, and the i)erfume of your honeysuckles and flowers." " Wouldn't a pipe be better. Minister," said Mr. Slick. " For my part, I don't think anything equal to the flavor of rael good gene- wine first chop tobacco." " Well, it is a great refreshment, is tobacco," said Mr. Hopewell. " I d(in't care if I do take a pipe. Bring me one, Mr. Hodgins, and one Ibr yourself also, and I will smoke and talk with you awhile, for they seem as natural to each other as eating and drinking do." As soon as these were produced, Mr. Slick and I retired, and requested Mrs. Hodgins to leave the Minister and her husband to- getlier for awhile, lor, 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 just the boy to drive it out of him. Let him be awhile, and he'll tame old uncle there, like a cossit sheep ; jest see if he don't, that's all." 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 our side of the water — and then it won't rile no- body ; 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 ? " Now here, this old-fashioned church, ain't quite up to the notch, and is, a leetle behind the enlightenment 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 lookin' about, and as if outer world was shot out, from sight and thort, and it warn't man's house nother. " 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 so plain dressed, so decent, so devout, and no show, it looks like aimest "The only fashionable people here was the Squire's sarvants; and they did look genteel, and no mistake. Elegant men, and most splendid-lookin' women they was too. I thought it was some noble, 7 80 TUS ATTACH^; OR, or airl's, or bif^ bu«f8 family ; but Mrs. Hodgins says they are the people of the Squire's aboat here, the butlers and tlie ladies'-maids ; and superfine uppercrust lookin' folks they be too. " Then everybody walks here, even Squire Merton and his splen- diriferous galls walked like the poorest of the poor ; there was no carriage to the door, nor no bosses hitched to the gate, or tied to the ba(!ks 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 inquired arter their families. It may be acting but if it is, it's plaguy good actin', I tell you. "I'm a thinkin' it tante a rael gentleman that's proud, bat only a hop. You've seen a hop grow, hante you ? It shoots op in a nighty 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. " 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 preju- dice, and yet I must say, British or no British, it tante bad, is it ? " The meetin' houses ' our side of the water,* no matter where, but away up in the back country, how teetotally different they be ! beant 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 nothing near it, but the road fence, with a man to preach in it, that is so strict and straight-laced, that he will do anjfthing of a week day, and nothing of a Sunday. Congregations are rigged out in their spic and span bran new clothes, silks, satins, ribbins, leg- horns, 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. " 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 bosses and waggons, and gigs hitehed there ; poor devils of bosses that have ploughed, or hauled, or harrowed, or logged, or snaked, or somethin' or arvOther all the weok, and rest of a Sunday by alterin' their gait, as a man rests on a journey by a alterin' of his stirrup, a hole higher or a hole lower. Women that ■^issam^tm ■^-r 8AM SlilOK IN ENGLAND. 81 lejr are the lies'-maids ; 1 his splen- ere was no tied to tljo ome in anil ; and tlicn ;s talked to i be aetin', bat only a in a night, 3 stiff as a jreen coat, rts, ' hops/ 's a leetle, too much ^ and call my preju- d, is it ? ter where, they be ! ;k full of 3o full of nor bush, Jach in it, \mg of a gged out bins, leg- i the men id sheep- as, there 1 the rael chy, and preaches imselves. •ter of a tad, ain't •ej poor 'wed, or I rest of ley by a (xen that has all their finery on can't walk, and some things is ondecent. It's H.s ondecent for a woman to be seen walkin' to mectin' as it is to be caiifjlit at — what shall I say ? — why, caught at atteudin' to her own busincHS at home. " 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 bosses to Sable Island. It's a long low sand-bank on Nova Scotia coast, thirty miles long and better, is Suhlc 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 bosses 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. " Well, if he wants a new boss, he mounts his folks on his tame bosses, and makes a dash into the herd, and runs a wild feller down, bigs him off to the stable-yard, and breaks him in, in no time. A smart little boss he is, too, but he always has an eye to nntur^ arterwards ; the change is too sudden, and he'll off, if he gets a chance. " 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' boss flesh, or a talkin' of a swap to be completed of a Monday, or a leadin' off of two bosses 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 bosses had got loose, and they was just a fetchin' of them back. " ' Whose side-saddle is this ?' « * Slim Sal Dowdie's.' " * Shifl 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 boss 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 ?' "'It's old Booby's son, Tom. Well, it's the old man's shafl boss; call out whoh! and he'll stop short, and pitch Tom right over his head on the broad of his back, whap. " * 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, bats, poles, stakes, withes, and all, with an awful crash and an awful shout ; and away goes 4* II ., i. ; li !» f! J J 82 THB ATTACHIj; or, two or three hosses that have broke their bridles, and off home like wink. " 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 gails from night meetin', by airly candle-light. Let's go.' " Well, 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 baptize '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 f'xct ; but, like the hosses of Sable Island, they have always an zye to natur' arter- wards ; the change is too sudden, you can't trust 'em — at least I never see one as /could, that's all. " 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 ?' Wliy this way — ' I am a sinner, at least I was once, but thank fortiu' I ain't like you, you oncon- verted, benighted, and good-for-nothin' ci'itter you.' Read the on- tamed 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 ? Whc ^yet his hay to the lake t'other 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 ?' " Now jist foUer them two rulin* elders, Sourcrout and Coldslaugh; they are plaguy jealous of their neighbor. Elder Josh Chis-el, 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 de- files a man ; but there is no mistake in the nose ; it's the porch of the temple, that. ' How did you like Brother Josh ?' " ' Well, he warn't very peeowerful !' " ' Was he ever peeowerful ?' " ' Well, y^hen a boy, they say he was considerable sum at a wrastler.* " 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 overshot mill, one ever- lastin' wishy-washy stream.' " * When the water ain't quite enc igh to turn the wheel, and only spatters, spatters, spatters,* says Coldslaugh. " Sourcrout gig goggles agin, as if he was swallerin' shelled com SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 88 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 ; ii'.'s only bunglers do that.' " ' He is so fond of temperance,' says Coldslaugh, * he wanted to make his hay jine society, and drink cold water, too.' " Sourcrout gig goggles agin, 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 con- varted men, though they won't larf themselves, make others larf the worst kind, sometimes — don't they? " 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 men toouldtiH support it, but because it would be supported under false 2)retences. 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, marci- less superstition, that's a fact. " Yes, on the whole, I rather like these plain, decent, onpretendin* country churches here, clthough t'other ones remind me of old times, vSen I was an ontamed one too. Yes, I like an English church ; i tt as for Minister pretendin' for to come for to go for to preach agin ' it beautiful long-haired young rebel. Squire Absalom, for 'stealin' the hearts of the people,' why it's rather takiu' the rag olf the bush, ain't it ? " 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, nqr never will be equal to Old Minister liisself for ' stealin' the hearts of the people.' " CHAPTER XIII. Bb a NATUR'. In the course of the journey, the conversation turned u|k)u the several series of the " Clockniaker " I liud published, and their rela- tive merits. Mr. Slick appeared to think they all owed their popu- larity mainly to the freshness and originality^ of character incidental to a new country. " You are in the wrong pew here. Squire," said he ; " you are, upon my soul. If you think ta sketch the English in a way any one will stop to look at, you have missed a figur', that's all. Y^ou can't do it, nohow you can fix it. There is no contrasts here, no iwl/l?,f«(WUW»l"l •'■■I^IIMf* :lli I 1 I f'' ilii 81 THE attachI:; or^ variation of colors, no light and shade, no nothin'. What sort of a pictur' would straight lines of anything 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 V they'd say. " 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 iu London, dress him in the best cut coat, best trowsers, French boots, Paris gloves, ai:\d gi'ape-vine^oot cane, don't forget his whiskers, or mous-stache, or breast-pins, or gold chains, or anything ; and what have you got ? — a tailor's print-card, and nothin' else. " 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 hos9, with long tail and flowin' mane, u rairin' and a cavortin' like mail, and a charapin' and a chawin' of its bit, and a makin' the froth fly from its mouth, a spatterin' and white-spottin' of her beautiful trailin' skirt, like anything. And what have you got ? — why, a print like the posted hand-bills of a circus. " Now spit on your fingers, and rub Lord First Chop out of the slate, and draw an Irish laborer, with his coat off, in his shirt- sleeves, with his breeches loose and antied 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 cric'iet : — ' When I was yountr and unmarried, my shoes they were new, But now I am old and am married, the water runs troo.' Do that, and you have got sunthin' worth lookin' at, quite pictures- quee, as Sister Sail used to say. And because why ? You have got sunthin^ nateral. " 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, THE ATTACHE; OB, " ' Well, then,' sais you, * paint a party of gipsies there ; mind their different colored clothes, and different attitudes, and different occupa- tions. Here a man mendin' a harness, there a woman pickin' a stolen fowl, here 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.' " ' Well, when he's done,* sais you, * which pictur do you reckon is the best now. Squire Copley ? speak candid, for I want to know, and I ask you now as a countryman.' " ' Weir 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, there was no natur' in it. The scene was rael, the likenesses was good, and there was spirit in it, but their damned uni- form toggery spoiled the whole thing — it was artificial, and wanted life and natur. Now, suppose such a thing in Congress, or suppose some fellow skiver'd 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 tho different style of man of each state, so that any citizen would sing right out ; Heav- ens and earth, 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 Tennessee, 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.' " 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. Washing- ton 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 grand- father for the mop of the man of the present day) and the pewter plates are on the kifut ; Heav- ^in' sinner, ' the Puke Kentucky, fan, or the That's the that raises Jomfort in It there is ou no lie. have the K oftener ve failed, as 'lasses, nd why ? 'V'ashing- luse it is rarn has e grand- '■ pewter 8 are all there. He has done the most that could be done for them, but the painter dasarves more praise than the subject. " Why is it every man's sketches of America takes ? Do you sup- pose it is the sketches ? No. Do you reckon it is the interest we create ? No. Is it our grand experiment ? 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 artificial 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. " 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 in Nover Sootier, with Old Clay be- fore 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 backwoods, with my huntin' coat on, my leggins, my cap, my belt, and my pow- der-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 be- seech 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 affeetionin' but Natur. CHAPTER XIV. THE SOCDOLAGER. 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 timo to the residence of his Excellency Abednego Layman, who had been sent to this country by the United States on a special mission, rela- tive to the Tai-iff. 88 THE ATTACHE ; OR, 1 1 II t "I! r !| On my return from the city in the afternoon, he told me he had presented his credentials to " the Socdolager," and was most gra- ciously and cordially received ; but still I could not fail to observe that there was an evident air of disappointment about him. "Pray, what is the meaning of the Socdolager," I asked. "I never heard of the tenn before." " 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 ©Id boy, and he don't often show 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 it, he is so 'tarnal knovvin', 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 time. Me can take in whole shoals of others hisself, tho* at a mouthful. He's a whappei*, that's a fact. I call our Minister here ' the Socdolager,' for our rfiplomaters 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 rf/plomaters. " 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' rais of the knocker, presents the legation ticket, and wa,s 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 miik poultice. It does indeed. " ' 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. " ' Your knowledge of human natur, sais he, (' added to your'n of soft sawder,' sais I.) ' will raise our great nation, I guess, in the scale o' European estimation.' " He is as sensitu'e as a skinned eel, is Layman, and he winced at that poke at his soft sawder like anything, 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. " ' 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 !' ■u I f.fi vmtum^j \,wu\^tm%"^<^e^'vtmmn TT '" mi aid that ji&t to lead him on. " ' A good deal !' sais he, ' why it's everything. But I didc't rest 90 THE ATTACH^; OB, 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 ?' " ' Guess so,' sais I. ' •• " * Well then, I asked myself this here question : Can I sarve my fellovir citizens best by bein' minister to Peach settlement, 'tendin' on a little village of two thousand souls, and preachin' ray throat sore, or bein* special minister to Saint Jimses, and sarvin' our great Re- public and its thirteen millions? Why, no reasonable man can doubt ; so I give up preachin'.' " ' Well,' sais I, ' Abednego, you are a Socdolager, that's a fact ; you are a great man and a gi'eat scholard. Now a great scholard, when he can't do a sum the way its stated, jist states it so — be can do it. Now the right way to state that sum is arter this fashion : *' Which is best, to endeavor to save the souls of two thousand neo- pie under my spiritual charge, or let them go to Old Nick and s? ve 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." " * That's specious, but not true,* said he ; * but it's a matter ratfier for my consideration than your'n,' and he looked as a feller does ■when he buttons his trousers' 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.' " * Well,* says I, * how do we stand here in Europe ? Do we main- tain the high pitch we had, or do we sing a note lower than we did ?* " 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 ?' sais he. "'What's our position to Europe?' sais I, 'jist now; is it letter A, No. 1 ?' *"0h!' 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?* " ' Sartainly,* sais I ; ' it's only fit to talk over a cigar, alone. It don't always answer a good purpose to blart everything out. But our joosition,' sais I, ' among the nations of the airth, is it what our everlastin' Union is entitled to ?' " ' 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.* " ' If he does,* sais I, 'jist say, my Attache does that, and I'll jist T-fTT i ^tTT^ . -V ii. Mi|.W"WWI SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 91 liVery man, St. Thut'8 [ sarve my 'tendin' on hroat sore, great Re- maa can t's a fact; t scholard, — he can 3 fashion: isand peo- : and sp,ve r burnt to States." tor ratGer jller does I have no at's mine, our great we main- we did V onder his last, saJs ed on his 1 a sayin' 1 it letter irin' like idolager, 3 well to link so?* one. It it. But rhat our dinner, k me to been a rUjist up first and give it to him atween the two eyes ; and when that's done, sais you, ray Lord, that's your grace afore meat ; pr'aps your lordship will return thanks 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 toplotliest ?' " ' Oh', sais 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 ?' " ' It was afore the juvenile-united-democratic-republican associa- tion to Funnel Hall,* sais I. " ' Oh,' says he, ' that was an oration — it was an oration that.* " ' 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 ?' " ' 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 ?' " ' 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 iield our footin' here ?' " ' Not well, I am grieved to say,' sais he ; ' not wejl. 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 boun- dary question has lowered us down, down, e'en a'most to the bottojn of the shaft.' *' ' Abednego,* sais I, * we want sunthin' besides boastin' and talkin' big ; we want a dash — a great stroke of policy. Washington hangin' Andr6 that time, gained more than a battle. Jackson by hangin* 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*^. 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 oif from our great, free, enlight- ened, moral and intellectual republic*, he would have gained by the dash his next election, and run up our flag to the mast-head in Eu- rope. He would have been popular to home, and respected abroad, that's as clear as mud.' *• ' He would have done right. Sir, if he had done that,' said Abed- nego, ' 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 92 THE ATTACHE : OK, ' I always knowed you had an excellent head-piece,' sais I, I see the heart is in the right place too. If you have thrcatenin France with a war, if they didn't pay the indemnity, when h)! knew the King would make 'era pay it whether or no, was a mas- terpiece ; 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, arc 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 Socdol- agers, as you call 'em, in m^ mind have got to larn yet, Sam.' " • 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 honor to oui great nation. What policy are you a indica- tin' of?' " ' Why,' sais he, * that honesty is the best policy* " When I heerd him say that, I springs right up one end 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 *and now thrown preachin' overboard, you have kept your morals for ballast, any how. 1 feel kinder px'oud of you ; you are jist a fit represent- ative 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 is the best policy, and no mistake. That/ sais I, ' is the hill, Abednego, for Hope to pitch her tent on, and no nis rake,' and I put my finger to my nose, and winked. " * 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 Soc- dolagers, or Preachin', or Clockmakin', or Hope pitchin* her tent. A word to the wise. Good bye.' " 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 fir chop orator, a great diplomater, and a top sawyer of a man ; in short — he is a Socdolager** SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. CHAPTER XV. DINING OUT. My visit to Germany was protracted beyond the period I liad originally designed ; and, during ray 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. I found him in great spirits. He assured me he had many capi- tal 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. " They are considerable large print, are the Bull family," said he ; " you can read them by moonliglit. 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 solem- choly. Yes, John is a moony man, that's a fact, and at the full a little queer sometimes. " England is a stupid country compared to our'n. There is no variety where there is no natur'. You have class variety here, but no individuality. 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 de- stroyed distinctions. " But this is too deep for me. Ask Minister, he will tell you the cause ; I only tell you the fact. " 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 gineral 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 sar- vants. Same picturs, same plate, same fixin's, same don't-know- what-to-do-with-yourself-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 fat- ter than the wild one, but he hante the spirit. ^%^.... IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 4^0 1.0 I.I liim |Z5 |5o "^^ MBH ■tt Ui 12.2 S 144 "™ us u u 14^ 1^ 1.25 |||.4 1 1.6 ■« 6" ► 0> y] ^v^ ^ Photographic Sdences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. M580 (716)872-4503 >% 4^ >■■> X ; ■ /■-*■ <^ 6^ -94 THE ATTACH^; OB, "You've seen Old Clay in a pastur* r,. racin' about, free from har- ness, head and tail up, snortin', cavoriin', attitudinizin' of himself. Mane flowin' in the wind, eye-ball startin' out, nostrils inside out a'most, ears pricked up. A nateral hoss ; 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 ' a broke hoss* 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 * Old Clay,' that's a fact. " 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 spile 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 ; tb^ English are wus, for they hire people to think for 'em. Never read a book. Squire — always think for yourself. " 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, phlegm-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' anythin' in cotton and 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 ' pai*sonally 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. " Folks are up to the notch here when dinner is in question, that's a f&ct, fat, gouty, broken-winded, and foundered as they be. It's rap, rap, rap, ibr twenty minutes at the door, and in they come, one arter the other, as fast as the sarvants can carry up their names. SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. j^ Cuss them sarvants 1 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 por- ter. If a feller was so lame he had to be carried up himself, X 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. " 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 at 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 crittur 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. " 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 \i&ve no handle to your name, and a stranger, I 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 mar- shalled two and two, lock and lock, and go into the dinin'-room to feed. "When I first came, I was nation proud of that title, *the Attach^ ;' now I am happified it's nothin' but ' only an Attache,' and rU tell you why. The great guns, and big bags, 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 ob- served 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. " 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'vo '"•WWJII^IWBIW 96 THE ATTACH^; OR, told our Minister not to introduce me as an Attache no more, but as Mr. Nobody, from the State of Nothin', in America — thafs naiur* agin. '' But to get back to the dinner. Arter you are in marchin' or- der, you move in through two rows of sarvants in uniform. J 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. " 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 be- hind your master, Sir,' sais he. Oh, Solomon ! how that waked me up I How I curled inwardly when he did 'that! * You've mista- ken the child,' says 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 1 I thought I should a split when I looked at him. Guess he'll know an Attache when he sees him next time. " Well, there is dinner. One sarvice of plate is like another sar- vice 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 anything else but veal ; you mustn't know it when you see it, or it's vulgar ; mut- ton must be incog, too ; beef must have a mask on ; anythin' that looks solid, take a spoon to ; anythin' that looks light, cut with a knife ; if a thing looks hke fsh, you may take ^our oath it is fiesh ; 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. ** Sarvants keep going round and round in a ring, slow, but sartin, 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 flavor; when your glass is empty, it'i. filled; when your eyes is off your plate, it's off too, afore you can say Nick Biddle. *' Folks speak low here ; steam is valuable, and noise onpolite. They call it a ' subdued tone' 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 £end SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 97 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 Conquest" I reckon, and afore the ** subdued 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 itn-only you can read the words on his face, ' Upon my soul, you are a'most as white as us.' " 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. "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. Lamin' 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 anything fresh or good grows on it, and it has no cover for game uother. " 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 already for a go, and says, * Will you take any more wine ?' * No,' sais he, ' but I take the hint, let's jine the ladies.' " Well, when the whole flock is gathered in the goose pastur, the drawin'-room, other little flocks ccme 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. " 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' bosses 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 boss 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. 5 98 .' ^^HK ATTACHil; OR, " 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 pTBCtited. 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. " 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 earth and seas, what a crash ! it seems as if she'd bang the instrument 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 bam door, and turns up the white of her eyes, like a duck in thunder. She is in a musical ecstacy is that gaU, she feels good all ovet, her soul is a goin' out along with that ere music. Oh it's divine, and uhe is an angel, ain't she ? Yes, I guess she is, and when I am an angel, I wUl fall in love with her ; but as I am 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 i 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 ^1 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. ^ Lord, how extremes meet, sometimes, as Minister says, fferej now, fashion is the top of the pot, and that pot hangs on the highest hook on the crane. In America, natur can't go on no farther ; it's the raal thing. Look at the women kind, now. An Indgian gall, down South, goes most naked. Well, a splendiferous company gall, here, when she is ftdl dressed is only half covered, and neither of 'em attract you one mite or morsel. We dine at two, and sup at f>even ; here they lunch at two, and dine at seven. The words are difierent, 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 cuftin' 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 a<^ well. And then do, for good- ness' gracious' sake, hear that great absent man, belongin' to the House o' Commons, when the chaplain says, * Let us pray 1' sing right out at once, as if he was to home, ' Oh, by all means,' as \ i 8A1C SLICK IN ENGLAND. 99 how mnch as to say, *me and the powers above are ready to hear you ; but don't be long about it' *^ Ain't that for all the world like a camp-meetin', when a refdrm- ed 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 hencoop ; the galls will drift down stream on a bale o* cotton.* Well, then, our very lowest, and their very highest, don't always act pretty, that's a fact. S<»netimes * they repudiate* Yc j take, don't you ? " 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, FIl tell you what a swoir«0 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 etamity, don't you think you'd get a leetle — jist a leetle more tired of it every day, and wish for natnr once more. If yon wouldn't I would,, that's all." V wl Him tma ^ni'V .n-iiHm'^<,ifi i-v-w^ 'i" ^t.,,.. ] u u ah jv.a Jr.si. .<» CHAPTER XVIJ'""'^ ■*■ ^ ?^. ^^ ^'■''^ •''^' ■' THE NOSE OP A SPY. ■Ai em ti { « Squire," said Mr. Hopewell, " you know Sam well enough, I hope, to make all due allowances for the exuberance of his fancy. The sketch he has just given you of London society, like the novels of the present day, though founded on fact, is very unlike the reality. There may be ...^emblages of persons in this great city, and no doubt there are, quite as insipid And absurd as the one he has just portrayed ; but you must not suppose it is at all a fair specimen of the society of this place. My own experience is quite the reverse. I think it the most refined, the most agreeable, and the most instruc- tive in the world. Whatever your favorite study or pursuit may be, here you are sure to find well-informed and enthusiastic asso- ciates. If you have merit, it is appreciated ; and for an aristocratic country, that merit places you on a level with your superiors in rank in a manner that is quite incomprehensible to a republican. Money is the great leveller of distinctions with us : here it is talent. Fashion spreads many tables here ; but talent is always found seated at the best, if it thinks proper to comply mtb. certain usages, without wl :ch even genius ceases to be attractive. " On some future occasion I will enter more at large on this sub- ject { but now it is too late ; I have already exceeded my usual hoar for retiring. Excuse me, Sam,** said he, ^ I know vou will ^mr^wm 100 THB ATTACH^; OR, I not be offended with me ; but, Squire, there are some subjects on which Sam may amuse, but cannot instruct you ; and one is, fashion- able life in London. You must judge for yourself, Sir. Good night, my children." Mr. Slick rose, and opened the door for him, and as he passed, bowed, and held out his hand, " Remember me, your honor ;" no man opens the door in this country without being paid for it, " Re- member me, Sir." " True, Sam," said the Minister ; « and it is unlucky that it does not extend to opening the mouth ; if it did, you would soon make your fortune, for you can't keep yours shut. Good night." The society to which I have subsequently had the good fortune to be admitted, fully justifies the eulogium of Mr. Hopewell. Though many persons can write well, few can talk well ; but the number of those who excel in conversation is much greater in certain circles in London than in any other place. By talking well, I do not mean talking wisely or learnedly, but agreeably ; for relaxation and plea- sure are the principal objects of social assemblies. This can only be illustrated by instancing some very remarkable persons, who are the pride ana pleasure of every table they honor and delight with their presence. But this may not be. For obvious reasons, I could not do it if I would ; and most assuredly, I would not do it if I could. No more certain mode could be devised of destroying con- versation, than by showing, that when the citadel is unguarded, the approach of a friend is as unsafe as that of an enemy. Alas ! poor Hook ! who can read the unkind notice of thee in a late periodical, and not feel that on some occasions you must have admitted to your confidence men who were as unworthy of that dis- tinction as they were incapable of appreciating it ; and that they . who will disregard the privileges of a table, will not hesitate to vio- late even the sanctity of the tomb. Cant may talk of your " inter poctUa" errors with pious horror; and pretension, now that its . indulgence is safe, may affect to disclaim your acquaintance ; but . kinder, and better, and truer men than those who furnished your ^ biographer with his facts will not fail to recollect your talents with . pride, and your wit and your humor with wonder and dehght We do not require such flagrant examples as these to teach us our duty, but they are not without their use in increasing our cau- tion. When Mr. Hopewell withdrew, Mr. Slick observed : '' Ain't that ere old man a trump ? He is always in the right place. Whenever you want to find him, jist go and look for him where he ought to be, and there you will find him as sure as there is snakes in Varginy. He is a brick, that's a fact. Still, for all that, he ain't jist altogether a citizen of this world, nother. He . fishes in deep water, with a sinker to his hook. He can't throw a 4| SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 1 lOX flj as I can, reel out his line, run down stream, and then wind up^ wind up, wind up, and let out, and wind up again, till he lands his fish, as I do. He looks deep into things, is a better religionist, poli- titioner, and bookster than I be : but then that's all he does know. If you want to find your way about, or read a man, come to me, that's all ; for I'm the boy that jist can do it. If I can't walk into a man, I can dodge round him ; and if he is too nimble for that, I can jump over him ; and if he is too tall for that, although I don't like the play, yet I can whip him. " Now, Squire, I have been a good deal to England, and crossed this big pond here the matter of seven times, and know a good deal about it, more than a great many folks that have writtin' books on it, p'raps. Mind what I tell you, the English ain't what they was. I'm not speakin' in jeest now, or in prejudice. I hante a grain of prejudice in me. I've seed too much of the world for that, I reckon. I call myself a candid man, and I tell you the English are no more like what the English used to be, when pigs were swine, and turkies chawed tobacky, than they are like the Picts or Scots, or Norman, French, or Saxons, or nothin'." "Not what they used to be?" I said. "Pray, what do yoa mean ?'* " I mean," said he, "jist what I say. They ain't the same peo- ple no more. They are as proud, and overbeariu', and concait^d, and haughty to foreigners as ever ; but then, they ain't so manly, open-hearted, and noble as they used to be, oncte upon a time. They have the Spy System now in full operation here ; so jist take my advice, and mind your potatoe-trap, or you will be in trouble afore you are ten days older, see if you ain't." " The Spy System I" I replied. " Good heavens, Mr. Slick, how can you taUc such nonsense, and yet have the modesty to say yoa have no prejudice ?" " Yes, the Spy System," said he, " and FU prove it. You krow Dr. Mc'Dougall to Nova Scotia : well, he knows all about mineral- ogy, and geology, and astrology, and everything a'most, except what be ought to know, and that is dollar-ology. For he ain't over and above half w«ll ofi^, that's a fact. Well, a critter of the name of Oatmeal, down to Pictou, said to another Scotchman there one day, ' The great nateralist. Dr. Mc'Dougall, is come to tovm.* " * Who ? says Sawney. i « < Dr. Mc'Dougall, the nateralist,' says Oatmeal. ' "'Hout, mon,' says Sawney, *he is nae nateral, that chiel; he kens mair than maist men ; be is nae that fool you take him to be." "Now, I am not such a fool as you take tne to be. Squire* Whenever I did a sum to school. Minister used to say, * Prove it, Sam, and if it won't prove, do it over agin, till it will ; a sum ain't ^r^ ^^^ ■^^ 102 THK ATTACH^; OR, right when it won't prove.' Now, I say the English have the Spy System, and I'll prove it ; nay, more than that, they have the nas- tiest, dirtiest, meanest, sneakenest system in the world. It is ten times as bad as the French plan. In France they have bar-keep- ers, waiters, chamber galls, guides, quotillions, — " " Postillions, you mean," I said. '| 'w.l : Uu ,jjt.»,„„ ..„ ^ There was a Kurnel Dun— dun — ^plague take his name, I can't recollect it, but it makes no odds — I know he is Done for, though, that's a fact Well, he was a British kurnel, that was out to Hali- fax when I was there. I know'd him by sight, I don't know him by talk, for I didn't fill then the dignified situation I now do, of Attach^. I was only a clockmaker then, and I suppose he wouldn't have dirtied the tip eend of his white glove with me then, any more than I would sile mine with him now ; and very expensive and troublesome things them white gloves be, too ; there is no keepin' of them clean. For my part, I don't see why a man can't make his own skin as clean as a kid's, any time ; and if a feller can't be let shake hands with a gall exc^t he has a glove on, why ain't he made to cover his lips, and kiss thro' his kid skin too ? ** But to get back to the kumA, and it's a pity he hadn't had a glove over hit mouth, that's a fact. Well, he went home to Eng- land with his regiment, and one night when he was dinin' among some first chop men, nobles and so on, they sot up considerable late over their claret ; and poor thin cold stuif it is, too, is claret. A man may get drowned in it, but how the plague he can get drunk with it, is hard to me. It's like everything else French, it has no substance in it ; it's nothin' bat red ink, that's a &ct. Well, how it was I don't know, but so it eventuated, that about daylight he was mops and brooms, and began to talk somethin' or another he hadn't ought to ; somethin' he didn't know himself, and somethin' he didn't mean, and didn't remember. " Faith, next momin' he was booked ; and the first thing he see'd when he waked was another man a tryin' on of his shoes, to see how they'd fit to march to the head of his regiment with. Fact, I as- sure you, and a fact too tha^ shiQW^ vrh^ ^^^lisl^uueh h^s 9^pi^ j^^ SAM SLIOK IN BNGLAND. 108 I despise 'em, I hate 'em, I scorn such crittera as I do oncarcnm-i cized niggers." " What a strange perversion of facts !" I replied. ■ M But he would admit of no explanation. " Oh yes, quite par- varted ; not a word of truth in it ; there never is when England is eonsamed. There is no beam in an Englishman's eye ; no, not a smell of one } he has pulled it out long ago ; that's the reason he can see the mote in other folks's so plain. Oh, of course it ain't true ; it's a Yankee invention ; it's a hickory ham and a woodep nutmeg. * " Well, then, there was another feller got bagged t'other day, as innocent as could be, for givin' his opinion when folks was a talkin' about matters and things in gineral, and this here one in partikilar. I can't tell the words, for I don't know 'em, nor care about 'em ; and if I did, I couldn't carry 'em about so long ; but it was for fiayin' it hadn't ought to have been taken notice of, considerin' it jist popt out permiscuoas like with the bottle-cork. If he hadn't a had the clear grit in him, and show'd teeth and claws, they'd a nul- lified him so, you wouldn't have see'd a grease spot of him no more. What do you call that, now ? Do you call that liberty ? Do you call that old English ? Do you call it pretty — say, now ? Thank God, it tante Yankee." '. " I 'see you have no prejudice, Mr. Slick," I replied. " Not one mite or morsel," he said. " Tho' I was bom in Con- necticut, I have travelled all over the thirteen united universal worlds of oum, and am a citizen at large. No, I have no preju- dice. You say I am mistakend ; p'raps I am, I hope I be, and a stranger may get hold of the wrong eend of a thing, sometimes, that's a £i,et. But I don't think I be wrong, or else the papers don't tell the truth ; and I read it in all the jamais ; I did, upon my soul. Why, man, it's history now, if such nasty mean doins is worth put- tin' into a book. " What makes this Spy System to England wuss, is that these eaves-droppers are obliged to hear all that's said, or lose what com- mission they hold ; at least so folks tell me. I recollect when I was there last, for it's some years 'nee Government first sot up the Spy System ; there was a great feed given to a Mr. Bobe, or Bobie, cae some such name, an out and out Tory. Well, sunthin' or anoUxer was said over their cups, that might as well have been let alone, I do suppose — ^tho', dear me, what is the use of wine but to onloos^i the tongue, and what is the use of the tongue, but to talk ? Oh, cuss 'em, I have no patience with them. Well, there was an officer of a marchin' regiment there, who it seems ought to have took down the words and sent 'em up to the head Gineral ; but he was a knowin' coon, was officer, and diebi,*t hear it. No sooner said thaa done ; soioe one else did the dirtv work for him ; but you 104 THI ATTACH^; OR, can't have a substitute for this, you must sarve in person ; so the old Gincral hawls him right up for it. " ' Why the plague didn't you make a fuss ?' sais the GeneraL * Why didn't you get right up, and break up the paily V *' ' I didn't hear it,' sais he. ^ * Yon didn't hear it I' sais Old Swordbelt. < Then you had ought to have heerd it ; and for two pins, I'd sharpen your hearin' for you, 80 that a snore of a fly would wake you up, as if a byler had bust.' " Oh,*how it has lowered the English in the eyes of foreigners ! How sneakin' it makes 'em look I Tliey seem for all the world like scared dogs ; and a dog, when he slopes off with his head down, his tail atween his legs, and his back so mean it won't bristle, is a cau- tion to sinners. Lord, I wish I was Queen 1" " What, of such a degraded race as you say the English are— of such a mean-spirited, sneaking nation ?"• " Well, they warn't always so," he replied. " I will say that, for I have no prejudice. By natur, there is snnthin' noble and manly in a Britisher, and always was, till this cussed Spy System got into fashion. They tell me it was the Liberals firat brought it into vogue. How that is, I don't know; but I shouldn't wonder if it was them, for I know this, if a feller talks very liberal in politics, put him into office, and see what a tyrant he'll make. If he talks very liberal in religion, it's because he hante got none at all. If he talks very liberal to the poor, talk is all the poor will ever get out of him. If he talks liberal about com law, it tante to feed the hun- gry, but to lower wf^s, and so on in everything a'most. None is so liberal as those as hante got nothin'.. The most liberal feller I know on is * Old Scratch himself.' If ever the liberals come in, they should make him Prime Minister. He is very liberal in reli- gion, and would jine them in excludin* the Bible from common schools, I know. He is very liberal about the criminal code, for he can't, bear to see criminals punished. He is very liberal in poli- tics, for he don't approbate restraint, and likes to let every critter * go to the devil' Ms own way. Oh, he should be Head Spy and Prime Minister, that feller. " But without jokin', tho', if I was Queen, the fiist time any o' my ministers came to me to report what the spies had said, I'd just up and say, * Minister,' I'd say, ' it's a cussed oninglish, -O •VTTTT IT»HOl) lil'Xhl CHAPTER XVII. THE PATRON; OR, THE COW'S TAIL. .t,..t.. Nothing is so fatiguing as sight-seeing. The number and ya« riety of objects to which your attention is called, and the rapid suc- cession in which they pass in reyiew, at once wearies and perplexes the mind ; and unless you take notes to refresh your memory, ycu are apt to find you carry awaj with you but an imperfect and indis- tinct recollection. Yesterday was devoted to an inspection of the Tunnel and an examination of the Tower, two things that ought always to be viewed in juxta-position ; one being the greatest evidence of the science and wealth of modem times, and the other of the power and pomp of our forefathers. It is a long time before a stranger can fully appreciate the extent . of population and wealth of this vast metropolis. At first, he is astonished and confused ; his vision is indistinct. By degrees he begins to understand its localities, the ground plan becomes intelli- gible, and he can take it ifll in at one view. The map is a large one ; it is a chart of the world. He knows the capes and the bays ; he has sailed round them, and knows their relative distance, and at last becomes aware of the magnitude of the whole. Object after object becomes more familiar. He can estimate the population ; he compares the amount of it with that of countries that he is ac- quainted with, and finds that this one town contains within it nearly as great a number of souls as all British North America. He esti- mates the incomes of the inhabitants, and finds figures almost inade- quate to express the amount He asks for the source from whence it is derived. He resorts to his maxims of political economy, and they cannot inform him. He calculates the number of acres of land in England, adds up the rental, and is again at fault. He inquires into the statistics of the Exchange, and discovers that even that is inadequate ; and, as a last resource, concludes that the whole world is tributary to this Queen of Cities. It is the heart of the Uni- verse. All the circulation centres here, and hence are derived all those streams that give life and strength to the extremities. How vast, how populous, how rich, how well regulated, how well supplied, 5* 7 106 THS ATTAOHJ§!; OB^ how clean, how well ventilated, how healthy t— what a splendid cityl How worUiy of such an empire and such a people I What is the result of his experience ? Itisy that then is no mch country in the world as England^ and no such place in England as London ; thai London is better than any other town in winter^ and quite as good as any other place in summer; that containing not only aU that he requires^ hut aU that he can wish, in the greatest perfectiony he desires never to leave it. Local description, however, is not my ohjeet ; I shall therefore re- turn to my narrative. Our examination of the Tower and the Tunnel occupied the whole day, and though much gratified, we were no less fatigued. On returning to our lodgings, I found letters from Nova Scotia. Among others, was one from the widow of an old friend, enclosing a memo- rial to the Commander-in-Chief, setting forth the important and gratuitous services of her late hushand to the local government of the province, and soliciting for her son some email situation in the ordnance department, which had just fallen vacant at Halifax. I knew that it was not only out of my power to aid her, but that it was impossible for her, however strong the claims of her husband might be, to obtain her request. These things are required for friends and dependants in England ; and in the race of competition, what chance of success has a colonist ? I made up my mind at once to forward her memorial as requested, but pondered on the propriety of adding to it a recommendation. It could do no good. At most, it .would only be the certificate of an unknown man ; of one who had neither of the two great qualifica- tions, namely, county or parliamentary interest, bu^ H might do harm. It might, by engendering ridicule from the insolence of office, weaken a daim, otherwise well founded. " Who the devil is this Mr. Tho- mas Poker, that recommends the prayer of the petition ? The fel- low imagines all the world, must have heard of him. A droll fellow that, I take it from his name ; but all colonists are queer fellows, eh?" "■ Bad news from home ?" said Mr. Slick, who had noticed my ab- straction. " No screw loose there, I hope. You don't look as if you liked the 4avor of that ere nut ^ou are crackln' o£ Who's dead? and what is to pay now ?" I read the letter and the memorial, and then explained from my own knowledge how numerous and how valuable were the services of my deceased friend, and expressed my regret at not being able to serve the memorialist. "Poor woman !" said Mr. Hopewell, " I pity her. A colonist has no chance for these things ; they have no patron. In this country merit will always obtain a patron — in the provinces never. The English are a noble-minded, generous people, and whoever here de- serves encouragement or reward, is certain to obtain either or both : SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 107 I .< but it must be a brilliant man, indeed, whose light can be perceived across the Atlantic." " I entertain, Sir," I said, " a very strong prejudice against rely- ing on patrons. Dr. Johnson, after a long and fruitless attendance on Lord Chesterfield, says : * Seven years, my Lora, have now past since I waited in your outward rooms, or was repulsed from your door ; during which time I have been pushing on my work, through difficulties, of which it is useless to complain, and have brought it at last to the verge of publication, without one act of assistance, one word of encouragement, or one smile of favor. Such treatment I did not expect, for I never had a patron before.' " • • .rf ,, " Ah !" said Mr. Hopewell, " a man who feels that he is wrong, is always angry with somebody else. Dr. Johnson is not so much to be admired for the independence that dictated that letter, as con- demned for the meanness and servility of seven years of voluntary degradation. It is no wonder he spoke with bitterness ; for, while he censured his Lordship, he must have despised himself. There is a great difference between a literary and political patron. The for- mer is not needed, and a man does better without one ; the latter is essential. A good book, like good wine, needs no bush ; but to get an office, you want merits or patrons ; merits so great, that they can- not be passed over, or friends so powerful, they cannot be refused." " Oh ! you can't do nothiu', Squire," said Mr. Slick, " send it back to Old Marm : tell her you have the misfortin to be a colonist ; that if her son would like to be a constable, or a hogreave, or a thistle- viewer, or sunthin' or another of that kind, you are her man : but she has got the wrong cow by the tail this time. I never hear of a patron, I don't think of a frolic I once had with a cow's tail ; and, by hanging on to it like a snappin' turtle, I jist saved my life, that's a fact. " Tell you what it is, Squire, take a fool's advice, for once. Here you are ; I have made you considerable well-known, that's a fact ; and will introduce you to court, to king and queen, or any body you please. For our legation, though they can't dance, p'raps, as well as the French one can, could set all Europe a dancin' in wide awake airnest, if it chose. They darsent refuse us nothin', or we would fust embargo, and then go to war. Any one you want to know, I'll give you the ticket. Look round, select a good critter, and hold on to the tail, for dear life, &jA see if you hante a patron, worth havin'. You don't want none yourself, but you might want one some time or another, for them that's a coming arter you. •.' pA.'ih'iVv- ot 1 " When I was a half grow'd lad, the bears came down from Nor- West one year in droves, as a body might say, and our woods near Slickville was jist full of 'em. It wam't safe to go a wanderin' about there a doin' of nothin', I tell you. Well, one a^ u>nioon father sends me into the back pastur', to bring home the cows. < And,' says he, I^W 108 THB ATTACffife; OR, ' keep a stirrin', Sam, go ahead right away, and be out of the bushes afore sunset, on account of the bears, for that's about the varmints' supper-time/ *' Well, I looks to the sky, and I sees it was a considerable of a piece yet to daylight down, so I begins to pick strawberries as I goes along, and you never see anything so thick as they were, and wher- ever the grass was long, they'd stand up like a little bush, and hang in clusters, most as big and twice as good, to my likin', as garden ones. Well, the sun, it appears to me, is like a boss, when it comes near dark it mends its pace, and gets on like smoke, so afore I know'd where I was, twilight had come peepin' over the spruce tops. " Off I sot, hot foot, into the bushes, arter the cows, and as always eventuates when you are in a hurry, they was further back than common that time, away ever so fur back to a brook, clean off to the rear of the farm, so that day was gone afore I got out of the woods, and I got proper frightened. Every noise I heerd I thought it was a bear, and when I looked round a one side, I guessed I heerd one on the other, and I hardly turned to look there, before I reckoned it was behind me, I was e'en almost skeered to death. " Thinks I, ' I shall never be able to keep up to the cows if a bear comes arter 'em and chases 'em, and if I fall astam, he'll just snap up a plump little com fed feller like me in less than half no time. Cryin',' says I, ' though, will do no good. You must be up and doin,* Sam, or it's gone goose with you.' * So a thought struck me. Father had always been a talkin' to me about the leadin' men, and makin' .':kcquaintance with the political big bugs when I growed up and bavin' a patron, and so on. Thinks I, I'll take the leadin* cow for rmf patron. So I jist goes and cuts a long tough ash saplin, and takes the little limbs off of it, and then walks alongside of Mooley, as meachin' as you please, so she mightn't suspect nothin', and then grabs right hold (^ her tail, and yelled and screamed like mad, and walloped away at her like any- thing. " Well, the way she cut dirt was cautionary ; she cleared stumps, ditches, windfalls and everything, and made a straight track of it for home as the crow flies. Oh, she was a clipper ; she fairly flew again, and if ever she flagged, I laid it into her with the ash saplin, and away we started agin, as if Old Nick himself was arter us. " But afore I reached home, the rest of the cows came a bellowin', and a roarin' and a-racin' like mad arter us, and gained on us too, so as most to overtake us, when jist as I come to the bars of the cow yard, over went Mooley, like a ^x, brought me whap up agin 'em, which knocked all the wind out of my lungs and the fire out of my eyes, and laid me sprawlin on the ground, and every one of the flock went right slap over me, all but one — poor Brindle. She never came home again. Bear nabbed her, and tore her most ridicidou8» SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 109 tLinr to itical links cuts a thm she and any- )wm, oo,so cow 'em, my flock He eat what he wanted, which was no trifle, I can tell jou, and left the rest till next time. *' Don't talk to me. Squire, about merits. We all want a lift in ^ this world ; sunthin' or another to laj hold on, to help us along— we want the cow*8 tail. " Tell your friend, the female widder, she has got hold of the wrong cow by the tail in gettin' hold of you ffor you are nothin' but a despisable colonist) ; but to look out for some patron here, some leadin' man, or great lord, to clinch fast hold of him, and stidk to him like a leech, and if he flags (for patrons, like old Mooley, get tired sometimes), to recollect the ash saplin, to lay it into him well, and keep him at it, and no fear but he'll carry her through. He'll fetch her home safe at last, and no mistake, depend on it. Squire. The best lesson that little boy could be taught, is, that of the Patron^ or the Cow's Tail." iW v; Mr. Slick, who always acted on a motive, and never on an impulse, and who concealed his real objects behind ostensible ones, imagined that everybody else was governed by the same principle of action ; and, therefore, frequently deceived himself by attributing designs lO others that never existed but in his own imagination. Whether .he following story of the gander pulling was a fancy sketch of the Attach^, or a narrative of facts, I had no means of as- certaining. Strange interviews and queer conversations he con- stantly had with official as well as private individuals, but as he often gave his opinions the ibrm of an anecdote, for the purpose of inter- esting his hearers, it was not always easy to decide whether his stories were facts or fictions. If, on the present occasion, it was of the la*ter description, it is manifest that he entertained no very high opinion of the constitu- tional changes effected in the government of the colonies by the Whigs, during their long and perilous rule. If of the former kind, it is to be lamented th:it he concealed his deliberate convictions under an allegorical piece of humor. His disposition to " humbug" was so great, it was difficult to obtain a plain straightforward reply from him ; but had the Secretary of State put the question to him in direct terms, what he thought of Lord Durham's " Responsible govern- ment," and the practical working of it under Lord Sydenham's and Sir Charles Bagot's administration, he would have obtained a plain and intelligible answer. If the interview to which he alludes ever did take place (which I am bound to add, is very doubtful, notwith- standing the minuteness with which it is detailed), it is deeply to be regretted that he was not addressed in that frank manner which could alone elicit his real sentiments ; for I know of no man so com- petent to offer an opinion on these subjects as himself. To govern England successfully, it is necessary to know the tem.- per of Englishmen. Obvious as this appears to be, the frequent re- linquishment of government measures, by the dominant party, shows ! / SAM SLICE IN ENGLAND. 118 ovem- s and plain s ever twith- to be which oom- that their own statesmen are sometimes deficient in this know- ledge. Mr. Slick says, that if Sir James Graham had consulted him, he could have shown him how to carry the educational clauses of his favorite bill. This, perhaps, is rather an instance of Mr. Slick's vanity than a proof of his sagacity. But if this species of informa- tion is not easy of attainment here, even by natives, how difficult must it be to. govern a people three thousand miles off, who differ most materially in thought, word, and deed, from their official rulers. Mr. Slick, when we had not met during the day, generally visited me at night, about the time I usually returned from a dinner-party, and amused me by a recital of his adventures. " Squire," said he, " I have had a most curious capur to-day, and one that will interest you, I guess. Jist as I was a settin' down to breakfast this momin', and was a tumin' of an egg inside out into a wine-glass, to salt, pepper and butter it for Red-lane Alley, I re- ceived a note from a Mister Fen, saying the Right Honorable Mr. Tact would be glad, if it was convenient, if I would call down to his office, to Downin' Street, to-day, at four o'clock. Thinks says I to myself, * "What's to pay now ? Is it the Boundary Line, or the Cre- ole Case, or Colonial Trade, or the Burnin' of the Caroline, or Right o' Sarch ? or what national subject is on the carpet to-day ? How- sundever,' sais I, *■ Vti the charge be what it will, slugs, rifle-bulbt, or powder, go I must, that's a fact.' So I tips him a shot right off: here's the draft, Sir, its in reg'lar state lingo. • i " I have the high honor to acknowledge the receipt of your letter of this present first of June instant, and note its contents. The con- ference (subject . unknown), proffered by the Right Honorable Mr. Tact, I accede to hereby protesting and resarving all rights of con- farmation and reniggin of our Extraordinary Embassador, now ab- sent from London, at the great agricultural meetin'. I would sug- gest, next time, it would better convene to business, to insart subject of discussion, to prevent being taken at a short. " I have to assure you of the high consideration of your most obedient servant to command. 'The Hon. Sam Slick, ^.•?-: :•-,'! .:.. ..^ ■■ ■ ■ .:.".'-J ■•:i •■- "Attache. " Well, when the time comes, I rigs up, puts on the legation coat, calls a cab, and downs to Downing Street, and looks as dignified as I cleverly knew how. * " When I enters the outer door, I sees a man in an arm-chair in the entry, and he looked like a buster, I tell you, jist ready to blow up with the steam of all the secrets he had in his byler. % ^iP«IVM;«UllJ,l|l|,fJ.|llllliipiP lU THB ATTACH^!; OR, «*Canl8eeMr. TactP'saisI. . . "'Tell you directly,' Bais he, j'st short like; for Englishmen are kinder costive of words ; they don't use more nor will do, at no time ; and ho rings a bell. This brings in his second in command ; and eais he, ' Pray walk in here, if you please. Sir,' and he led me into a little plain, stage-coach-house lookin' room, with nothin' but a table and two or three chairs in it ; and says he, * Who shall I say, Sir ?' " ' The Honorable Mr. Slick' sais I, ' Attache of the American Legation to the court of Saint Jimses' Victoria.' '^ Off he sot ; and there I waited and waited for ever so long, but he didn't come back. Well I walked to the winder and looked out, but there was nothin' to see there ; and then I turned and looked afc a great big map on the wall, and there was nothin' I didn' know there ; and then I took out my penknife to whittle, but my nails was all whittled off already, except one, and that was made into a pen, and I didn't like to spile that ; and as there wasn't anything I could get hold of, I jist slivered a great big bit off the leg of the chair, and began to make a toothpick of it. And when I had got that fin- ished, I begins to get tired ; for nothin' makes me so peskilly oneasy as to be kept waitin' ; for if a clockmaker don't know the valy of time, who the plague does ? " So jist to pass it away, I began to hum * Jim Brown.' Did you ever hear it, Squire? it's a'most a beautiful air, as most all them nigger songs are. I'll make you a varse, that will suit a des- picable colonist exactly. H I went up to London, the capital of the nation, /■ H '* ^ , » , ■■ To See Lord Stanley, and get a sitivation. .^ •, .{ i '* '' ' ', ; - ' Says he to me, ♦ Sam Slick, what can you dol' . .^,, . ,,; j ^^ -' • - Says I, * Lord Stanley, jist as much as you.' ( ' ''. , !: i , Liberate the rebels, and 'mancipate the niggers, ' ! , .J Hurror for our side, and damn thimble-riggers. • . j i '' *^ Airth and seas I If you was to sing that 'ere song there, how it would make 'em stare — wouldn't it ? Such words as them was never heerd in that patronage office, I guess ; and yet folks must have oflen thort it too--that's a fact. " I was a hummin' the rael 'Jim Brown,' and got as far as > »f > r' y •:ui Play tfpon the banjo, play upon the fiddle, Walk about the town, and abuse old Biddle, fj when I stopped right in the middle of it, for it kinder sorter struck me it wam't dignified to be a singin' of nigger-catches that way. So says I to myself, ' This ain't respectful to our great nation (b keep a high functionary a waitin' arter this fiishion, is it ? Guess ^~> ' M'* .i WA* 4 <> -i- SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 115 I'd better assart the honor of our republic by goin' away ; and let him see that it wam't me that was his lackey last year.' " Well, jist as I had taken the sleeve of my coat and given my hat a rub over with it, (a good hat will carry off an old suit of clothes at any time, but a new suit of clothes will never carry off an old hat, so I like to keep my hat in good order in a general way). Well, jist as I had done, in walks the porter's first leflen- ant ; and sais he, * Mr. Tact will see you, Sir.' '' ' He come plaguy near not seein' of me, then,' sais I ; ' for I had jist commenced makin' tracks as you come in. The next time he sends for me, tell him not to send till he is ready, will you? For it's a rule o' mine to tag arter no man.' " The critter jist stopped short, and began to see whether that spelt treason or no. He never heerd freedom o' speech afore, that feller, I guess, unless it was somebody a jawin' of him, up hill and down dale ; so says I, ' Lead off, my old coon, and I will foller you, and no mistake, if you blaze the line well.' " So he led me up stairs, opened a door, and 'nounced me ; and there was Mr. Tact, sittin' at a large table, all alone. " * How do you do, Mr. Slick ?' says he. ' I am very glad to see you. Fray be seated.' He railly was a very gentlemanlike man, was Squire Tact, that's a fact ' Sorry I kept you waitin' so long,' sais he, * but the Turkish Ambassador was here at the time, and I was compelled to wait until he went. I sent for you. Sir, a-hem !' and he rubbed his hand acrost his mouth, and looked up at the cor- nish, and said, < I sent for you. Sir, a-hem !' — (thinks I, I see now. All you will say for half an hour is only throw'd up for a brush fence, to lay down behind to take aim through ; and arter that, the first shot is the one that's aimed at the bird), ' to explain to you about this African Slave Treaty,' said he. < xour government don't seem to comprehend me in reference to this Bight of Sarch. Lookin' a man in the &ce, to see he is the right man, and sarchin' his pockets, are two very different things. You take, don't you ?' ^' * I'm up to snuff. Sir,' sais I, ' and no mistake.' I know'd well enough that wam't what he sent for me for, by the way be humm'd and hawed when he began. " * Taking up a trunk, as every hotel-keeper does, and has a right to do, and examinin' the name on the brass plate to the eend on't, is one thing ; forcin' the lock and ransackin' the contents, is another. One is precaution, the other is burglary.* " ' It tante bursary,' sais I, 'unless the lodger sleeps in his trunk. It's only—' « < Well,' says he, a colorin' up, ' that's technical. I leave these matters to my law officers.' *' I lamt that little matter of law from Brother Eldad, the lawyer, but I guess I was wrong there. I don't think I had ought to have 116 THE ATTACH^; OR, ji ': '■ given him that sly poke ; but I didn't like his talkin' that way to nio. Whon(;v«uii BVl.n "1V,i H"H^' "»"•' '•'■ ^FW' 126 THE attache; OB, not affording them an opportunity of distinguishing themselves, or rewarding them when they do, they are always ready to make one, by opposition. In comparing their situation with that of the British Isles, they feel that they labor under disabilities ; these disabilities they feel as a degradation ; and as those who impose that degrada- tion live three thousand miles off, it becomes a question whether it is better to suffer or resist." " The Prince de Joinville's horse," said Mr. Slick, " is a case in pint." " One moment, Sam," said Mr. Hopewell. " The very word * dependencies' shows the state of the colonies. If they are to be retained, they should be incorporated with Great Britain. The people should be made to feel, not that they are colo- nists, but Englishmen. They may tinker at constitutions as much as they please ; the root of the evil lies deeper than statesmen are aware oi'. O'Connell, when he agitates for a repeal of the Union, if he really has no ulterior objects beyond that of an Irish Parliament, does not know what he is talking about. If his request were granted, Ireland wouFi become a province, and descend from being an in- tegral part of the empire, into a dependency. Had he ever lived in a colony, he would have known the tendencies of such a condition. " What I desire to see is the very reverse. Now that steam has united the two continents of Europe and America, in such a manner that you can travel from Nova Scotia to England in as short a time as it once required to go from Dublin to London, I should hope for a united legislature. Recollect that the distance from New Orleans to the head of the Mississippi River is greater than from Halifax, N.S., to Liverpool, G.B. I do not want to see colonists and Eng- lishmen arrayed against each other, as different races, but united as one people, having the same rights and privileges, each bearing a share of the public burdeus, and all having a voice in the general government. " The love of distinction is natural to man. Three millions of people cannot be shut up in a colony. They will either turn on each other, or unite against their keepers. The road that leads to retire- ment in the provinces should be open to those whom the hope of dis- tinction invi: ' ' oturn and contend for the honors of the empire. At presei ^^ ,;.. v ' w practically closed." "If ; /if f. .jk forever. Minister," said Mr. Slick, "you couldn't say uo' L' -he Prince de Joinville's boss on that subject." The intorrni. I'-i. - very annoying; for no man I ever met so thoroughly understands the subject of colonial government as Mr. Hopewell. His experience is greater than that of any man now living, and his views more enlarged and more philosophical. " Go on, Sam," said he, with great good humor. " Let us hear what the Prince's horse said." SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 127 ** Well,*' said Mr. Slick, " I don't jist exactly mean to say he spoke, as Balaam's donkey did, in good E. glish or French nother ; but he did that that spoke a whole book, with a handsura wood-cut to the fore, and that's a fact. " About two years ago, one mortal brilin' hot day, as I was a pokin' along the road from Halifax to Windsor, with Old Clay in the wag- gon, with my coat off, a ridin' in my shirt-sleeves, and a thinkin' how slick a mint-julep would travel down red-lane, if I had it, I heerd such a clatterin' and laughin', and screamin' as I never a'most heerd afore, since I was raised. " ' What in natur' is this,' sais I, as I gave Old Clay a crack of the whip, to push on. * There is some critters here I guess, that have found a haw huw's nest, with a tee hee'a egg in it. What's in the wind now ? Well, a sudden turn of the road brought me to where they was, and who should they be but French officers from the Prince's ship, travellin' incog, in plain clothes. But, Lord bless you, cook a Frenchman any way you please, and you can't disguise him. Natur' will out, in spite of all, and the name of a Frencher is written as plain as anything in his whiskers, and his hair, and his skin, and his coat, and his boots, and his air, and his gait, and in everythin', but only let him open his mouth, and the cat's out of the bag in no time, ain't it ? They are droll boys, is the French, that's a fact. . " Well, there was four on 'em dismounted, a holdin' of their bosses by the bridle, and a standin' near a spring of nice cool water ; and there was a fifth, and he was a layin' down belly flounder on the ground, a tryin' to drink out of the runnin' spring. " ' Parley vous French,' sais I, ' Mountsheer ?' At that, they sot to, and larfed again more than ever, I thought they would have gone into the high strikes, they hee-hawed so. " Well, one on 'em, that was a Duke, as I found out arterwards, said, * O yees, Saar, we spoked English too.' " ' Lawful heart !' sais I, * what's the joke ?' " ' Why,' sais he, * look there, Sare.' And then they larfed agin, ready to split ; and sure enough, no sooner had the Leftenant layed down to drink, than the Prince's boss kneeled down, and put his head jist over his neck, and began to drink too. Well, the officer couldn't get up for the boss, and he couldn't keep his face out of the water for the boss, and he couldn't drink for the boss, and he was almost choked to death, and as black in the face as your hat. And the Prince and the officers larfed so, they couldn't help him, if they was to die for it. " Sais I to myself * A joke is a joke, if it tante carried too far, but this critter will be strangled, as sure as a gun, if he lays here splut- terin' this way much longer.' So I jist gives the boss a dab in the mouth, and made him git up ; and then sais I, * Prince,' sais I, for I know'd him by his beard, he bad one exactly like one of the old 128 THE ATTACH^; OB, saint's heads in an Eyetalian pictur, all dressed to a pint, so sais I, * Prince,' and a plaguy handsum man he is too, and as full of fun as a kitten, so sais I, ' Prince,* and what's better, all his officers seemed plaguy proud and fond of him too ; so sais I, ' Prince, voiia le con- dition of one colonist, which,' sais I, ' Prince, means in English, that leftenant is jist like a colonist.' " ' Commong,' says he, ' how is dat ?* " ' Why,' sais I, * Prince, when ver a colonist goes for to drink at a spring of the good things in this world (and plaguy small springs they have here too), and fairly lays down to it, jist as he gets his lips cleverly to it, for a swig, there is some cussed neck or another, of some confounded Britisher, pops right over him, and pins him there. He can't get up, he can't back out, and he can't drink, and he is blacked and blued in the face, and most choked with the weight.* " 'What country was you man of?' said he, for he spoke very good for a Frenchman. " With that I straightened myself up, and looked dignified, for I know'd I had a right to be proud, and no mistake ; sais I, ' Prince, I am an American citizen.' How them two words altered him. P'raps there beant no two words to ditto 'em. He looked for all the world like a different man when he seed I wasn't a mean onsarcum- sifed colonist. " ' Very glad to see you, Mr. Yankee,' said he, ' very glad indeed. Shall I have de honour to ride with you a little way in your car- riage ?' " * As for the matter of that,* sais I, * Mountsheer Prince, the ho- nour is all the other way,' for I can be as civil as any man, if he sets out to act pretty and do the thing genteel. " With that he jumped right in, and then he said somethin' in French to the officers; some order or another, I suppose, about comin on and fetchin' his boss with them. I have beam in my time, a good many men speak French, but I never see the man yet, that could hold a candle to him. Oh, it was like lightnin', jist one long endurin' streak ; it seemed all one sentence and one word. It was beautiful, but I couldn't onderstand it, it was so everlastin' fast. " Now,' sais he, * set sail.' And off we sot, at the rate of sixteen notts an hour. Old Clay pleased him, yo^ may depend ; he turned round and clapped his hands, and larfed, and waved his hat to his officers to come on ; and they whipped, and spurred, and galloped, and raced for dear life ; but we dropped 'em astam like anything, and he larfed again, heartier than ever. There is no people a'most, like to ride so fast as sailors ; they crack on, like a house a fire. " Well, arter a while, sais he, ' Back topsails,' and I hauled up, and he jumped down, and outs with a pocket book, and takes a beautiful gold coronation medal. (It was solid gold, no pinchback, but the rael yaller stuff, jist fresh from King's shop to Paris, where I ! ^M SLICK IN ENGLAND, 129 hi.s money is made), and sais he, ' Mr. Yankee, will you accept that to remember the Prince de Joinville and his horse by ?' And then he took off his hat and made me a bow — ^and if that Wam't a bow, then I never see one, that's all. I don't believe mortal man, unless it was a Philadelphia nigger, could make such a bow. It was enough to sprain his ankle, he curled so low. And then off he went, with a hop, skip, and a jump, sailor fashion, back to meet his people. " Now, Squire, if you see Lord Stanley, tell him that story of the Prince de Joinville's horse ; but before you get so far as that, pin him by admissions. When you want to get a man on the hip, ax him a question or two, and get his answers, and then you have him in a corner, he must stand and let you put on the bridle. He can't help it, no how he can fix it. *' Says you, ' My Lord' — don't forget his title— every man likes the sound of that, it's music to his ears, it's like our splendid na- tional air, Yankee Doodle, you never get tired of it. ' My Lord,* sais you, * what do you suppose is the reason the French keep Al- giers ?' Well, he'll up and say, it's an outlet for the fiery spirits of France — it gives them employment and an opportunity to dis- tinguish themselves, and what the climate and the inimy spare, become valuable officers. It makes good soldiers out of bad sub- jects. '* * Do yuu call that good policy ?" sais you. '' Well, he's a trump, is Mr. Stanley — at least folks say so ; and he'll say right off the reel, ' onquestionably it is — excellent policy.' " When he says that, you have him bagged — ^lie may fiounder and spring like a salmon jist caught ; but he can't get out of the landin' net. You've got him, and no mistake. Sais you, * What outlet have you for the colonies ?' " Well, he'll scratch his head and stare at that, for a space. He'll hum and haw a little to get breath, for he never thought of that afore, since he grow'd up ; but he's no fool, I can tell you, and. he'll out with his mould, run an answer and be ready for you in no time. He'll say, * They don't require none, Sir. They have no redundant population. They are an outlet themselves.' " Sais you, 'I wasn't talking of an outlet for population, for France Or the provinces nother. I was talking of an outlet for the clever men, for the onquiet ones, for the fiery spirits.' " ' For that, Sir,' he will say, ' they have the local patronage.* " ' Oh !' sais you, ' I warn't aware, I beg pardon, I have been absent some time, as long as twenty days, or perhaps twenty-five — there must have been great changes since I left.' " ' The garrison ?' sais you. " * Is English,' sais he. ^ 6» TTT ^wrmv^^'^mf^i^^mi^''^''wfw^^^^mimmmm *v 180 THU ATTACH^; OB, III " • The armed ships in the harbor ?' " * English.' '* * The governor and his secretary ?' •* * English.' *' * The principal officer of customs and principal part of his depu- ties?' ' ' «* English.' ** * The commissariat and the statT?* " * English to a man.' " * The dockyard people ?* *' * English.' " * The postmaster gineral ?' , « * English.' " * What, English?* sais you, and look all surprise, as if you didn't know. * I thought he was a colonist, seein' the province pays so much for the mails.' " ' No,' he'll say, * not now ; we have jist sent an English one over, for we find it's a good thing that.' " * One word more,* says you, * and I have done. If your army officers out there get leave of absence, do you stop their pay ?' «*No.' " * Do you sarve native colonists the same way ?' " ' No, we stop half their salaries.' " ' Exactly,' sais you, ' make them feel the difference. Always make a nigger feel he is a nigger, or he'll get sassy, you may de- pend. As for patronage,' sais you, *you know as well as I do, that all that's not worth havin', is jist lefl to poor colonist. He is an offi- cer of militia, gets no pay, and finds his own fit-out. Like Don Quixote's tailor, he works for nothin', and finds thread. Any other little matters of the same kind, that nobody wants, and nobody else will take, if Blue-nose makes interest for, and has good luck, he can get as a great favor, to conciliate his countrymen. No, Min- ister,' says you, ' you are a clever man, everybody says you are a brick ; and if you ain't, you talk more like one, than anybody I have seen this while past. I don't want no office myself; if I did, p'raps I wouldn't talk about patronage this way ; but I am a colo- nist, I want to see the colonists remain so. They are attached to England, that's a fact — ^keep them so by making them Englishmen. Throw the door wide open ; patronize them ; enlist them in the im- perial sarvice, allow them a chance to contend for honors, and let them win them, if they can. If they don't it's their own fault, and cuss 'em, they ought to be kicked ; for if they ain't too lazy, there is no mistake in 'em, that's a fact. The country will be proud of them, if they go a-head. Their language will change then. It will be our army, the delighted critters will say, not the English army ; our navy, our church, our pai'liament, our aristocracy, &c., and the SAM SLICE IN BNOLAND. 181 word English will be left out holus-bolus, and that proud, that en- dcarin' word " our," will be insarted. Do this, and you will show yourself the first statesman of modern times. You'll rise right up to the toj) of the pot, you'll go clean over Peel's head, as you folks go over ourn, not by jumpin' over him, but by takin' him by the neck and squeezin' him down. You 'mancipated the blacks, now liberate the colonists and make Englishmen of them, and see whether the goneys won't grin from ear to ear, and show their teeth, as well as the niggers did. Don't let Yankee clockmakers, (you may say that if you like, if it will help your argument,) don't let travelliu' Yankee clockmakers tell such stories, against your justice and our pride, as that of the Prince de Joinville and his horse.' " CHAPTER XXII. LIFE IN THE COUNTRY. ** Here," said Mr, Slick, " Is an invitation for you and me, and Minister, to go and visit Sir Littleeared Bighead, down to York- shire. You can go if you like, and for once, p'raps it's worth goin* to see 1k)w these chaps first kill time, and then how time kills them in turn. Eatin', drinkin', sleepin', growlin*, fowlin', and huntin' kills time ; and gout, aperplexy, dispepsy, and blue devils kills them. They are like two fightin' dogs — one dies of the threshin' he gets, and t'other dies of the wounds he got a killin' of him. Tit for tat ; what's sarce for the goose, is sarce for the gander. " If you want to go. Minister will go with you ; but hang me if I do. The only thing is, it'll puzzle you to get him away, if he gets down there. You never see such a crotchical old critter in your life as he is. He flies right off the handle for nothin'. He goes strayin* away off in the fields and gullies, a browsin' about with a hammer, crackin' up bits of stones like walnuts, or pickin' up old weeds, faded flowers, and what not ; and stands starin' at 'em for ever so long, through his eye-glass, and keeps a sayin' to himself, ' Won- derful provision of natur !' Airth and seas ! what does he mean ? How long would a man live on such provision, I should like to know, as them bitter yarbs ? " Well, then, he'll jist as soon set down and jaw away by the hour together with a dirty-faced, stupid little poodle lookin' child, as if it was a nice spry little dog he was a trainin' of for trecin' partridges ; 182 TH£ AITACU^; OR, or talk poetry with the galls, or corn-law with t' patriots, or any- thing. Nothin' comes amiss to him. " But what provokes me, is to hear him go V^'uilin' all over the country about homo scenes, and beautiful lando'japo, and rich vnr- dure. My sakes, the vardure here is so deep, it Ic tks like mournin' ; it's actilly dismal. Then there's no water to give light to the pic- tur, and no sun to cheer it ; and the hedges are ull square ; and the lino trees are as stitl' as an old gall that was once pretty, and has grown proud on the memory of it. *' I don't like their landscape a bit — there ain't ao natu;* in it. Oh 1 if you go, take him along with you, for he will ]mt you in consait of all you sec, except reform, dissent, and things o' t^iut kind; for he is an out and out old Tory, and thinks nothin' can '.'; changed here for the better, except them that don't agree with hin;, " lie was a warnin' you t'other day not to take all I said for Gos- pel about society here r but you'll see who's right anti who's wrong afore you've done, I know. I described to you. whe* you returned from Germany, DinirC out to London. Now ^ "4 give you my j>pin- ion of ' Life in the Country* And fust of aii, as I was a sayin', there is no such thing as natur' here. Everything is artificial ; everything of its kind alike ; and everything onimcrestin' and tire- some. " Well, if London is dull, in the way of TV t*8t Send people, the country, I guess, is a little mucher. Life in the country is differ- ent, of coui*se, from life in town ; but still life .elf is alike there, exceptin' again class difference. That is, noH^ j; is all alike, as far as their order goes ; and country gents is al'ke, r ,! far as their class goes ; and the last especially, when they hante l.avelled none, ever- lastin' flat, in their own way. Take a lord, now, and visit him to his country seat, and I'll tell you whnt yo ?. will find — ^a sort of Washington State House place. It is ei. tci* a rail old castle of the genuine kind, or a gingerbread crinku.r's machine, and the Yankee woman's machine, and the flyin' machine, and all sorts of machines, and galleries, and tunnels, and mesmerizers, and theatres, and flower-shows, and cattle-shows, and beast-shows, and every kind of show ; and what's better nor all, beautiful got-up women, and men turned out in fust chop style, too. " I don't mean to say country women ain't handsum here, 'cause they be. There is no sun here ; and how in natur' can it be other- ways than that they have good complexions ? But it tante safe to be caged with them in a house out o' town. Fust thing you both do, is to get spooney, makin' eyes and company-faces at each other, and then think of matin', like a pair of doves, and that won't an- swer for the like of you and me. The fact is, Squire, if you want to see iDomen, you musn't go to a house in the country, nor to mere good company in town for it, tho' there be first chop articles in both ; but you must go among the big bugs, the top-lofly nobility, in London ; for since the days of old marm Eve, down to this in- stant present time, I don't think there ever was or ever will be such splendiferous galls as h& there. Lord, the fust time I seed 'em it put me in mind of what had happened to me at New Brunswick once. Governor of Maine sent me over to their Governor's, official- SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 189 like, with a state letter, and the British officers axed me to dine to their mess. Well, the English brags so like niggers, 1 thought I'd {)rovo 'em, and set 'em off on their old trade jist for fun. So, says I, stranger captain, sais I, is all these forks and spoons, and plates and covers, and urns, and what nots, rael genuioine solid silver, the clear thing, and no mistake ? 'Sartainly,' said he, 'we have nothin* but silver here.* He did, upon my soul, just as cool, as if it was all true. Well, you can't tell a military what he sais ain't credible, or you have to fight him. It's considered ongenteel, so I jist puts my finger on my nose, and winks, as much as to say, ' I ain't such a cussed fool as you take me to be, I can tell you.' " " When he seed I'd found him out, he larfed like anything. Guess he found that was no go, for I warn't born in the woods to be scared by an owl, that's a fact Well, the fust time I went to lord's party, I thought it was another brag agin ; I never see nothin' like it. Heavens and airth, I most jumpt out o' my skin. Where onder the sun, sais I to myself, did he rake and scrape together such super-superior galls as these ? This party is a kind o' con- sarvitory — he has got all the raree plants and sweetest roses in England here, and must have ransacked the whole country for 'em. Knowin' I was a judge of woman kind, he wants me to think they are all this way ; it's onpossible. They are only ' show frigates,' arter all ; it don't stand to reason, they can't be all clippers. He can't put the leake into me that way, so it tante no use tryin*. Well, the next time, I seed jist such another covey of partridges — same plumage, same step, and same breed. Well done, sais I, they are intarmed to pull the wool over my eyes, that's a fact, but they won't find that no easy matter, I know. Guess they must be done now — they can't show another presarve like them agin in all Brit- ain. What trouble they do take to brag here, don't they ? Well, to make a long story short, how do you think it eventuated. Squire? Why, every party I went to had as grand a show as them, only some on 'em was better — fact, I assure you — it's gospel truth ; there ain't a word of a lie in it — text to the letter. I never see nothin* like it, since I was raised, nor dreamed nothin* like it ; and what's more, I don't think the world has nothin' like it nother. It beats all natur. It takes the rag off quite. If that old Turk, Mahomed, had seed these galls, he wouldn't a bragged about his beautiful ones in paradise so everlastinly, I know ; for these English heifers would have beat 'em all holler, that's a fact. For my part, I call myself a judge. I have an eye there ain't no deceivin*. I have made it a study, and know every pint about a woman, as well as I do about a boss ; therefore, if I say so, it must be so, and no mistake. I make all allowances lor the gear, and the gettin' up, and the vampin', and all that sort o' flash; but toggery won't make an ugly gall handsum, uo how you can fix it. It may lower her ugliness a leetle, but it 140 THE attache: or won't raise her beauty, if she hante got none. But I warn't a talk- in' of nobility ; I was a talkin' of Life in the Country. But the wust of it is, when galls come on the carpet, I could talk all day ; for the dear little critters, I do love 'em, that's a fact. Lick! it sets me crazy a'most. Well, where was we ? for petticoats always puts everything out o' my head. Whereabouts was we ?" " You were saying that there were more things to be seen in London than in the country." •' Exactly ; now I have it. I've got the thread agin. So there is. " There's England's Queen, and England's Prince, v nd Hano- over's King, and the old SworoHelt that whopped Bony ; and he is bettec worth seein' than anv . jow livin' on the face ot the uni- varsal airth, let t'other one 'le '. he will, that's a fact. He is a great man, all through the piece, and no mistake. If there was — what do you call that word. " h^n one Tuan's breath pops into 'nother man's body, changin' lodginS; like ^" " Do you mean transmigration ?" " Yes ; if there was such a thing as that, I should say it was old Liveoak himself, Mr. Washington, that was transmigrated into him, and that's no mean thing to say of him, I tell you. " Well, now, there's none o' these things to the country ; and it's so everlastin' stupid, it's only a Britisher and a nigger that could live in an English country-house. A nigger don't like movin', and it would jist suit him, if it warn't so awful wet and cold. w ill' Oh if I was President of these here United States, I'd suck sugar-cand^ and swing voon de gates ; And them I didn't hke, I'd strike 'em off de docket, And the way we'd go ahead, would be akin to Davy Crockit. With my zippy dooden, dooden dooden, dooden dooden dey, With my zippy dooden, dooden dooden, dooden dooden dey. '* It might do for a nigger, suckin' sugar candy and drinkin* mint- julep ; but it won't do for a free and enlightened citizen like me. A country-house — oh goody gracious ! the Lord presarve me from it, I say. If ever any soul ever catches me there agin, I'll give *em leave to tell me of it, that's all. Oh go, Squire, by all means ; you will find it monstrous pleasant, I know you will. Go and spend a week there ; it will make you feel up in the stirrups, I know. P'raps nothin' can exceed it. It takes the rag otf the bush quite. It caps all, that's a fact, does ^Idfe in the Country* " SAH SLICK IN SNGLAND. 141 2 seen in CHAPTER XXIII. BUNKUM, I AM not surprised at th*^ views expressed by Mr. Slick in the previous chapter. He has led too active a life, and his habits and thoughts are too business-like to admit of his enjoying retirement, or accommodating himself to the formal restraints of polished so- ciety. And yet, after making this allowance for his erratic life, it is but fair to add that his descriptions were always exaggerated ; and, wearied as he no doubt was by the uniformity of country life, yet in describing it, he has evidently seized on the most striking features, and made them more prominent than they really appeared, even to his fatigued and prejudiced vision. In other respects, they are just the sentiment we may suppose would be naturally entertained by a man like the Attach^, under such circumstances. On the evening after that on which he had described "Life in the Country" to me, he called with two "orders" for admission to the House of Commons, and took me down with him to hear the debates. " It's a great sight," said he. " We shall see all their uppercrust men put their best foot out. There's a great musterin' of the tribes, to-night, and the Sachems will come out with a great talk. There'll be some sport, I guess ; some hard hittin', scalpin', and tomahawkin'. To see a Britisher scalp a Britisher is equal to a bull-fight, any time. You don't keer whether the bull, or the horse, or the rider is killed, none of 'em is nothin' to you ; so you can enjoy it, and hurror for him that wins, of julep, but I Come, let's go." We were shown into a small gallery, at one end of the legislative wall (the two side ones being appropriated to members), and with some difficulty found sitting room in a place that commanded a view of the whole house. We were unfortunate. All the great speak- ers. Lord Stanley, Sir Robert Peel, Sir James Graham, Shiel, and Lord John Russell, had either already addressed the Chair, and were thereby precluded by the rules of the House from coming for- ward again, or did not choose to answer second-rate men. Those whom we did heur, made a most wretched exhibition. About ine I don't keer who carries the day, the valy of a treat want to see the sport. It's excitin', them things. 142 THE ATTACHE; OR, o'clock, the adjournment took place, and we returned, fatigued and disappointed. " Did you ever see the beat of that, Squire ?" said Mr. Slick. " Don't that take tlie rag off quite ? Cuss them fellers that spoke, they are wuss than assembly men, hang me if they ain't ; and they ain't fit to tend a bear trap, for they'd be sure to catch themselves, if they did, in their own pit-fall. " Did you hear that Irishman a latherin' away with both arms, as if he was tryin' to thrash out wheat, and see how bothered he looked, as if he couldn't find nothin' but dust and chaff in the straw? Well, that critter was agin the Bill, in course, and Irish like, used every argument in favor of it. Like a pig swimmin' agin stream, every time he struck out, he was a cuttiu' of his own throat. He then blob blob blobbered, and gog gog goggled, till he choked with words and passion, and then sot down. " Then that English Radical feller, that spoke with great voice, and little sense. Ain't he a beauty, without paint, that critter? He know'd he had to vote agin the Bill, 'cause it was a Grovern- ment Bill, and he know'd he had to speak for Bunkum^ and there- fore—" " Bunkum ! " I said. " Pray, what is that ?" " Did you never hear of Bunkum ?" " No, never." ' ' *' Why, you don't mean to say you don't know what that is ?'* " I do not, indeed." " Not Bunkum ? Why, there is more of it to Nova Scotia every winter, than would paper every room in Government House, and then curl the hair of every gall in the town. Not heer of BunJcum'^ Why, how you talk l" " No, never." " Well, if that don't pass ! I thought everybody know'd that word. I'll tell you, then, what Bunkum is. All over America, every place likes to hear of its members to Congress, and see their speeches ; and if they don't, they send a piece to the paper, en- quirin' if their member died a nateral death, or was skivered with a bowie knife, for they hante seen his speeches lately, and his friends are anxious to know his fate. Our free and enlightened citizens don't approbate silent members ; it don't seem to them as if Squash- ville, or Punkenville, or Lumbertown was right represented, unless Squashviile or Punkenville, or Lumbertown, makes itself heard and known, ay, and feared too. So every feller, in bounden duty, talks, and talks tig too ; and the smaller the State, the louder, bigger, and fiercer its members talk. " Well, when a critter talks for talk sake, jist to have a speech in the paper to send to home, and not for any othei- airthly puppus but electioneering, our folks call it Bunkum. Now liie State o' Maine 8AM SLICE IN ENGLAND. 143 is a great place for Bunkum — its members for years threatened to run foul of England, with all steam on, and sink her, about the boundary line, voted a million of dollars, payable in pine logs and spruce boards, up to Bangor mills — and called out a hundred thou- sand militia (only they never come), to captur* a saw mill to New Brunswick — that's Bunkum. All that flourish about Right o' Sarch was Bunkum — all that brag about hangin' your Canada sheriff was Bunkum. All the speeches about the Caroline, and Creole, and Bight of Sarch, was Bunkum. In short, almost all that's said in Congress, in the colonies (for we set the fashions to them, as Paris galls do to our milliners), and all over America, is Bunkum. " Well, they talk Bunkum here, too, as well as there. Slavery speeches are all Bunkum ; so are reform speeches, too. Do you think them fellers that keep up such an everlastin' gab about repre- sentation, care one cent about the extension of franchise ? Why, no, not they ; it's only to secure their seats to gull their constituents, to get a name. Do you think them goneys that make such a touss about the Arms' Bill, care about the Irish ? No, not they ; they wau't Irish votes, that's all — it's Bunkum. Do you jist go and mesmerise John Russell, and Macauley, and the other officers of the regiment of Reformers, and then take the awkward squad of recruits — fellers that were made drunk with excitement, and then enlisted with the promise of a shillin', which they never got, the sargeants having drank it all ; go and mesmerise them all, from General Russell down to Private Chartist, clap 'em into a caterwaulin* or catalapsin' sleep, or whatever the word is, and make 'em tell the secrets of their hearts, as Dupotet did the Clear-voyancing gall, and jist hear what they'll tell you. " Lord John will say — ' I was sincere !' (and I believe, on my soul, he was. He is wrong beyond all doubt, but he is an honest man, and a clever man, and if he had taken his ovm way more, and given Powlet Thompson his less, he would a' been a great colony secretary ; and more's the pity he is in such company. He'll get off his beam ends, and right himself though, yet, I guess). Well, he'd say — *■ I was sincere, I was disinterested ; but I am disappointed. I have awakened a pack of hungry villains who have sharp teeth, long claws, and the appetite of the devil. They have swallered all I gave 'em, and now would eat me up without salt, if they could. Oh, that I could hark back ! there is no satisfying a movement "party! " Now, what do the men say (I don't mean men of rank, but the men in the ranks), — ' Where's all the fine things we were promised when Reform gained the day ?' sais they ; ' ay, where are they ? for we ai*e wuss off than ever, now, bavin' lost all our old friends, and got bilked by our new ones tarnationly. What did all their fine speeches end in at last ? Bunkum; damn the thing cut Bunkum. " But that aint the wust of it, nother. Bunkum, like lyin', is ^ p 144 THE ATTACH^; OR, plaguy apt to make a man believe his own bams at last. From telling 'em so often, he forgets whether he grow'd 'em or dreamt 'em, and so he stands right up on eend, kisses the book, and swears to 'cm, as positive- as the Irishman did to the gun, which he said he know'd ever since it was a pistol. Now that^s Bunkum. " But to get back to what^ we was a talkin' of, did you ever hear such bad speakin' in your life, now tell me candid ? because if you have, I never did, that's all. Both sides was bad, it aint easy to say which is wus, six of one and half a dozen of t'other, nothin' to brag of nary way. That government man, that spoke in their favor, wam't his speech rich ? " Lord love you I I aint no speaker, I never made but one speech '^ince I w&s raised, and that was afore a Slickville legislatur, and then 1 broke down. I know'd who I was a talkin' afore ; they was men that had cut their eye-teeth, and that you couldn't pull the wool over their eyes, nohow you could fix it, and I was young then. Now I'm growed up, I guess, and I've got my narves in the right place, and as taught as a drum ; and I could speak if I was in the House o' Commons, that's a fact. If a man was to try there, that was worth anythin', he'd find he was a flute without knowin' it. They don't onderstand nothin' but Latin and Greek, and I'de buoy out them sand banks, keep the lead agoin', stick to the channel, and never take ground, I know. The way I'd cut water aint no matter. Oh, Solomon ! what a field for good speakin* that question was to- night, if they only had half an eye, them fellers, and what a'most a beautiful mess they made of it on both sides ! " I ain't a vain man, and never was. You know, Squire, I hante a mossel of it in my composition ; no, if you was to look at me with a ship's glass, you wouldn't see a grease spot of it in me. I don't think any of us Yankees is vain people ; it's a thing don't grow in our diggins. We have too much sense in a giniral way for that ; indeed, if we wanted any, we couldn't get none for love nor money, for John Bull has a monopoly of it. He won't open the trade. It's a home market he looks to, and the best of it is, he thinks he hante none to spare. " Oh, John, John Bull, when you are full rigged, with your white cravat and white waistcoat like Young England, and have got your go-to-meetin' clothes on, if you ain't a sneezer, it's a pity, that's all. No, I ain't a vain man, I despise it, as I do a nigger ; but. Squire, what a glorious field the subject to-night is for a man that knows what's what, and was up to snuff, ain't it ? Airth and seas I if I was there, I could speak on either side ; for like Waterloo it's a fair field ; it's good ground for both parties. Heavens, what a speech I could make ! I'd electrify 'era, and kill 'em dead like lightnin', and then galvanise 'em and fetch 'em to life agin, and then give them exhili- ratin' gass, and set 'em a laiiin', till they fairly wet themselves agin 1^ ' SAM SLICE IN ENGLAND. 145 with cryin'. Wouldn't it be fun, that's all ? I could sting Peel so if I liked, he'd think a guUcy nipper had bit him, and he'd spring right off the floor on to the table at one jump, gout or no gout, ravin' mad with pain and say, ' I'm bit thro' the boot by Gosh ;' or if I was to take his side, for I care so little about the British, all sides is alike to me, I'd make them Irish members dance like ravin', dis- tractin' bed bugs. I'd make 'em howl, first wicked and then dismal, I know. " But they can't do it, to save their souls alive ; some has it in 'era and can't get it out, physic 'em as you would, first with wanity, and then with office ; others have got a way out, but have nothin' to |«mnP|ffppKr- SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 153 " To the lakes, of course ; there are no fish in the ponds." " Exactly," said Mr. Slick ; " that is what I want to bring you to ; there is no fish in a pond, there is nothin* but frogs. Nova Scotia is only a pond, and so is New Brunswick, and such outland- ish, out o' the way, little crampt up, stagnant places. There is no ' big fish ' there, nor never can be ; there ain't no food for 'em. A colony frog ! ! Heavens and airth, what an odd fish that is I A colony pollywog ! do, for gracious sake, catch one, put him into a glass bottle full of spirits, and send him to the Museum as a curiosity in natur. So you are a goin' to make your two nice pretty little smart boys a pair of colony frogs, eh ? Oh ! do, by all means. " You'll have great comfort in 'em. Squire. Monstrous comfort. It will do your old heart good to go down to the edge of the pond on the fust of May, or thereabouts, accordin' to the season, jist at sun down, and hear 'em sing. You'll see the little fellers swell out their cheeks, and roar away like young suckin' thunders. For the frogs beat all natur there for noise ; they have no notion of it here at all. I've seed Englishmen that couldn't sleep all night, for the cverlastin' noise these critters made. Their frogs have somethin' else to do here besides singin'. Ain't it a splendid prospect that, havin' these young frogs settled all round you in the same mud-hole, all gathered in u nice httle musical family party ? All smart fun this, till some fine day we Yankee storks will come down and gob- ble them all up, and make clear work of it. " No, Squire, take my advice now, for once ; jist go to your colo- ny minister when he is alone. Don't set down, but stand up as if you was in aimest, and didn't come to gossip, and tell him, ' Turn these ponds into a lake,' sais you, ' my lord minister, give them an inlet and an outlet. Let them be kept pure, and sweet, and whole- some, by a stream runnin' through. Fish will live there then, if you put them in, and they tvill breed there, and keep up the stock. At present they die ; it ain't big enough ; there ain't room.' If he sais he hante time to hear you, and asks you to put it into writin', nthian nto his s head, ou are In' you thing, it cuts crazy, ' Your a is as it cut e, and y will attack him on the fourpence, and thimble rigg him out of that.' ' They say Sugden is in town, hung in a bad light, at the Temple Church. — * Who is that?' ♦ Lady Fobus ; paired off for the Session ; Brodie operated.' — ' Lady Francis ; got the Life Guards ; there will be a division to-night.' — * That's Sam Slick ; I'll introduce you ; made a capital speech in the House of Lords, in answer to Brougham — Lobelia — voted for the bill — The Duchess is very fond of — Irish Arms — * " Oh ! now I'm in the entry. How tired I am ! It feels shockin' cold here, too, arter comin' out o' that hot room. Guess I'll go to the grand musical party. Come, this will do ; this is Christian-like, there is room here ; but the singin' is in the nex room, I will go and hear them. Oh ! here they are agin ; it's a proper mob this. Cuss these English, they can't live out of mobs. Prince Albert is there in that room ; I must go and see him. He is popular ; he is a renderin* of himself very agreeable to the English, is Prince : he mixes with them as much as he can : and shews his sense in that. Church steeples are very pretty things : that one to Antwerp is splendiriferous ; it's everlastin' high, it most breaks your neck layin' back your head to look at it ; bend backward like a hoop, and stare at it once with all your eyes, and you can't look up agin, you are satisfied. It tante no use for a Prince to carry a head so high as that, Albert knows this; he don't want to be called the highest steeple, cause all the world knows he is about the top loftiest ; but he wants to descend to the world we live in. " With a Queen all men love, and a Prince all men like, royalty has a root in the heart here. Pity, too, for the English don't desarve to have a Queen ; and such a Queen as they have got, too, hang me if they do. They ain't men, they hante the feelin's or pride o' men in 'em ; they ain't what they used to be, the nasty, dirty, mean- spirited, sneakin' skunks, for if they had a heart as big as a pea — and that ain't any great size, nother— cuss 'em, when any feller pinted a finger at her to hurt her, or even frighten her, they'd string him right up on the spot, to the lamp-post. Lynch him like a dog that steals sheep right off the reel, and save mad-doctors, skary judges, and Chartist papers all the trouble of findin' excuses. And, if that didn't do, Chinese like, they'd take the whole crowd present and sarve them out. They'd be sure to catch the right one then. I wouldn't shed blood, because that's horrid ; it shocks all Christian people, philosophisin' legislators, sentimental ladies, and spooney gentlemen. It's horrid barbarous that, is sheddin' blood ; I wouldn't do that, I'd jist hang him. A strong cord tied round his neck would keep that precious mixtur, traitor's blood, all in as close as if his mouth was corked, wired, and white-leaded, like a champagne bottle. " Oh, deal' ! these are the fellers that come out a travellin' among •"^ip ■WWP 160 THK ATTACH^; OR, US, and sayin' the difference atwecn you and us is < the absence of loyalty.' I've heard tell a great deal of that loyalty, but I've seen precious little of it, since I've been here, that's a fact. I've always told you these folks ain't what they used to be, and I see more and more on 'em every ddy. Yes, the English are like their houses, they are so fine bred, there is nothin' lefl of 'em now but the hide, hair, and shoes. " So, Prince Albert is there in that room ; I must get in there and see him, for I have never sot eyes on him since I've been here, so hei*e goes. Onder, below there, look out for your corns, hawl your feet in, like turtles, for I am a comin'. Take care o' your ribs, my old 'coons, for my elbows are crooked. Who wants to grow ? I'll squeeze you out as a roUin'-pin does dough, and make you ten inches taller. I'll make good figures of you, my fat boys and galls, I know. Look out for scaldin's there. Here I am : it's me, Sam Slick, make way, or I'll walk right over you, and cronch you like lobsters. ' Cheap talkin', or rather thinkin', sais I ; 'for in course I couldn't bawl that out in company here; they don't onderstand fun, and would think it rude, and ongenteel. I have to be shockin' cautious what I say here, for fear I might lower our great nation in the eyes of foreigners. I have to look big and talk big the whole blessed time, and I am tired of it. It ain't nateral to me ; and, besides braggin' and rcpudiatin' at the same time, is most as bad as cantin' and swearin'. It kinder chokes me. I thought it all though, and sAid it all to myself. ' And,' sais I, ' take your time, Sam ; you can't do it, no how, you can fix it. You must wait your time, like other folks. Your legs is tied, and your arms is tied down by the crowd, and you can't move an inch beyond your nose. The only way is, watch your chance, wait till you can get your hands up, then turn the fust two persons that's next to you right round, and slip between them like a turnstile in the park, and work your passage that way. Which is the Prince ? That's him with the hair carefully divided, him with the moustaches. I've seed him ; a plaguy handsum man he is, too. Let me out now. I'm stified, I'm choked. My jaws stick together, I can't open 'em no more ; and my wind won't hold out another minute.' •* I have it now, I've got an idea. See if I don't put the leake into 'em. Won't I do them, that's all ? CJlear the way there, the Prince is a comin', and so is the Duke. And a way is opened : waves o' the sea roll back at these words, and I walks right out, as large as life and the fust Egyptian that foUers is drowned, for the water has closed over him. Sarves him right too, what business had he to grab at my life-presarver without leave. I have enough to do to get along by my own wit, without carryin' double. " ' Where is the Prince ? Didn't they say he was a comin' ? Who was that went out ? He don't look like the Prince ; he ain't half so m SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 161 handsun, that feller, he looks like a Yankee.' * Why, that was Sam Slick.' * Capital, that 1 What a droll feller he is : he is always so ready ! He desarves credit for that trick.' Guess I do ; but let old Connecticut alone : us Slickville boys always find a way to dodgo in or out, embargo or no embargo, blockade or no blockade, we larat that last war. *^IIere I am in the street agin; the air feels handsum. I have another invitation to-night, shall I go? Guess I will. All the world is at these two last places, I rcckin there will be breathin' room at the next ; and I want an ice cream to cool my coppers, shockin' bad. — Creation! It is wus than ever; this party beats t'other ones all holler. They ain't no touch to it. I'll jist go and make a scrape to old uncle and aunty, and then cut stick ; for I hante strength to s wiggle my way through another mob. " ' You had better get in fust, though, hadn't you, Sam ? for here you are agin wracked, by gosh, drove right slap ashore atween them two fat women, and fairly wedged in and bilged. You can't get through, and can't get out, if you was to die for it.' ' Can't I though ? I'll try ; for I never give in, till I can't help it. So here's at it. Heave off, put all steam on, and back out, stam fust, and then swing round into the stream. That's the ticket, Sam.' It's done ; but my elbow has took that lady that's two steps furder down on the stairs, just in the eye, and knocked in her dead light. How she cries 1 how I apologize, don't I? And the more I beg pardon, the wus she car- ries on. But it's no go ; if I stay, I must fust fight somebody, and then maiTy her; for I've spiled her beauty, and that's the rule here, they tell me.' " So I sets studen sail booms, and cracks on all sail, and steers for home, and here I am once more ; at least what's left of me, and that ain't much more nor my shader. Oh dear ! I'm tired, shockin' tired, almost dead, and awful thirsty : for Heaven's sake, give me some li"niim vitje, for I am so dry, I'll blow away in dust. " 1 his is a Swoi-ree, Squircj this is London society : this is ra- tional enjoyment, this is a meeting of friends, who are so infamal frien'' / they are jammed together so they can't leave each other. Inseparable friends ; you must choke 'em off, or you can't part 'em. Well, I ain't jist so thick and intimate with none o' them in this country as all that comes to, nother. I won't lay down my life for none on 'em; I '^on't see no occasion for it, do youf " I'll dine witu you, John Bull, if you axe me ; and I ain't nothin' above particular to do, and the cab hire don't cost more nor the price of a dinner ; but hang me if ever I go to a Swoi-ree agin. I've had enough of that to last me my life, I know. A dinner I hante no ob- jection to, thou ii that ain't quite so bright as a pewter button nother, when you don't know your right and left hand man. And an evenin' party, I wouldn't take my oath I wouldn't go to, though I don't know m 162 THE ATTACHE; OB, hardly what to talk about, except America. ; and I've bragged so much about that, I'm tired of the subject. But a Swoi-ree is the devilj that's a/actJ* CHAPTER XXVII. TATTERSALL'S ; OR, THE ELDER AND THE GRAVE DIGGER. " Squire," said Mr. Slick, " it ain't rainin' to-day ; suppose you come along with me to Tattersall's. I have been studyin' that place a considerable sum to see whether it is a safe shop to trade in or no. But I'm dubersome ; I don't like the cut of the sportin folks here. If I can see both eends of the rope, and only one man has hold of one eend, and me of the t'other, why I know what I am about ; but if I can only see my own eend, I don't know who I am a puUin' agin. I intend to take a rise out o' some o' the knowin' ones here, that V'ill make 'em scratch their heads, and stare, I know. But here we are. Cut round this coiner, into this lane. Here it is ; this is it to the right." We entered a sort of coach-yard, which was filled with a laat'ey and mixed crowd of people. I was greatly disappointed in Tatter- sall's. Indeed, few things in London have answered my expecta- tions. They have either exceeded or fallen short of the description I had heard of them. I was prepared, both from what I was told by Mr. Slick, and heard from others, to find that there were but very few gentlemen-like-looking men there ; and that by far the greater number neither were, nor affected to be, anything but " knowing ones." I was led to believe that there would be a plentiful use of the terms of art, a variety of provincial accent, and that the conver- sation of the jockeys and grooms would be liberally garnished with appropriate slang. The gentry portion of the throng, with some few exceptions, it was said, wore a dissipated look, and had that peculiar appearance of an incipient disc ase, that indicates a life of late hours, of excitv.- ment and bodily exhaustion. Lower down in the scale of iife, I was informed, intemperance had left its indelible marks. And that still further down, were to be found the worthless lees of this foul and polluted stream of sporting gentlemen, spendthrifts, gamblers, bank- rupts, sots, sharpers and jockeys. This was by no means the case. It was just what a man might have expected to have found a great sporting exchange and auction mart, of horses and carriages, to have been, in a great city like Lon- don, had he been merely told that such was the object of the place. iiw/»i«:»*w!i«.i»i*> SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 163 and then left to imagine the scene. It was, as I have before said, a mixed and motley crowd ; and must necessarily be so, where agents attend to bid for their principals, where servants are in waiting upon their masters, and above all, where the ingress is open to every one. It is, however, unquestionably the resort of gentlemen. In a great and rich country like this, there must, unavoidably, be a Tattersall's ; and the wonder is, not that it is not better, but that it is not infinitely worse. Like all striking pictures, it had strong lights and shades. Those who have suffered, are apt to retaliate; and a man who has been duped, too often thinks he has a right to make reprisals. Tat- tersall's, therefore, is not vithout its privateers. Many persons of rank and character patronize sporting, from a patriotic but mistaken notion, that it is to the turf alone the excellence of the English horse is attributable. One person of this description, whom I saw there for a short time, I had the pleasure of knowing before ; and from him I learned many inters ti'-g anecdotes of individuals whom he pointed out as having been ice well known about town, but whose attachment to gambling had effected their ruin. Personal stories of this kind are, however, not within the scope of this work. As soon as we entered, Mr. Slick called my attention to the car- riages which were exhibited for sale, to their elegant shape and " beautiful fixins," as he termed it ; but ridiculed, in no measured terms, their enormous weight. " It is no wonder" said he, " they have to get fresh bosses here every ten miles, and travellin' costs so much, when the carriage alone is enough to kill beasts. What would Old Bull say, if I was to tell him of one pair of bosses carryin' three or four people, forty or fifty miles a day, day in and day out, hand runnin' for a fortnight ? Why, he'd either be too civil to tell me it was a lie, or bein' afeerd I'd jump down his throat if he did, he'd sing dumb, and let me see by his looks, he thought so, though. " I intend to take the consait out of these chaps, and that's a fact. If I don't put the leake into *em afore I've done with them, ray name ain't Sam Slick, that's a fact. I'm studyin' the ins and the outs of this place, so as to know what I am about, afore I take hold ; for I feel kinder skittish about my men. Gentlemen are the lowest, lyin- est, bullyinest, blackguards there is, when they choose to be ; 'spe- cially if they have rank as well as money. A thorough-brtd cheat, of good blood, is a ••-Upper, that's a fact. They ain't right up-and- down, like a cow's tail, in their dealin's ; and they've got accomplices, fellers that will lie for 'em like anything, for the houoi* of their com- pany ; and bettin', onder such circumstances, ain't safe. *' But I'll tell you whai is, if you have got a boss that can do it, and no mistake ; back him, hoss agin boss, or what's safer L^ill, hoss agin time, and you can't be tricked. Now, I'll send for Old Clay, to come in Canard's steamer, and cuss 'em they ought to bring over 1 . ij> iii|.,iRjuj q If pK«iii|Li;i«l|L.iiilli(l9asm<>^<«>'Pqq^Hpnn':!^ ? 164 THE ATTACHE ; OR, the old boss and his fixins, free, for it was me first started that line. The way old Mr. Glenelg stared, when I told him it was thirty-six miles shorter to go from Bristol to New York by the way of Halifax, than to go direct, wam't slow. It stopt steam for that hitch, that's a fact, for he thort I was mad. He sent it down to the Admiralty to get it ciphered right, and it took them old seagulls, the Admirals, a month to find it out. " And when they did, what did they say ? Why, cuss *em, says they, ' any fool knows that.' Says I, ' If that's the case you are jist the boys then that ought to have found it out right off at oncet.* " Yes, Old Clay ought to go free, but he won't ; and guess I am able to pay freight for him, and no thanks to nobody. Now, I'll tell you what, English trottin' is about a mile in two minutes and forty- seven seconds, and that don't happen oftener than oncet in fitly years, if it was ever done at all, for the English brag so there is no telling right. Old Clay can do his mile in two minutes and thirty-eight seconds. He has done that, and I guess he could do more. I have got a car, that is as light as whalebone, and I'll bet to do it with wheels and drive myself. I'll go in up to the handle, on Old Clay. I have a hundred thousand dollars of hard cash made in the colonies, I'll go half of it on the old boss, hang me if I don't, and I'll make him as well knowd to England as he is to Nova Scotia. " I'll allow him to be beat at fust, so as to lead 'em on, and Clay is as cunnin' as a coon too, if he don't get the word g'lang (go along) and the Indgian skelpin' yell with it, he knows I ain't in airnest, and he'll allow me to beat him and bully him like nothin'. He'll pretend to do his best, and sputter away like a hen scratchin' gravel, but he won't go one mossel faster, for he knows I never lick a free boss. " Won't it be beautiful ? How they'll all larf and crow, when they see me a thrashin' away at the boss, and then him goin' slower, the faster I thrash, and me a threatenin' to shoot the brute, and a talkin' at the tip eend of my tongue like a ravin' distracted bed bug, and offerin' to back him agin, if they dare, and planken down the pewter all round, takin' every one up that will go the figur', till 1 raise the bets to the tune of fifty thousand dollars. When I get that far, they may stop their larfin' till next time, I guess. That's the turn of the fever — that's the crisis — that's my time to larf then. " I'll mount the car then, take the bits of list up, put 'em into right Hhape, talk a little Connecticut Yankee to the old boss, to set bis ebernezer up, and make him rise inwardly, and then give the yell," (which he uttered in his excitement in earnest ; and a most diaboli- cal one it was. It pierced me through and through, and curdled my very blood, it was the death shout of a savage.) " G'lang you skunk, and turn out your toes pretty," said he, and be again repeated this long-protracted, shrill, infernal yel second time. Every eye was instantly turned upon us. Even Tattersall sua- ■HJ SAM SLICE IN ENGLAND. 165 pended his " he is five years old — a good hack — and is to be sold," to give time for the general exclamation of surprise. " Who the uevll ia that ? Is he mad ? Where did he come from ? Does any- body know him ? He is a devilish keen-lookin' fellow that ; what an eye he has I He looks like a Yankee, that fellow." " He's been here, your honor, several days, examines everything and says nothing; looks like a knowing one, your honor. He handles a boss as if he'd seen one afore to-day, Sir." " Who is that gentleman with him ?" " Don't know, your honor, never saw him before ; he looks like a furriner, too." " Come, Mr. Slick," said I, " we are attracting too much attention here, let us go." " Cuss 'em," said he, "I'll attract more attention afore I've done yet, when Old Clay comes, and then I'll tell 'em who I am — Sam Slick, from Slickville, Onion County, State of Connecticut, United States of America. But I do suppose we had :^ good make tracks, for I don't want folks to know me yet. I'm plaguy sorry I let out that countersign of Old Clay too, but they won't onderstand it. Critters like the English, that know everything, have generally weak eyes, from studyin' so hard. " Did you take notice of that critter I was a handlin* of. Squire ? that one that's all drawed up in the middle like a devil's damin' needle ; her hair a standin' upon eend as if she was amazed at her- self, and a look out of her eye, as if she thort the dogs would find the steak kinder tough, when they got her for dinner. Well, that's a great mare that 'are, and there ain't nothin' onder the sun the matter of her, except the groom has stole her oats, forgot to give her water, and let her n?ake a supper sometimes off of her nasty, mouldy, filthy beddin'. I hante seed a boss here equal to her a'most — short back, beautiful rake to the shoulder, great depth of chest, elegant quarter^ great stifle, amazin' strong arm, monstrous nice nos- trils, eyes like a weasel, all outside, game ears, first chop bone, and fine fat leg, with no gum on no part of it. She's a sneezer, that ; but she'll be knocked down for twenty or thirty pound, because she looks as if she was used up. " I intended to a had that mare, for I'd a made her worth twelve hundred doHars. It was a dreadful pity, I let go, that time, for I actilly forgot where I was. I'll know better next hitch, for bouglitcn wit is the best in a general way- Yes, I'm peskily sorry about that mare. Well, swappin' I've studied, but I doubt if it's as much the fashion here as with us ; and besides, swappin' where you don't know the country and its tricks (for every country has its own tricks, different from others), is dangersome too. I've seen swaps where both sides ;40t took in. Did ever I tell you the stcry of tbe * Elder and the giuve-digger ?' " 166 THE ATTACH^; OR, " Never," I replied ; " but here we are at our lodgings. Come in, and tell it to me." "Well," said he, "I must have a glass of mint julep fust, to wash down that ere disappointment about the mare. It was a dread> ful go, that. I jist lost a thousand dollars by it, as slick as grease. But it's an excitin' thing, is a trottin' race, too. When you mount, hear the word, * Start !' and shout out ' G'lang !' and give the pass word.'* Good heavens ! what a yell he perpetrated again. I put both hands to my ears, to exclude the reverberations of it from the walls. " Don't be skeered. Squire ; don't be skeered. "We are alone now ; there is no mare to lose. Ain't it pretty ? It makes me feel all dandery and on wires like." " But the grave-digger ?" said I. " Well,'* says he, " the year afore I knowed you, I was a-goin' in the fall, down to Clare, about sixty miles below Annapolis, to collect some debts due to me there from the French. And as I was a-jog- gin' on along the load, who should I overtake but Elder Stephen Grab, of Beechmeadows, a mounted on a considerable of a clever- lookin' black mare. The Eldei was a pious man ; at least he looked like one, and spoke like one, too. His face was as long as the moral law, and p'rhaps an inch longer, and as smooth as a hone ; and his voice was so soft and sweet, and his tongue moved so ily on its hinges, you'd a thought you might a trusted him with ontold gold, if you didn't care whether you ever got it agin or no. He had a bran new hat on, with a brim that was none of the smallest, to keep the sun from makin' his inner man wink, and his go-to-meetiu' clothes on, and a pair of silver mounted spurs, and a beautifil white cravat, tied behind, so as to have no bows to it, and look meek. If there was a good man on airth, you'd a said it was him. And he seemed to feel it, and know it too, for there was a kind of look o' triumph about him, as if he had conquered the Evil One, and was considerable well satisfied with himself. " ' H'are you,' sais I, ' Elder, to-day ? Which way are you from ?' ' ■ * From the General Christian Assembly,* sais he, * to Gooso Creek. We had " a most refreshing time on't." There was a great " otUpounri of tJie Spirit." ' " ' Well, that's awful,' sais I, * too. The magistrates ought to see to that ; it ain't right, when folks assemble that way to wor- ship, to be a sellin' of rum, and gin, and brandy, and spirits, is it ?' " * I don't mean that,* sais he, * although, p*rhaps, there was too much of that wicked traffic, too. I mean the preachin*. It was very peeowerful ; there was " man^ sinners saved," ' SAM SLICE IN ENGLAND. 167 " * I guess there was plenty of room for it,' sais I, * onless that neighborhood has much improved since 1 knowed it last.' " * It's a sweet thing/ sais he. ' Have you ever " made profes- sion," Mr. Slick ?' " * Come,* sais I to myself, ' tb's is cuttin' it rather too fat. I must put a stop to this. This rin't a subject for conversation with such a cheatin', cantin', hyppo^ritical skunk as this is. Yes,* sais I, ' long ago. My profession is that of a clockmaker, and I make no pretension to nothin' else. But come, let's water our bosses here, and liquor ourselves.' " And we dismounted, and gave 'em a drop to wet their mouths. " ' Now,' sais I, a takin' out of a pocket-pistol that I generally travelled with, ' I think I'll take a drop of grog ;' and arter helpin' myself, I gives the silver cover of the flask a dip in the brook (for a clean rinse is better than a dirty wipe, any time), and sais I, 'Will you have a little of the " outpourin' of the Spirit ?" What do you say, Elder ?' " ' Thank you,' sais he, * friend Slick. I never touch liquor — it's agin our rules.' " And he stooped down and filled it with water, and took a mouth- ful, and then makin' a face like a frog afore he goes to sing, and swellin' his cheeks out like a Scotch bagpiper, he spit it all out. Sais he, * That is so warm, it makes me sick ; and as I ain't otherwise well, from the celestial exhaustion of a protracted meetin', I believe I will take a little drop, as medicine.' " Confound him ! if he'd a said he'd only leave a little drop, it would a been more like the thing ; for he e'en a'most emptied the whole into the cup, and drank it off clean, without winkin'. " ' It's a " very refreshivH time" says I, ' ain't it ?' But he didn't make no answer. Sais I, ' That's a likely beast of yourn, Elder,' and I opened her mouth, and took a look at her, and no easy matter nother, I tell you, for she held on like a bear trap, with her jaws. " ' She won't suit you,' sais he, with a smile, ' Mr. Slick.* " * I guess not,' sais I. " ' Bur, she'll jist suit the French,' sais he. , " * It's lucky she don't speak French, then,' sais I, * or they'd soon find her tongue was too big for her mouth. That critter will never see five-and-twenty, and I'm a thinkin' she's thirty year old, if she is a day.' " * I was a thinkin' ', said he, with a sly look out o' the comer of his eye, as if her age warn't no secret to him, ' I was a thinkin' it's time to put her off, and she'll jist suit the French. They hante much for bosses to do, in a giniral way, but to ride about ; and you won't say nothin' about her age, will you ? it might endamnify a sale.' 168 THE ATTACH^:; OR, " * Not I,* sais I. ' I skin my own foxes, and let other folks skin their'n. I have enough to do to mind my own business, without in- terferin' with other people's.' " ' She'll jist suit the French,' sais he ; ' they don't know nothin* about hosses, or anything else. They are a simple people, and al- ways will be, for their priests keep *em in ignorance. It's an awful thing to see them kept in the outer porch of darkness that way, ain't it ?' " ' I guess you'll put a- new pane o* glass in tiieir porch,' says I, * and help some o' them to see better ; lor whoever gets that mare, will have his eyes open, sooner nor he bargains for, I know.' '' Sais he, ' She ain't a bad mare ; and if she could eat hay, might do a good deal of work yet,' and he gave a kind of chuckle laugh at his own joke, that sounded like the rattles in his throat, it was so dismal and deep, for he was one o' them kind of fellers that's too good to larf, was Steve. " Well, the horn o' grog he took began to onloosen his tongue ; and I got out of him, that she came near dyin' the winter afore, her teeth was so bad, and that he had kept her all summer in a dyke pasture up to her fetlocks in white clover, and ginn' her ground oats, and Indgian meal, and nothin' to do all summer ; and in the fore part of the fall, biled potatoes, and he'd got her as fat as a seal, and her skin as slick as an otter's. She fairly shined agin, in the sun. " * She'll jist suit the French,* sais he; *they are a simple people, and don't know nothin', and if they don't like the mare, they must blame their priests for not teachin' 'em better. I shall keep within the strict line of truth, as becomes a Christian man. I scorn to take a man in.' " Well, we chatted away arter this fashion, he a openin' of him- self and me a walkin' into him ; and we jogged along till we came to Charles Tarrio's to Montagnon, and there was the matter of a thousand French people gathered there, a chatterin', and laughin', and jawin', and quarrellin', and racin', and wrastlin*, and all a givin* tongue, like a pack of village dogs, when an Indgian comes to town. It was a town meetin' day. " Well, there was a critter there, called, by nickname, ' Goodish Greevoy,' a mounted on a white pony, one o* the scariest little screamers you ever see since you was born. He was a tryin' to get up a race, was Goodish, and banterin' every one that had a boss to run with him. " His face was a fortin' to a painter. His forehead was high and narrer, showin' only a long strip o' tawny skin, in a line with his nose, the rest bein' covered with hair, as black as ink, and as iley as a seal's name. His brows was thick, bushy, and overhangin', like young brushwood on a cliff, and onderneath was two black peerin, •VllfKV'VP' "■ ■mim.ijp^jfwn^nwijii ^am w^'m'mmmi SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 169 P folks skin without in- low nothin' ^le, and al- 'a an awful that way, K says I, that mare, w.' I eat hay, of chuckle I throat, it tiers that's is tongue J iter afore, imer in a ginn' her mer; and her as fat ly shined e people, hey must sp within n to take of him- we came ter of a aughin', a givin* to town. Goodish st little I* to get hoss to igh and i^ith his iley as >n', like peerin, little eyes, that kept a movin' about, keen, good-natured, and roguish, but sot far into his skull, and looked like the eyes of a fox peepin* out of his den, when he warn't to home to company hisself. His nose was high, sharp, and crooked, like the back of a reapin' hook, and gave a plaguy sight of character to his face, while his thinnish lips, that closed on a straight line, curlin' up at one eend, and down at the other, showed, if his dander was raised, he could be a jumpin', tarin', rampagenous devil, if he chose. The pint of his chin projected and turned up gently, as if it expected, when Goodish lost his teeth, to rise in the world in rank next to the nose. When good natur* sat on the box, and drove, it warn't a bad face ; when Old Nick was Coachman, I guess it would be as well to give Master Frenchman the road. " He had a red cap on his head, his beard hadn't been cut since last sheep shearin', and he looked as hairy as a tarrier ; his shirt collar, which was of yaller flannel, fell on his shoulders loose, and a black handkerchcr was tied round his neck, slack like a sailor's. He wore a round jacket and loose trowsers of homespun, with no waistcoat, and his trowsers was held up by a gallus of leather on one side, and of old cord on the other. Either Goodish had growed since his clothes was made, or his jacket and trowsers warn't on speakin' tarms, for they didn't meet by three or four inches, and the shirt showed atween them like a yaller militia sash round him. His feet was covered with moccasins of ontanned moose hide, and one heel was sot off with an old spur, and looked sly and wicked. He was a sneezer that, and when he flourished his great long withe of a whip stick, that looked like a fishin' rod, over his head, and yelled like all possessed, he was a caution, that's a fact. " A knowin* lookin little hoss it was, too, that he was mounted on. Its tail was cut close off to the stump, which squared up his rump, and made him look awful strong in the hind quarters. His mane was ' hogged,' which fulled out the swell and crest o£ the neck ; and his eax's being cropped, the critter had a gam e look about him. There was a proper good onderstandin' between him and his rider : they looked as if they had growed together, and made one critter — half hoss, half man, with a touch of the devil. " Goodish was all up on eend by what he drank, and dashed in and out of the crowd arter a fasliion, that was quite cautionary, callin' out, "■ Here comes '* the grave-digger." Don't be skeered, if any of you get killed, here is the hoss that will dig his grave for nothin'. Who'll run a lick of a quarter of a mile, for a pint of rum? Will f/ou run ?' said he, a spunkin' up to the Elder. ' Come, let's run, and whoever wins, shall go tlie treat.' " The Elder smiled as sweet as sugar-candy, but backed out ; he was too old| he said, now to run. 8 170 THE AITAOHK; OR, ^it " ' Will you swap bosses, old broadcloth, then ?' said the othei. * Because if you will, here's at you.* " Steve took a squint at pony, to see whether that cat would jump or no, but the crept ears, the stump of a tail, the rakish look of the boi'se, didn't jist altogether convene to the taste or the sanctiiied hab- its of the preacher. The word no, hung on his lips, like a wormy apple, jist reacb' to drop the fust shake; but before it let go, the great strength, the spryness, and the oncommon obedience of pony to the bit, seemed to kinder balance the objections ; while the sartan and ontimely eend that hung over his own mare, during the comin* winter, death by starvation, turned the scale. " ' Well,' said he, slowly, ' if we like each other's beasts, friend, and can agree as to the boot, I don't know as I wouldn't trade ; for I don't care to raise colts, bavin' plenty of boss stock on hand, and perhaps you do.' " ' How old is your boss ?' said the Frenchman. " ' I didn't raise it,' sais Steve. ' Ned Wheelock, I believe, brought her to our parts.' " ' How old d|0 you take her to be ?' " ' Poor critter, she'd tell you herself, if she could,' said he, ' for she. knows best, but she can't speak ; and I didn't see her, when she was foalded.' " ' How old do you think ?* (( ( Age,' sais Steve, ' depends on use, not on years. A boss at five, if ill-used, is old ; a boss at eight, if well used, is young.' " ' Sacry footry !' sais Goodish, ' why don't you speak out like a man ? Lie or no lie, how old is she ?' " ' Well, I don't like to say,' sais Steve. ' I know she is eight for sartain, and it may be she's nine. If I was to say eight, and it turned out nine, you might be thinkin' hard of me. I didn't raise it. You can see what condition she is in ; old bosses ain't commonly so fat as that, at least I never see one that was.' " A long banter then growed out of the ' boot money.* The Elder at^ked £7 10s. Goodish swore he wouldn't give that for him and his boss together ; that if they were both put up to auction that blessed minute, they wouldn't bring it. The Elder hung on to it, as long as there was any chance of the boot, and then fort the ground like a man, only givin' an inch or so at a time, till he drawed up and made a dead stand, on one pound. " Goodish seemed willing to come" to tarms, too ; but, like a pru- dent man, resolved to take a look at the old mare's mouth, and make gome kind of a guess at her age ; but the critter knowed how to keep her own secrets, and it was ever so long afore he forced her jaws open, and when he did, he came plagjy near losin' of a finger, for his curiosity ; and as he hopped and danced about with pain, he let fly such a string of oaths, and sacry-cussed the Elder and his BAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 171 mare, in such an all-fired passion, that Steve put both his hands up to his ears, and said, * Oh, my dear friend, don't swear ; it's very wicked. I'll take your pony — I'll ask no boot, if you will only promise not to swear. You shall have the mare as she stands. I'll give up and swap even ; and there shall be no after claps, nor rueia bargains, nor recantin', nor nothin', only don't swear.' '' Well, the trade was made, the saddles and bridles was shifted, and both parties mounted their new bosses. 'Mr. Slick,' sais Steve, who was afraid he would lose the pony, if he staid any longer, ' Mr. Slick,' sais he, ' the least said is the soonest mended — let's be a movin' ; this scene of noise and riot is shockin' to a religious man, am't it ?' and he let go a groan, as long as the embargo a'most. " Well, he had no sooner turned to go, than the French people set up a cheer that made all ring again ; and they sung out ' La Fossy Your !' ' La Fossy Your !' and shouted it agin and agin, ever so loud. « ' What's that ?' sais Steve. " Well, I didn't know, for I never heerd the word afore ; but it don't do to say you don't know, it lowers you in the eyes of other folks. If you don't know what another man knows, he is shocked at your ignorance. But if he don't know what you do, he can find an excuse in a minute. Never say you don't know. " ' So,* sais I, ' they jabber so everlastin' fast, it ain't no easy matter to say what they mean; but it sounds like " good bye," you'd better turn round and make 'em a bow, for they are very polite people, is the French.' " So Steve turns and takes off his hat, and makes them a low bow, and they la; r's wus than ever, and calls out again, ' La Fossy Your,* * La Fossy Your.* He was kinder ryled, was the Elder. His honey had begun to farment, and smell vinegery. ' May be, next Christ- mas,' sais he, * you won't larf so loud, when you find the mare is dead. Goodish and the old mare are jist alike, they are all tongue, them critters. I rather think it's me,' sais he, ' has the right to larf, for I've got the best of this bargain, and no mistake. This is as smart a little boss as ever I see. I know where I can put him off to great advantage. I shall make a good day's work of this. It is about as good a boss trade as I ever made. The French don't know nothin' about bosses ; they are a simple people, their priests keep 'em in ignorance on purpose, and they don't know nothin'.' " He cracked and bragged considerable, and as we progressed we came lo Montagon Bridge. The moment pony sot foot on it, he stopped short, pricked up the latter eends of his ears, snorted, squeeled and refused to budge an inch. The Elder got mad. He first coaxed and patted, and soft sawdered him, and then whipt and spurred, and thrashed him like anything. Pony got mad, too, for bosses has tempers as well as Elders ; so he turned to, and kicked h f 172 THE ATTACH^:; OR, right straight up on eend, like Old Scratch, and kept on without stoppin' till he sent the Elder right slap over his head slanterdicu- larly, on the broad of his back into the river, and he floated down thro' the bridge and scrambled out at t' other side. " Creation ! how he looked. He was so mad, he was ready to bile over; and, as it was, he smoked in the sun, like a tea-kettle. His clothes stuck close down to him, as a cat's fur does to her skin, when she's out in the rain, and every step he took his boots went squish, squash, like an old woman churnin' butter ; and his wet trowsers chafed with a noise like a wet flappin' sail. He was a show, and when he got up to his boss, and held on to his mane, and first lifted up one leg and then the other to let the water run out of his boots, I couldn't hold in no longer, but laid back and lai*fed till I thought on my soul I'd fall off into the river, too. " ' Elder,* says I, ' I thought when a man jined your sect, he could never "/a// off agin,'* but I see you ain't no safer than other folks arter all.' " ' Come,' says he, ' let me be, that's a good soul ; it's bad enough without being larfed at, that's a fact. I can't account for this caper, no how. It's very strange, too, ain't it ? What on airth got into the boss to make him act so ugly. Can you tell, Mr. Slick ?' " ' Why,' sais I, * he don't know English yet, that's all. He waited for them beautiful French oaths that Goodish used. Stop the fust Frenchman you meet, and give him a shillin' to teach you to swear, and he'll go like a lamb.' " I see'd what was the matter of the boss by his action as soon as we started ; but I warn't a goin' for to let on to him about it. I wanted to see the sport. Well, he took his boss by the bridle and led him over the bridge, and he foUered kindly, then he mounted, and no boss could go better. Arter a little, we came to another bridge agin, and the same play was acted anew, same coaxin', same threatenin', and same thrashin' ; at last, pony put down his head, and began to shake his tail, a gettin' ready for another bout of kickin' ; when Steve got off and led him, and did the same to every bridge we come to. " " It's no use,' sais I, ' you must larn them oaths, he's used to *em and misses them shocking. A sailor, a boss, and a nigger ain't no good without you swear at 'em ; it comes kinder nateral to them, and they look for it, fact I assure you. Whips wear out, and so do spurs, but a good sneezer of a cuss hain't no wear out to it ; it's always the same.' " I'll larn him sunthin', sais he, ' when I get him to home, and out o' sight, that will do him good and that he won't forget for one while, I know.' " Soon arter this, we came to Everett's public-house on the bay, and I galloped up to the door, and went as close as I cleverly could BAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 178 on purpose, and then reined up short and sudden, when whap goes the pony right agin the side of the house, and nearly killed himself. He never stirred for the matter of two or three minutes. I actilly did think he had gone for it, and Steve went right thro' the winder on to the floor, with a holler noise, like a log o' wood thrown on to the deck of a vessel. ' Eugh !' says he, and he cut himself with the broken glass quite ridikilous. " ' Why,* sais Everett, ' as I am a livin' sinner this is " the Grave- digger," he'll kill you, man, as sure as you are born, he is the wick- edest boss that ever was seen in these clearin's here ; and he is as blind as a bat, too. No man in Nova Scotia can manage that boss but Goodish Greevoy, and he'd manage the devil that feller, for he is man, horse, shark, and sarpent all in one, that Frenchman. What possessed you to buy such a varmint as that ?' " ' Grave-digger !' said doleful Steve, ' what is that ?' • " ' Why,' sais he, ' they went one day to bury a man, down to Clare did the French, and when they got to the grave, who should be in it, but the pony. He couldn't see, and as he was a feedin' about, he tumbled in head over heels, and they called him always arterwards " the Grave-digger." ' " * Very simple people, them French,' sais I, * Elder ; they don't know nothin' about bosses, do they ? Their priests keep them in ignorance on purpose.' " Steve winced and squinched his face properly ; and said the glass in his hands hurt him. Well, arter we sot all to rights, we began to jog on towards Digby. The Elder didn't say much, he was as chop-fallen as a wounded moose ; at last, says he, ' I'll ship him to St. John, and sell him. I'll put him on board of Captain Ned Leonard's vessel, as soon as I get to Digby.' Well, as I turned my head to answer him, and sot eyes on him agin, it most sot me a haw, hawin' a second time, he did look so like Old Scratch. Oh, Hedges! how haggardised he wasl His new hat was smashed down like a cap on the crown of his head, his white cravat was bloody, his face all scratched, as if he had been clapper-clawed by a woman, and his hands was bound up with rags, where the glass cut *em. The white sand of the floor of Everett's parlor had stuck to his damp clothes, and he looked like an old half-corned miller, that was a returnin' to his wife, arter a spree ; a leetle crest-fallen for what he had got, a leetle mean for the way he looked, and a leetle skeered for what he'd catch, when he got to home. The way he sloped warn't no matter. He was a pictur, and a pictur I must say, I liked to look at. " And now. Squire, do you take him off, too, ingrave him, and bind him up in your book, and let others look at it, and put onder it, * the Elder and the Grave-digger* " Well, when we got to town, the tide was high, and the vessel 174 THE ATTACH^; oR, list ready to cast ofT; and Steve, knowin' how skeer'd the pony was of the water, got off to lead hiro, but the crittur guessed it warn't a bridge, for he smelt salt water on both sides of him, and ahead, too, and budge he wouldn't. Well, they beat him most to death, but he beat back agin with his heels, and it was a drawd light. They then goes to the fence, and gets a great strong pole, and puts it across his hams, two men at each eend of the pole, and shoved away, and shoved away, till they progressed a yard or so ; when pony squatted right down on the pole, throwd over the men, and most broke their legs with his weight. " At lust, the captain fetched a rope, and fixes it round his neck, with a slip knot, fastens it to the windlass, and dragged him in as they do an anchor, and tied him by his bridle to the boom ; and then shoved off, and got under weigh. " Steve and 1 sot down on the wharf, for it was a beautiful day, and looked at them driftin' out in the stream, and hystin' sail, while the folks was gettin' somethin' ready for us to the inn. '' When they had got out into the middle of the channel, took the breeze, and was all under way, and we was about turnin' to go back, I saw the pony loose ; he had slipped his bridle, and not likin' the motion of the vessel, he jist walked overboard, head fust, with a most beautiful splunge. " ^A most refreshing time,* said I, * Elder, that critter has of it. I hope that sinner will be saved.' " He sprung right up on eend, as if he had been stung by a galley nipper, did Steve, ' Let me alone,' said he. ' What have 1 done to be jobed that way ? Didn't I keep within the strict line o' truth ? Did I tell that Frenchman one mossel of a lie ? Answer me that, will you ? I've been cheated awful; but I scorn to take the advan- tage of any man. You had better look to your own dealin's, and let me alone, you pedlin', cheatin' Yankee clockmaker you.' " ' Elder,' sais I, ' if you warn't too mean to rile a man, I'd give you a kick en your pillion, that would send you a divin' arter your boss ; but you ain't worth it. Don't call me names tho', or I'll settle your coffee for you, without a fish skin, afore you are ready to swaller it, I can tell you. So keep your mouth shut, my old coon, or your teeth might get sun-burnt. You think you are angry with me ; but you ain't ; you are angry with yourself. You know you have showd yourself a proper fool for to come, for to go, for to talk to a man that has seed so much of the world as I have, bout " re- freshirC time" and ^^ out-pounn' of spirit," and ^^makin' profession," and what not ; and you know you showed yourself an everlastin* rogue, a meditatin' of cheatin' that Frenchman all summer. It's biter bit, and I don't pity you one mossel ; it sarves you right. But look at the grave-digger; he looks to me as if he was a diggin' of his own grave in rael right down airnesU' SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 176 *' The captain havin' his boat histed, and thinkin' the hoss would swim ashore of hisself, kept right straight on ; and the hoss swam this way, and that way, and every way but the right road, jist as the eddies took him. At last, he got into the ripps off of Johnston's pint, and they wheeled him right round and round like a whip-top. Poor pony ! he got his match at last. He struggled, and jumpt, and plunged, and fort, like a man, for dear life. Fust went up his knowin' little head, that had no ears ; and he tried to jump up and rear out of it, as he used to did out of a mire hole or honey pot ashore ; but there was no bottom there ; nothin' for his hind foot to spring from ; so down he went agin ever so deep ; and then he tried t'other eend, and up went his broad rump, that had no tail ; but there was nothin' for the fore feet to rest on nother ; so he made a summerset, and as he went over, he gave out a great long endwise kick to the full stretch of his hind legs. " Poor feller 1 it was the last kick he ever gave in this world ; he sent his heels straight up on eend, like a pair of kitchen tongs, and the last I see of him was a bright dazzle, as the sun shined on his iron shoes, afore the water closed over him for ever. " I railly felt sorry for the poor old * grave-digger,' I did upon my fioul, for bosses and ladies are two things that a body can't help likin'. Indeed, a feller that hante no taste tliat way ain't a man at all, in my opinion. Yes, I felt ugly for poor ' grave-digger,* though I didn't feel one single bit so for that cantin', cheatin', old Elder. So when I turns to go, sais I, ' Elder,' sais I, and I jist repeated his own words — * I guess it's your turn to laugh now, for you have got the best of the bargain, and no mistake. Goodish and the old mare are jist alike, all tongue, ain't they ? But these French is a simple peo- ple, so they be ; they don't know nothin', that's a fact. Their priests keep 'em in ignorance a puppus. " ' The next time you tell your experience to the great Christian meetin* to Goose Creek, jist up and tell 'em, from beginnin* to eend, the story of the * Elder and the Grave-digger.' " re- CHAPTER XXVIII. LOOKING BACK. In the course of the evening, Mr. Hopewell adverted to his return as a matter of professional duty, and spoke of it in such a feeling and earnest manner, as to leave no doubt upon my mind, that we should 176 THE ATTACH^; OR, I f . ll! not be able to detain him long in this country, unless his attention should be kept fully occupied by a constant change of scene. Mr. Slick expressed to me the same fear, and, knowing that I had been talking of going to Scotland, entreated me not to be long absent, for he felt convinced that as soon as he should be left alone, his thoughts and wishes would at once revert to America. " I will try to keep him up," said he, " as well as I can, but I can't do it alone. If you do go, don't leave us long. Whenever I find him dull, and can't cheer him up no how I can fix it, by talk, or fun, or sight seein* or nothin', I make him vexed, and that excites him, stirs him up with a pot stick, and is of great sarvice to him. I don't mean actilly makin' him wrathy in airnest, but jist rilin of him for his own good, by pokin' a mistake at him. 1 11 show you, presently, how I do it." As soon as Mr. Hopewell rejoined us, he began to inquire into the probable duration of my visit to Scotland, and expressed a wish to return, as soon as possible, to Slickville. " Come, Minister," said Mr. Slick, tapping him on the shoulder, " as father used to say, we mupl, ' right about face' now. When ^. '^ are at home let us think of home, when we are here let us think of this place. Let us look a-head, don't let's look back, for we can't see nothin' there." " Indeed, Sam," said he, with a sad and melancholy air, " it would be better for us all if we looked back oftener than we do. From the errors of the past, we might rectify our course for the future. Pros- pective sin is often clothed in very alluring garments ; past sin ap- pears in all its naked deformity. Looking back, therefore — " " Is very well," said Mr. Slick, " in the way of preachin' ; but lookin' back when you can't see nothin', as you are now, is only a hurtin* of your eyes. I never hear that word, * lookin' back,' that I don't think of that funny story of Lot's wife." "Funny story of Lot's wife, Sir! Do you ca'l that a funny story, Sir?" « I do. Sir." «Youdo, Sir?" " Yes, I do. Sir ; and I defy you or any other man to say it ain*t a funny story." " Oh dear, dear," said Mr. Hopewell, " that I should have lived to see the day when you, my son, would dare to speak of a Di^'ine judg- ment as a funny story, and that you should presume so to ad- dress me." "A judgment. Sir?" " Yes, a judgment. Sir." " Do you call the story of -Loot's wife's a judgment ?** " Yes, I do call the story of Lot's wife a judgment ; a monuirjienft of the Divine wrath for the sin of disobedience." SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 177 I "What! Mrs. Happy Lot? Do you call her a monument of wrath ? Well, well, if that don't beat all, Minister. If you had a been a-tyin* of the night-cap last night I shouldn't a wondered at your talkin' at that pace. But to call that dear little woman, Mrs. Happy Lot, that dancin', laughin', tormentin', little critter, a monu- ment of wrath, beats all to immortal smash." " Why, who are you a talkin' of, Sam ?" " Why, IkL-s. Happy Lot, the wife of the Honorable Cranbery Lot, of Umbagog, to be sure. Who did you think I was a talkin' of?" " Well, I thought you was a-talkin' of— of — ahem — of subjects too serious to be talked of in that manner ; but I did you wrong, Sam : I did you injustice. Give me your hand, my boy. It's better for me to mistake and apologize, than for you to sin and repent. I don't think I ever heard of Mr. Lot, of Umbagog, or of his wife either. Sit down here, and tell me the story, for ' with thee conversing, I forget all time.' " " Well, Minister," said Mr. Slick, " I'll tell you the inns and outs of it ; and a droll story it is too. Miss Lot was the darter of Enoch Mosher, the rich miser of Goshen ; as beautiful a little critter, too, as ever stept in shoe-leather. She look€d for all the world like one of the Paris fashion prints, for she was a parfect pictur', that's a fact. Her complexion was made of white and red roses, mixed so beauti- ful, you couldn't tell where the white eended or the red begun, natur* had used the blendin' brush so delicate. Her eyes were screw augers, I tell you ; they bored right into your heart, and kinder agitated you, and made your breath come and go, and your pulse flutter. I never felt nathin' like 'em. When lit up, they sparkled like lamp reflectors : and at other times, they was as soft, and mild, and clear as dew-drops that hang on the bushes at sun-rise. When she loved, she loved ; ai;d when she hated, she hated about the wick- edest you ever see. Her lips were like heart cherries of the carna- tion kind ; so plump, and full, and hard, you felt as if you could fall to and eat 'em right up Her voice was like a grand piany, all sorts o' power in it ; canary- jirds' notes at one eend, and thunder at t'other, accordin* to the humor she was in, for she was a'most a grand bit of stuff was Happy, she'd put an edge on a knife a'most. She was a rael steel. Her figur' was as light as a fairy's, and her waist was so taper and tiny, it seemed jist made for puttin' an arm around in walkin'. She was as SiCtive and springy on her feet as a catamount, and near about as touch-me-not a sort of customer too. She actilly did seem as if she was made out of steel springs and chicken-hawk. If old Cran. was to slip off the hanlle, I think I should make up to her, for she is ' a salt,' that's a fact, a most a heavenly splice. " Well, the Honorable Cranbery Lot put in for her, won her, and married her. A good speculation it turned out too, for he got the matter of one hundred thousand dollars by her, if he got a cent. As 8* 178 THE ATTACH^; OB, soon as they were fairly welded, off they sot to take the tour of Eu- rope, and they larfed and cried, and kissed and quarrelled, and fit and made up all over the Continent, for her temper was as onsartain as the climate here — ^rain one minit and sun the next ; but more rain nor sun. " He was a fool, was Cranbery. He didn't know how to manage her. His br'dle hand wam't good, I tell you. A spry, mettlesome boss, and a dull critter with no action, don't mate weU in harness, that's a fact. "After goin* everywhere, and everywhere else a'most, where should they get to but the Alps. One artemoon, a sincerely cold one it was too, and the weather, violent slippy, dark overtook them before they reached the top of one of the highest and steepest of them mountains, and they had to spend the night at a poor squatter's shanty. " Well, next momin', jist at day-break, and sun-rise on them ever- lastin' hills is tall sun-rise, and no mistake, p'rhaps nothin' was ever seen so fine except the first one, since creation. It takes the rag off quite. Well, she was an enterprisin' little toad, was Miss Lot too, afeered of nothin* a'most ; so nothin' would sarve her but she must out and have a scramb up to the tip-topest part of the peak afore breakfast. " Well, the squatter there, who was a kind o' guide, did what he could to dispersuade her, but all to no purpose ; go she would, ana a headstrong woman and a runaway boss are jist two things it's out of all reason to try to stop. The only way is to urge 'em on, and then, bein' contrary by natur' they stop of themselves. " ' Well,' sais the guide, ' if you will go, marm, do take this pike staff, marm,' sais he ; (a sort of walkin'-stick with a spike to the eend of it,) ' for you can't get either up or down them slopes without it, it is so almighty slippy there.' So she took the staff, and off she sot and climbed and climbed ever so far, till she didn't look no bigger than a snow bird. ** At last she came to a small flat place, like a table, and then she turned round to rest, get breath, and take a look at the glorious view; and jist as she hove-to, up went her little heels, and away went her stick, right over a big parperr^icular cliff, hundreds and hundreds, and thousands of feet deep. So deep, you couldn't see the bottom for the shadows, for the very snow looked black down there. There is no way in, it is so steep, but over the cliff; and no way out, but on€, and that leads to t'other world. I can't describe it to you, though I have see'd it since myself. There are some things too big to litl ; some too big to carry after they be lifted ; and some too grand for the tongue to describe, too. There's a notch where dic- tionary can't go no farther, m well as every other created thing, that's a fact. P'rhaps if 1 was to say it looked like the mould that SAM SLICK Ii; ENGLAND. 179 fliat 'are very peak was ca^ in, afore it was cold and stiff, and sot up on eend, I should come as near the mark as anything I know on. " Well, away she slid, feet and hands out, all flat on her face, right away, arter her pike staff. Most people would have ginn it up as gone goose, and others been so frightened as not to do any- thing at all ; or at most only jist to think of a prayer, for there was no time to say one. "But not so Lot's wife. She was of a conquerin' natur'. She _,ave nothin' up, till she coulJn't hold on no longer. She was ic o' them critters that go to bed mistress, and rise master ; and just as she got to the edge of the precipice, her head hangin' over, and her eyes lookin' down, and she all but ready to shoot out and launch a a.-'vho are these bigs bugs now, and what was they originally?) for we have natur's nobility. Lord, I wish you could hear Stever- man talk of them and their ceremonies." " Don't you follow Stsverman's example, my good friend," I said : " he has rendered himself very ridiculous by assuming this familiar tone. It is very bad taste to talk that way, and no such absurd ceremony exists of creating peers, as I understand he says there is ; that is a mere invention of his to gratify democratic prejudice. Speak of them and to them as you see well-bred people in this country do, neither pbsequiously nor familiarly, but in a manner that shows you respect both them and yourself." <' Come, I like that talk," said Mr. Slick ; " I'm a candid man, I am, indeed, and manners is a thing I rather pride myself on. I ha'n't had no great schoolin' that way in airly days, but movin' in high life, as I do, I want to sustain the honor of our great nation abroad ; and if there is a wrong figur', I'm for spitten' on the slate, rubbin' it out, and puttin' in a right one. I'll ask Minister what he thinks of it, for he is a book ; but you, ('xcuse me, Squire, no offence I hope, for I don't mean none,) but you are nothin' but a colonist, you see, and don't know everything. But, as I was sayin', there is a nation sight of difference, too, ain't there, atween an old and a new country ? but come, let's go into the coffee-room and sit down, and talk, for sittin' is just as cheap as standin' in a general way." This spacious apartment was on the right hand of the entrance hall, furnished and fitted in the usual manner. Immediately behind it was the bar-room, which communicated with it in one corner by an open window, and with the hall by a similar aperture. In this corner, sat or stood the bar-maid, for the purpose of receiving and communicating orders. " Look at that gall," said Mr. Slick, •' ain't she a smasher ? What a tall, well-make, handsome piece of furniture she is, ain't she ? Look at her hair, ain't it neat ? ( nd her clothes fit so well, and are so nice, and her cap so white, and her complexion so clear, and she looks so good-natured, and smiles so sweet, it does one good to look at her. She is a whole team and a horse to spare, that gall — that's a fact. I go and call for two or three glasses of brandy-cocktail more than I want every day, just for the sake of talking to her. She ,: SAM SLICK 117 ENOLAND. 191 always says, * What will you be pleased to have, Sir ?' ' Somethin*,* says I, ' that I can't have,* lookin* at her pretty mouth about the wickedest ; well, she laughs, for she knows what I mean ; and says, * P'r'aps you will have a glass of bitters, Sir?' and she goes and gets it. Well, this goes ou three or four times a day, every time the identical same tune, only with variations. '' About an hour afore you came in, I was there agin. ' What will you be pleased to have, Sir ?* says she agin, laughin'. Some- thin' I can't get,' sais I, a laughin', too, and a smackin' of my lips and a lettin' off sparks from my eyes like a blacksmith's chimney. ' You can't tell that till you try,' bays she ; * but you can have your bitters, at any rate,' and she drawed a glass and gave it to me. It tan'te so bad that, is it ? Well, now she has seed you before, and knows you very well ; go to her, and see how nicely she will court- shy, how pretty she will smile, and how lady-like she will say, * How do you do, Sir ? I hope you are quite well. Sir ; have you just ar- rived? — Here, chambermaid, show this gentleman to No. 200. — Sorry, Sir, we are so full, but to-morrow we will move you into a better room. — Thomas, take up this gentleman's luggage ;' and then she'd courtshy agin, and smile hansome. Don't that look -well now? do you want anything better nor that, eh ? if you do, you are hard to please, that's tdl. But stop a bit, don't be in such an everlastin' almighty hurry ; think afore you speak ; go there agin — set her a smilin' once more, and look close. It's only skin deep — -just on the surface, like a cat's paw on the water, it's nothin' but a rimple like, and no more ; then, look closer still, and you will deseam the color of it. " I see you laugh at the color of a smile, but still watch and you'll see it. Look now, don't you see the color of the shilling there, it's white, and cold, and silvery, — ifs a bovght smile, and a bought smile, like an artifieial flov.i t, has no sweetness in it. There is no natur — it's a cheat — it's a pretty cheat — it don't ryle you none, but still it's a cheat. It's like whipt cream ; open your mouth wide, take it all in, and shut your lips down on it tight, and it's nothin' — it's only a mouthful of moonshine ; yes, it's a pretty cheat, that's a fact. This ain't confined to the women nother. Petticoats have smiles and courtshys, and the trowsers bows and scrapes, and my-lords for you, there ain't no great difference that way ? so, send for the landlord. ' Lardner,' says you, ' Sir,* says he, and he makes you a cold, low, deep, formal bow, as much as to say, ' Speak, Lord, for thy sarvent is a dog.' * I want to go to church to-morrow,' says you ; ' what church do you recommend?' Well, he eyes you all over, careful, afore he answers, so as not to back up a wrong tree. He sees you are from t'other side of the water ; he guesses, therefore, you can't be a churchman, and must be a radical : and them that calculate that way miss a iigure as often as not, I can tell you. So, he takes mm 192 THE ATTACH^; OR, his cue to please you. < St. Luke's, Sir, is a fine church, and plenty of room, for there ain't no congregation ; M'Neil's church has no congregation nother, in a manner; you can only call it a well- dressed mob, — but it has no room ; for folks go there to hear poli- tics.* ' Why, what is he ?' says you. ' Oh, a churchman,' says he, with a long face as if he was the devil. * No,' says you, ' I don't mean that ; but what is his politics ?' * Oh, Sir, I am sorry to say, violent — ' * Yes ; but what are they ?' * Oh,' says he, lookin* awful shocked, * Tory, Sir,' • Oh, then,' says you, ' he's just the boy that will suit me, for I am Tory, too, to the back-bone.' Lardner seems whamble-cropt, scratches his head, looks as if he was delivered of a mistake, bows, and walks off, a sayin* to himself, ' Well, if that don't pass, I swear; who'd a thought that cursed long-backed, long-necked, punkin-headed colonist was a Churchman and a Tory ? The ugly devil is worse than he looks, d — n him.' ^ " Arter takin' these two samples out of the bulk, now go to Hali- fax, Nova Scotia, and streak it off to Windsor, hot foot. First stage is Bedford Basin. Poor, dear old Mann Bedford, the moment she sets eyes on you, is out to meet you in less tl:an half no time. Oh, look at the color of that smile. It's a good wholesome reddish-color, fresh and warm from the heart, and it's more than skin-deep, too, for there is a laugh walking arm-in-arm with it, lock and lock, that fetches her sides up with a hitch at every jolt of it. Then that hand ain't a ghost's hand, I can tell you, it's good solid flesh and blood, and it gives you a shake that says, ' I'm in rail, right down airnest.' * Oh, Squire, is that you? — well, I am glad to see you; you are wel- come home agin : — we was most afeered you was goin' to leave us ; folks made so much of you t'other side of the water. Well, travellin* agrees with you — it does, indeed — ^you look quite hearty agin.' " ' But, come,' says you, ' sit down, my old friend, and tell me the news, for I have seen nobody yet ; I only landed two hours ago. •^* Well,' she'll say, * the Admiral's daughter's married, and the Com- missioner's daughter is married ;' and then, shuttin' the door, ^ they do say Miss A. is to be married to Colonel B., and the widow X. to lawyer V., but I don't believe the last, for she is too good for him : he's a low, radical fellow, that, and she has too much good sense to take such a creature as him.' ^' What bishop was that I saw here, just now ?' says you. ' A Westindgy bishop,' sais she ; ' he left half- an-hour ago, with a pair of bosses, two servants, three pounds of butter, a dozen of fresh eggs, and a basket of blue berries.* But Miss M., what do you think. Squire ? she has given Captain Tufthunt the mitten, she has, indeed, upon my word ! — fact, I assure you.* ■^ Ain't it curious. Squire, weddin's is never out of women's heads. They never think of nothin' else. A young gall is alwais thinkin' ot her own ; as soon as she is married, she is a match jjtiakin' for her companions, and when she is, a little grain older, her darter's mm SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 193 weddin' is uppermost agin. Oh, it takes great study to know a woman, — how cunnin' they are ! Ask a young gall all the news, she'll tell you of all the deaths in the place, to make you think she don't trouble herself about marriages. Ask an old woman, she'll tell you of all the marriages, to make you think she is takin' an interest in the world that she ain't. They sartainly do beat all, do women. Well, then, Marm will jump up all of a sudden, and say, * But, dear me, while I am a sitten' here a talkin', there is no orders for your lunch ; what will you have. Squire?'/ 'What you can't get anywhere in firs^ chop style,' says you, ♦ but in Nova Scotia, and never here in perfection, but at your house — a broiled chicken and blue-nose potatos.* y Ah !' says she, puttin' up her finger, and lookin' arch, * now, you are makin' fun of us, Squire?* /'Upon my soul I am not,' says you, and you may safely swear to that, too, I can tell you ; for that house has a broiled chicken and a potato for a man that's in a' hurry to move on, that may stump the world. Well, then, you'll light a cigar, and stroll out to look about the location, for you know every tree, and stone, and brook, and hill, about there, as well as you know beans, and they will talk to the heart as plain .as if they was gifled with gab. Oh, home is home, however homely, I can tell you. /And as you go out, you see faces in the bar-room you know, and it's, * Oh, Squire, how are you ? — Welcome home agin, — glad to see you once more ; how have you had your health in a general way ? Saw your folks driven out yesterday — they are all well to home.* " They don't take their hats off, them chaps, for they ain't depen- dants, like tenants here : most of them farmers are as well off as you be, and some on *em better ; but they jist up and give you a sliake of the daddle, and ain't a bit the less pleased ; your books have made 'em better known, 1 can tell you. They are kinder proud of 'er-, ihat's a fact. Then the moment your back is turned, what's their talk ? — why it's * Well, it's kinder nateral to see him back here again among us, ain't it ? He is lookin' well, but he is broken a good deal, too; he don't look so cheerful as he used to did, and don't you mind, as he grows older, he looks more like his fa- ther, too ?* * I've heered a good many people remark it,' says they. ' Where on airth,' says one, ' did he get all them queer stories he has sot down in his books, and them Yankee words— -don't it beat all natur ?' /* Get tliem,' says another ; ' why, he is a sociable kind of man, and as he travels round the circuits, he Itappens on a purpose, accidentally like, with folks, and sets *em a talkin*, or makes an ex- cuse to light a cigar, ^oes in, sets down and hears all and sees all. I mind, I drove him to Liverpool, to court there oncet, and on our way we stopt at Sawaway village. Well, I stays out to mind the horse, and what does he do but goes in, and scrapes acquaintance with Marm — ^for if there is a man and a woman in the room, petti- 9 194 THE ATTAOHt; OR, coats is sartain to carry the day with him. Well, when I come back, there was him and Marm a standin' up by the mantel-piece, as thick as two thieves, a ch^lttin' away as if they had knowed each other for ever a'most. When she come out, says she, * Who on airth is that man? he is the most sociable man I ever seed/ /'"That?' says I. * Why, it's Lawyer Poker. /' Poker 1' says she, in great fright, and a rasin' of her voice ; ' which Poker ? for there is two of that name— one that lives to Halifax, and one that lives to Windsor ; which is it ?' says she ; ' tell me, this minnit.' / ' Why/ says I, * him that wrote the " Clockmaker." * /* What, Sam Slick ?' says she, and she screamed out at the tip eend of her tongue, * Ob, my goodies ! if I had knowed that, I wouldn't have gone into the room on no ac- count. They say, though be appeal's to take no notice, nothin' never escapes him ; he hears everything, and sees everything, and has his eye in every cubbey-hole. Oh, dear, dear, here I am with the oldest gownd on I have, with two buttons off behind, and my hair not curled, and me a talkin' away as if he was only a common man 1 It will be all down in the next book, see if it ain't. Lord love yoU; what made you bring him here, — I am frightened to death; oh, dear! oh, dear ! only think of this old gownd ! That's the way be gets them stories, he gets them in travellin'.* " Oh, Squire, there's a vast difference atween a thick peopled and a thin peopled country. Here you may go in and out of a bar-room or coffee-room a thousand times, and no one will even ax who you are. They don't know, and they don't want to know. Well, then, Squire, just as you are a leaven' of Bedford-house to progress to Windsor, out runs black Jim, (you recollect Jim that has been there so long, don't you ?) a grinnin' from ear to ear like a catamount, and opens carriage-door. ' Grad to see you back, massa ; miss you a travellin' shocking bad, sar. I like your society werry much — ^you werry good company, sar.' /You give him a look as much as to say, * What do you mean, you black rascal ?' and then laugh, 'cause you know he tried to be civil, and you give him a shilling, and then Jim shows you two rows of ivory, such as they never seed in this coun- try, in all their born days. Oh, yes, smile for smile, heart for heart, kindness for kindness, welcome for welcome — give me old Nova Scotia yet ; — there ain't nothin like it here.' j^ There was much truth in the observations of Mr. Slick, but at the same time they are not free from error. Strangers can never expect to be received in any country with the same cordiality friends and old patrons are ; and even where the disposition exists, if crowds travel, there is but little tipue that can be spared for congratulations. In the main, however, the contrast he has drawn is correct, and every colonist, at least, must feci that this sort of civility is more sincere and less mercenary in the I^ew than in the Old World. . SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 196 ► CHAPTER XXXI. THE BOARDING-SCHOOLS. "While strolling about the neighborhood of the town this aAer- noon, we passed what Colonel Slick would have called " several little detachments of young ladies/' belonging to a boarding-school, each detachment having at its head an officer of the establishment. Youth, innocence, and beauty, have always great attractions for me ; tl like young people, I delight in talking to them. There is a joy- ousness and buoyancy about them, and they are so full of life and hope, it revives my drooping spirits, it awakens agreeable recol- lections, and makes me feel, for the time, at least, that I am young myself. " Look at those beautiful creatures !" I said, ** Mr. Slick. They seem as happy as birds just escaped from a cage." "Yes," said he. "And what a cussed shame it is to put 'em into a cage at all I In the West Indgies, in old times, every plantation had a cage for the little niggers, a great large enormous room, and all the little darkies was put in there and spoon-fed with meal- vittals by some old granny, and they were as fat as chickens and as lively as crickets, (you never see such happy little imps of darkness since you was bom,) and their mothers was sent oft' to the fields to work. It saved labor and saved time, and labor and time is money, and it wam't a bad contrivance. Well, old Bunton, Joe Sturge, and such sort of cattle of the Abolition breed, when they heerd of this, went a roarin' and a bellowin' about all over England, like cows that had lost their calves, about the horrid cruelty of these nig- ger coops. " Now, these boardin'-schools for galls here is a hundred thousand times wuss than the nigger nurseries was. Mothers send their chil- dren here cause they are too lazy to tend 'em, or too ignorant to teach 'em themselves, or 'cause they want *em out o' the way that they may go into company, and not be kept to home by kickin*, squeelin', gabblin' t)rats; and what do they lam here? why, nothin' that they had ought to, and everything that they had ought not to. They don't love their parents, 'cause they hante got that care, and that fondlin', and protection, and that habit that breeds love. Love won't grow in cold ground, I can teU you. It must be sheltered M ^^m^fifmmw 196 THE ATTACH^; OR, from the frost, and protected from the storm, and watered with tears, and warmed with the heat of the heart, and the soil be kept free from weeds ; and it must have support to lean on, and be tended with care day and night, or it pines, grows yaller, fades away, and dies. It's a tender plant, is love, or else I don't know human natur, that's all. Well, the parents don't love them nother. Mothers can get weaned as well as babies. The same causes a'most makes folks love their children, that makes their children love them. Whoever liked another man's flower-garden as well as his own ? Did you ever see one that did? for I never did. He haint tended it, he haint watched its growth, he haint seed the flowers bud, unfold, and bloom. They haint growd up under his eye and hand, he haint attached to them, and dovHt care who plucks 'em. " And then, who can teach religion but a mother ? Religion is a thing of the affections. Lord! parsons may preach, and clerks may make 'sponscs for ever, but they won't reach the little heart of a little child. All / got, I got from mother, for father was so almighty im- patient ; if I made the Icastest mistake in the world in readin' the Bible, he used to fall to and swear like a trooper, and that spiled all. Minister was always kind and gentle, but he was old, and old age seems so far off from a child, that it listens with awe, scary like, and runs away screamin' with delight as soon as it's over, and forgets all. Oh ! it's an onnateral thing to tear a poor little gall away from home, and from all she knows and loves, and shove her into a house of strangers, and race off and leave her. Oh ! what a sight of little chords it must stretch, so that they are never no good arterwards, or else snap *em right short off. How it must harden the heart and tread down all the young sproutin' feelin's, so that they can never grow up and ripen ! " Why, a gall ought to be nothin but a lump of affection, as a Mother Carey's chicken is nothin' but a lump of fat ; not that she has to love so much, but to endure so much ; not that she has to bill and coo all day, for they plaguy soon get tired of that ; but that she has to give up time and give up inclination, and alter her likes and alter her dislikes, and do every thin' and bear every thin', and all for affection. She ought to love, so that duty is a pleasure, /or where there is no love there will be no duty done right. You wouldn't hear of so many runaway matches if it warn't ibr them cussed boardin'- schools, I know. A young chap sees one of these angeliferous galls a goin' a walkin', and inquires who she is and what she is. He hears she has a great forten', and he knows she has great beauty — splendid gall she is, too. She has been taught to stand straight and walk-straight, like a drill-sarjeant. She knows how to get into a carriage and show no legs, and to get out o' one as much onlike a bear and as much like a lady as possible, never starn fust, but like a diver, head fust. She can stand in fust, second, or third position to ♦ SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 197 ♦ church, and hold her book and her elbous graceful — very important church lessons them too, much more than the lessons parsons reads. Then she knows a little tiny prayer-book makes a big hand look hugeaceous, and a big one makes it look small ; and, besides, she knows all about smiles, the smile to set with or walk with, the smile to talk with, the smile o' surprise, the smile scomey, and the smile piteous. She is a most accomplished gall, that's a fact, how can it be otherwise in natur? Aint she at a female seminary, where, though the mistress don't know nothin', she can teach everythin', 'cause it's a fashionable school, and very aristocratic and very dear. It must be good, it costs so much ; and you can't get nothin' good without a good price, that's a fact. " Well, forten'-hunter watches and watches till he attracts atten- tion, and the moment she looks at him his eye tells her he loves her. Creation, man ! you might as well walk over a desert of gunpowder, shod with steel soles and flint heels, as to tell that to a gall for the fust time, whose heart her school-mistress and her mother had both made her feel was empty, and that all her education went to write on a paper and put in its window < Lodgin's to let here for a single man.' She is all in a conflustugation in a minute — a lover ! — a real lover too, not a school-boy, but an elegant young man, just such a one as she had heerd tell of in novels. How romantic, ain't it ? and yet. Squire, how nateral too, for this poor desarted gall to think like a fool fust, and act like a fool arterwards, ain't it ? She knows she warn't made to grow alone, and that like a vine she ought to have sunthin' to twine round for support ; and when she sees this man, the little tendrils of her heart incline right that way at oncet. " But then love never runs smooth. How in the world are they ever to meet, seein' that there is a great high brick wall atween them, and she is shot up most o' the time ? Ah I there is the rub. Do you know, dear ? There is but one safe way, loveliest of women, only one, — run away. Run away ! that's an awful word, it fright- ens her most to death ; she goes right off to bed and cries like any- thing, and that clears her head and she thinks it all over, for it won't do to take such a step as that without considerin', will it ? ' Let me see,' says she, * suppose I do go, what do I leave ? A cold, formal, perlite mistress, horrid pitikelar, and horrid vexed when men admire her boarders more than her ; a taunten' or a todyin' assistant, and a whole regiment of dancin' masters, music masters, and French mas- ters. Lessons, lessons, lessons, all for the head and nothin' for the heart ; hard work and a prison-house, with nothin' to see but feller prisoners a pinin' through the bars like me. And what do I run for ? Why, an ardent, passionate, red-hot lover, that is to love me all my life, and more and more every day of my life, and who will shoot himself or drown himself if I don't, for he can't live without me, and who has glorious plans of happiness, and is sure of success ■I ■ « ■■ mj^^^mmnww ^^ • pi 198 THE ATTACn^; OR, in the world, and all that It taint racin' off from father and mother Dothcr, for they ain't here ; an' besides, I am sure and sartuin they will be reconciled in a minute, when they hear what a splendid match I have made, and what a dear beautiful man I have married.' It ia done. '* Ah ! where was old marm then, that the little thing could have raced back and nestled in her bosom, and throw'd her arms round her neck, and put her face away back to her ears to hide her blushes ? and say ' dear ma', I am in love ;' and that she agin could press her up to her heart, and kiss her, and cry with her, and kind o' give way at fust, so as not to snub her too short at oncet, for fear of rearin', or kickin', or backin', or sulkin', but gentle, little by little, jist by degrees get her all right agin. Oh ! where was mother's eye when fortin'-hunter was a scalin' the brick-wall, that it might see the hawk that was a threatenin' of her chicken ; and where was old father with his gun to scare him off, or to wing him so he could do no harm ? Why, mother was a dancin' at Almack's, and father was a huntin' ; then it sarves 'em right, the poacher had been into the presarve and snared the bird, and I don't pity 'cm one mossel. " Well, time runs away as well as lovers. In nine days puppies and bridegrooms begin to get their eyes open in a general way. It taint so easy for brides, they are longer about it ; but they do see at last, and when they do, it's about the clearest. So, one fine day, poor little miss begins to open her peepers, and the fust thing she disarns is a tired, lyin' lover — promises broke that never was meant to be kept, — hopes as false as vows, and a mess of her own makin', that's pretty considerable tarnation all over. Oh I how she sobs, and cries, and guesses she was wrong, and repents ; and then she writes home, and begs pardon, and, child-like, says she will never do so again. Poor crittur, it's one o' them kind o' things that can't be done agin — oncet done, done for ever ; yes, she begs pardon, but father won't forgive, for he has been larfed at ; mother won't forgive, 'cause she has to forgive herself fust, and that she can't do ; and both won't forgive, for it's settin' a bad example. All doors behind the poor little wretch are closed, and there is but one open before her, and that looks into a churchyard. They are nice little places to stroll in, is buryin'-grounds, when you ain't nothiu' to do but read varses on tomb-stones ; but it taint every one likes to go there to Bleep with the silent folks that's onder ground, I can tell you. It looks plaguy like her home that's prepared for her though, for there is a little spot on the cheek, and a little pain in the side, and a little hackin' cough, and an eye sometimes watery, and sometimes hectic bright, and the sperits is all gone. Well, I've seed them signs so often, I know as well what follows, as if it was rain arter three white frosts, melancholy— consumption — a broken heart, and the grave. — ^his is the fruit of a hoardin' -school; heaviiful frfjitf ain't itf It SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 199 \ ripened afore itt time, and dropt off the tree airly. The core wot eaten hy a worm, and thai worm was bred in a boarding-school. *' Lord, what a world this is 1 We have to think in harness as well as draw in harness. We talk of this government being free, and that gorernmcnt being free, but fashion makes slaves of us all. If we don't obejr we ain't civilized. You must think with the world, or go out of the world. Now, in the high life I've been movin in lately, we must swear by Shakspeare whether we have a taste for plays or not, — swaller it in a lump, like a bolus, obscene parts and ull, or we have no soul. We must go into fits if Milton is spoke of, though we can't read it if we was to die for it, or we have no tastes ; euch is high life, and high life governs lo^ life. " Every Englishman and every American that goes to the Con- tinent must admire Paris, its tawdry theatres, its nasty filthy parks, its rude people, its cheaten' tradesmen ; its horrid formal parlies, \i& affected politicians, its bomhastical braggin' officers and all. If they don't they are vulgar wrelcues that don't know nothin', and can't tell a fricaseed cat from a stewed frog. Let 'em travel on and they darsn't say what they think of them horrid, stupid, oncomfortable, gamblin' Garman waterin'-places nother. Oh, no 1 fashion says you can't. " It's just so with these cussed boardin'-schools ; you must swear by 'em, or folks will open their eyes and say, ' Where was you raird, young man ? Does your mother know you are out ?' Oh, dear I how many gals they have ruined, how many folks they have fooled, and how many families they have capsised, so they never was righted agin. It tante no easy matter, I can tell you, for folks of small for- ten to rig a gall out ibr one o' these seminai'ies that have the sign * man-traps set here,* stuck over the door. It costs a considerable of a sum, which in middlin' life is a little forten like. Well, half the time a gall is allowed to run wild 'till she is fourteen years old, or thereabouts, browsin' here and browsin' there, and jumpln' out of this pastur' into that pastur' like mad. Then she is run down and catched : a bearin' rein put on her to make her carry up her head well ; a large bit put atween her teeth to give her a good mouth, a cersingle belt strapt tight round her waist to give her a good figur*, and a dancin'-master hired to give her her paces, and off she is sent to a boardin'-school to get the finishin' touch. There she is kept for three, or four, or five years, as the case may be, till she has larnt what she ought to hav« knowed at ten. Her edication is then slicked off complete ; a manty-maker gets her up well, and she is sent back to home with the Tower stamp on her, * edicated at a boardin'-schooL' She astonishes the natives round about where the old folks live, and makes 'em stare agin, she is so improved. She plays beautiful on the piano, two pieces, they were crack pieces, larned onder the eye and ear of the master ; but there is a secret nobody knows but her, 200 THE attache; or, ;i ! she can't play nothin* else. She sings two or three songs, the last lessons larnt to school, and the last she ever will lam. She has two or three beautiful drawin's, but there is a secret here, too ; the mas- ter finished 'em and she can't do another. She speaks French beau- tiful, but it's fortunate she aint in France now, so that secret is safe. She is a very agreeable gal, and talks very pleasantly, for she has seen the world. " She was to London for a few weeks ; saw the last play, and knows a great deal about the theatre. She has been to the opera oncet, and has seen Celeste and Fanny Estler, and heard La Blache and Grisi, and is a judge of dancin' and singin'. She saw the Queen a horseback in the Park, and is a judge of ridin' ; and was at a party at Lady Syllabub's, and knows London life. This varnish lasts a whole year. The two new pieces wear out, and the songs get old, and the drawin's everybody has seed, and the London millinery wants renewin', and the Queen has another Princess, and there is another singer at the Opera, and all is gone but the credit, ' she was edicated at a boardin'-school.' " But that ain't the wust nother, she is never no good arten- wards. If she has a great forten, it ain't so much matter, for rich folks can do what they please ; but if she ain't, why, a head oncet turned like a stifle-joint oncet put out in a horse, it ain't never quite right agin. It will take a sudden twist agin when you least expect it. A taste for dress — a taste for company — ^a taste for expense, and a taste for beaux was larnt to boardin'-school, and larnt so well it's never forgot. A taste for no house-keepin', for no domestic afiairs, and for no any thin' good or usl^'uI, was larnt to boardin'- school, too, and these two tastes bein' kind o' rudiments, never wear out and grow rusty. " Well, when Miss comes home, when old father and marm go to lay down the law, she won't take it from 'em, and then ' there is th« devil to pay and no pitch hot.* She has been away three years, may be five, and has lamed 'the rights o' women,' and the duties of * old fogeys ' of fathers, and expects to be her own mistress, and theiin, too. Obey, indeed I Why should she obey? — Haint she come of age ? — Haint she been to a female seminary and got her edication finished ? It's a runnin' fight arter that ; sometimes she's brought to, and sometimes, bein' a clipper, she gets to windward herself, and larfs at the chase. She don't answer signals no more, and why? all young ladies voted it a bore at 'the boardin'-school? *' What a pretty wife that critter makes, don't she ? — She never heerd that husband and wives was made for each other, but only that husbands was made for wives. — She never heerd that home meant anything but a house to see company in, or that a puss had any eend to it but one, and that was for the hand to go in. Heavens and airth ! the feller she catches will find her a man-trap, I know-* I ■www^ivi SAM SLICE IN ENGLAND. 201 and one, too, that will hold on like grim death to a dead nigger, — one that he can't lose the grip of, and can't pull out of, but that's got him tight and fast for ever and ever. If the misfortunate wretch has any children, like their dear mammp, they, in their turn, are packed off to be edicated and ruined, — to be finished and bedeviled, body and soul, to a boardin'- school.'* CHAPTER XXXII. THE REVOLUTIONARY HERO. The following morning, Mr. Slick, who always made much greater despatch at his meals than any man I ever saw, called for the daily newspaper before I had half finished my breakfast. " Cotton's ris,'* said he, " a penny a pound, and that's a'most four dollars a bale or CO ; I'm five thousand dollars richer than I was yesterday momin'. I knowd this must be the case in course, for I had an account of last year's crop, and I larnt what stock was on hand here, so I spekilated the other day, and bought a considerable passel. I'll put it off to- day on the enemy. Gauliopilus ! if here ain't the Great "Western a comin' in ;" and he threw down the paper with an air of distress, and sat for some time wholly absorbed with some disagreeable sub- ject. After a while, he rose and said, " Squire, will you take a walk down to the docks along with me, if you've done breakfast. I'll introduce you to a person you've often heerd tell of, but never saw afore. Father's come. — I never was so mad in all my life.— What on airth shall I do with the old man here — but it sarves me right, it all comes of my crackin' and boastin' so, in my letters to sister Sal, of my great doings to London. Dear, dear, how provokin' this is ! I ain't a critter that's easy scared off, but I swear to man I feel vastly more like scooterin' off than spunkin' up to face him, that's a fact. You know. Squire, I am a man of fashion now ;" and here he paused for a while and adjusted his shirt collar, and then took a lingering look of admiration at a large diamond ring on his forefinger, before its light was extinguished by the glove — " I'm a man of fashion, now ; I move in the first circles ; my position in so- ciety is about as tall as any citizen y>f our country ever had; and I must say I feel kinder proud of it. " But, heavens and airth, what shall I do with father ? I wam't broughten up to it myself, and if I hadn't a 'jeen as soople as moose wood, I couldn't have gotten the inns and outs of high life as I have. As it was, I most gi'n it up as a bad job : but now I guess I am aa 9* mmi 203 THB ATTACH^; 01^ ! |i h !l I |: well dressed a man as any you see, use a silver fork as if it was nothin' but wood, wine with folks as easy as the best on 'em, and am as free and easy as if I was to home. It's ginirally allowed I go the whole figure, and do the thing genteel. But father, airth and seas 1 he never see nothin' but Slickville, for BunkerhiU only lasted one uight and a piece of next day, and continental troops wam't like Broadway or west-eend folks, I tell you. Then, he's considerable hard of heerin', and you have to yell a thing out as loud as a trainin'- gun afore he can understand it. He swears, too, enough for a whole court-house when he's mad. He lamt that in the old war, it was a fashion then, and he's one o' them that won't alter nothin'. But that ain't the worst nother, he has some o' them country-fied ways that ryle the Britishers so much. He chaws tobaccy like a turkey, smokes all day long, and puts his legs on the table, and spits like an enjine. Even to Slickville these revolutionary heroes was always reckoned behind the age ; but in the great world like New York, or London, or Paris, where folks go a-head in manners as well as everthin' else, why it won't go down no longer. I'me a peacable man when I'me good-natured, but I'me ugly enough when I'me ryled, I tell you. Now folks will stuboy father, and set him on to make him let out jist for a laugh, and if they do, I'me into them as sure as rates. I'll clear the room, I'll be switched if I don't. No man shall insult father, and me standin' by, without catchiu' it, I know. For old, deaf, and rough as he is, he is father, and that is a large word when it is spelt right. — Yes, let me see the man that will run a rigg on him, and by the Tamal — " Here he suddenly paused, and, turning to a man that was passing, said, •* What do you mean by that?" " What?" " Why, runnin' agin me ; you had better look as if you didn't, hadn't you ?" " You be hanged I" said the man, " I didn't touch you." " D — n you !" said Mr. Slick, " I'll knock you into the middle of next week." " Two can play at that game," said the stranger ; and in a moment they were both in attitude. Catching the latter's eye, I put my finger to my forehead, and shook my head. ^' Ah I" said he, " poor fellow 1 1 thought so," and walked away. " You thought so," said Mr. Slick, " did you ? Well, it's lucky you found it out afore you had to set down the figures, I can tell you." « Come, come," I said, " Mr. Slick, I thout you said you were a man of fashion, and here you are trying to pick a quarrel in the street." " Fashion, Sir," said he, " it is always my fashion to fight when I'me mad; but I do suppose, as you say, a street quarrel ain't very genteel. Queen might hear it, and it would lower our great nation in the eyes of foreigners. When I'm ready to bust, tho', I like to let ofi* steam, and them that's by must look our for scaldings, that's all. I am lyled, that's a iact, and it's enough to put a man out of SAM SLICK IN ENOLAND. 203 I eorts tj have this old man come a trampousin' here, to set for a pio- tur to Dickens or some other print maker, and for me to set by and hear folks a snickering at it. If he will go a bull-draggin' of me about, I'll resign and go right off home agin, for he'll dress so like old Scratch, we shall have a whole crowd arter our heels whichever way we go. I'me a gone sucker, that's a fact, and shall have a muddy time of it. Pity, too, for I am gettin' rather fond of high life; I £nd I have a kinder nateral taste for good society. A good tuck out every day, for a man that has a good appetite, ain't to be sneezed at, and as much champagne, and hock, and madeiry as you can well carry, and cost you nothin' but the trouble of eatin' and drinkin', to my mind is better than cuttin* your own fodder. At first, I didn't care much about wine ; it warn't strong enough, and didn't seem to have no flavor, but taste improves, and I am a considerable Judge of it now. I always used to think champaigne no better nor mean cider, and p'r'aps the imertation stuff we medce to New York «un't, but if you get the clear grit, there is no mistake in it, Lick, it feels handsome, I tell you. Sutherland has the best I've tasted in town, and it's iced down to the exact p'int better nor most has it." " Sutherland's," I said, " is that the hotel near Mivart's ?*' '' Hotel, indeed !" said he, ^' whoever heer'd of good wine at an hotel? and if he did hear of it, what a 'fool he'd be to go drink it there and pay for it, when he can dine out and have it all free gratis for nothin'. Hotel, indeed 1 1 — ^no, it's the great Duke of Suther- land's. The * Socdolager ' and I dine there often." " Oh ! the Duke of Sutherland," said I ; " now I understand you." " And I," he replied, ** understand you now, too, Squire. Why, in the name of sense, if you wanted to c'rect me, did you go ail round about, and as. so many questions ? Why didn't you come straight up to the mark, and say that word ' Sutherland ' has slipt off its handle, and I'd a fixt the helve into the eye, and put a wedge into it to fasten it in my memory ? I do like a man to stand up to his lick log, but no matter. " Well, as I was a sayin', his champagne is the toplofUest I've seen. His hock ain't quite so good as Bobby Feel's (I mean Sir Kobert Peel). Lord, he has some from Joe Hannah's — Bug Met- ternioh's vineyard on the Khine. It is very sound, has a tall flavor, a good body, and a special handsome taste. It beats the Bug's, I tell you. High life is high life, that's a fact, especially for a single man, for it costs him nothin' but for his bed, and cab-hire, and white gloves. He Uves like a pet rooster, and actilly saves his board. To give it all up ain't no joke ; but if tlus old man will make a show — ^for I shall feel as striped as a rainbow — of himself, I'me off right away, I tell you — ^I won't stand it, for he is my father, and what's more, I can't, tor (drawing himself up, com- ^B»™»"H«P "7"^ w^^mmmmrmmfiw 204 THE attach:^; ok, ■ posing his moustache, and adjusting his collar) / am * Sara Slick.' » " What induced him," I said, <' at his advanced age, to * tempt the stormy deep,' and to leave his comfortable home, to visit a coun- try against which I have often heard you say he had very strong prejudices ?" "I can't just 'xactly say what it is," says he, " it's a kind of mys- tery to me, — ^it would take a great bunch of eipherin' to find that out, — ^but I'me afeerd it's my foolish letters to sister Sal, Squire, for I'll tell you candid, I've been braggin' in a way that ain't slow to Sal, cause I knowed it would please her, and women do like most special to have a crane to hang their pot-hooks on, so I thought ' my brother Sam' would make one just about the right size. If you'd a-seen my letters to her, you wouldn't a-scolded about leaving out titles, I can tell you, for they are all put in at tandem length. They are full of Queen and Prince, and Lords and Dukes, and Marquisas and Markees, and Sirs, and the Lord knows who. She has been astonishin' the natives to Slickville with Sam and the Airl, and Sam and the Dutchess, and Sam and the Baronet, and Sam and the Devil, and I intended she should ; but she has turned p6or old father's head, and that I didn't intend she should. It sarves me right though, — I had no business to brag, for though brag is a good dog, hold-fast is a better one. But Willis bragged, and Rush bragged^ and Stephenson bragged, and they all bragged of the Lords they knowed to England ; and then Cooper bragged of the Lords he re- fused to know there ; and when they returned every one stared at them, and said ' Oh, he knows nobility, — or he is so great a man he wouldn't touch a noble with a pair of tongs.' So I thought I'd brag a little, too, so as to let poor Sal say my brother Sam went a-head of them all. There was no great harm in it arter all. Squire, was there ? You know, at home, in a family where none but household is by, why we do let out sometimes, and say nobody is good enough for Sal, and nobody rich enough for Sam, and the Slicks are the first people in Slickville, and so on. It's innocent and nateral too, for most folks think more of themselves in a gineral way than any one else does. But, Lord love you, there is no calculatin' on women — they are the cause of all the evil in the world. On purpose, or on accident, in temper or in curiosity, by hook or by crook, some how or another, they do seem as if they couldn't help doin' mischief. Now, here is Sal, as good and kind-hearted a crittur as ever lived, has gone on boastin' till she has bust the byler. She has made a proper fool of poor old father, and e'en a-jist ruined me. I'me a gone coon now, that's a fact. Jist see this letter of Other's, tellin' me he is a-comin' over in the * Western.' If it was any one else's case, I should haw-haw right out ; but now it's come home, I could boo-hoo with spite a-most. Here it is — no that's not it nother, that's . I SAM SLICE IN ENGLAND. 205 an invite from Melb. — Lord Melbonme — ^no, this is it, — ^no it tainte nother, that's from Lord Brougham, — no, it's in my trunk,— I'll show it to jou some other time. I can't 'xactlj fathom it : it's a ditch I can't jist pole over ; he's got some crotchet in his head, but the Lord only knows what. I was proud of father to Slickville, and so was every one, for he was the makin' of the town, and he was one of our old veterans too ; but here, somehow or another, it sounds kinder odd to have a man a crackin' of himself up as a Bunker Hill, or a revolutionary hero.** CHAPTER XXXIII. on ow ef. 3d, m ^'s Id THE EYE. As soon as the ' Great Western* was warped into dock I left Mr. Slick, and returned to the hotel. His unwillingness to meet his father I knew arose from the difference of station in which they were adventitiously placed ; his pride v;as evidently wounded, and I was reluctant to increase his mortification by witnessing their first interview. I did not see them until the following day, when we were about to depart for London. It was evident, from the appearance of the Colonel, that his son had caused his whole attire to be changed, for it was perfectly new, and not unlike that of most persons of his age in England. He was an uncultivated man, of rough manners and eccentric habits, and very weak and vain. He had not kept pace with the age in which he lived, and was a perfect specimen of a colonist of the rural districts of Connecticut sixty years ago. I had seen many such persons among the loyalists, or refugees as they were called, who had followed the troops at the peace of 1784 to Nova Scotia. Although quite an original therefore in England, there was but little of novelty either in his manner, appearance, or train of thought, to me. Men who have a quick perception of the ludicrous in others, are always painfully and sensitively alive to ridicule themselves. Mr. Slick, therefore, watched his father with great uneasiness during our passage in the train to town, and to pre- vent his exposing his ignorance of the world, engrossed the whole conversation. " There is a change in the fashion here. Squire," said he ; " black stocks aint the go no longer for full dress, and white ones aint quite up to the notch nother ; to my mind they are a leetlp sarvanty. A man of fashion must < mind his eye' always. I guess I'll send and get some white muslins, but then the difficulty is to tie them neat. Perhaps nothin' in natur' is so difficult as to tie a white cravat so >»^^ -tif M (^VWf ?>• 206 THE ATTACH^; OR, as not to rumfoozle it or sile it It requires quite a slight of hand, that's a fact I used to get our beautiful little chamber-help to do it when I first come, for women's fingers aint all thumbs like men's ; but the angeliferous dear was too short to reach up easy, so I had to stand her on the foot-stool, and that was so tottlish I had to put one hand on one side of her waist, and one on t'other, to steedy her like, and that used to set her little heart a beatin' like a drum, and kinder agitated her, and it made me feel sort of all-overish too, so we had to ginn it up, for it took too long ; we never could tie the knot under halt' an hour. But then, practice makes perfect, and that's a fact If a feller * minds his eye' he will soon ratch the nack, for the eye must never be let go asleep, except in bed. Lord, it's in little things a man of fashion is seen in ! Now how many ways there be of eatin' an orange. First, there's my way when I'm alone ; take a bite out, su^k the juice, tear off a piece of the hide and eat it for digestion, and role up the rest into a ball and give it a shy into the street ; or, if other folks is by, jist take a knife and cut it into pie- ces; or if gals is present, strip him down to his waist, lefivin' his outer garment hanging graceful over his hips, and his upper man standiu' in his beautiful shirt ; or else quartern him, with hands off, neat, scientific, and workmanlike ; or, lif it's forbidden fruit's to be carved, why tearin' him with silver forks into good sizeable pieces for helpin'. All this is larnt by mindirC your eye. And now. Squire, let me tell you, for nothin' 'scapes me a'most, though I say it that shouldn't say it, but still it taint no vanity in me to say that nothin* never escapes me. / mind my eye. And now let me tell you there aint no maxim in natur' hardly equal to that one. Folks may go crackin' and braggin' of their knowledge of Phisionomy, or their skill in Phrenology, but it's all moonshine. A feller can put on any phiz he likes and deceive the devil himself; and as for a knowledge of bumps, why natur' never intended them for signs, or she wouldn't have covered 'em all over with hair, and put them out of sight Who the plague will let you be puttin' your fingers under their hair, and be a foozlin' of their heads ? If it's a man, why he'll knock you down, and if it's a gal, she will look to her brother, as much as to say, if this sassy feller goes a feelin' of my bumps, I wish you would let your foot feel a bump of his'n, that will teach him better manners, that's all. No, it's * all in my eye.' You must look there for it Well, then, some fellers, and especially painters, go a ravin, and a pratin' about the mouth, the expression of the mouth, the seat of all the emotions, the speakin' mouth, the large print of the mouth, and such stuff ; and others are for everlastingly a lecturin' about the nose, the expression of the nose, the character of the nose, and so on, jist as if the nose was anything else but a speekin' trumpet that a sneeze blows thro', and the snuffles gives the rattles to, or that cant uses as a flute ; I wouldn't give a piece of SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 207 tobackj for the nose, except to tell me when my food was good ; nor a cent for the mouth, except as a kennel for the tongue. But the eye is the boy for me ; there's no mistake there; study that well, and you will read any man's heart, as plain as a book. ' Mind your eye' is the maxim you may depend, either with man or woman. Now I will explain this to you, and give you a rule, with examples, as Minister used to say to night-school, that's worth knowing, 1 can tell you. . . . CHAPTER XXXIV. THE QUEEN. Thb Archbishop of Canterbury, according to appointment, called to-day upon Mr. Hopewell, and procured for him the honor of a private audience with the Queen. Her Majesty received him most graciously, and appeared to be much struck with the natural grace and ease of his manner, and the ingenuousness and simplicity of his character. Many anxious inquiries were made as to the state of the Episcopal Church in the States, and the Queen expressed her- self much gratified at its extr8x>rdinary increase and prosperity of late years. On his withdrawing, her Majesty presented him with a very beautiful snuff-box, having her initials on it set in brilliants, which she begged him to gratify her by accepting, as a token of respect for his many virtues, and of the pleasure she had derived from this interview with the only surviving colonist of the United States she had ever seen. Of such an event as an introduction at Court, the tale is soon told. They are too short and too uniform to admit of incident, but they naturally suggest many reflections. On his return, he said, '^ I have had the gratification, to-day, of being presented to the Queen of England. Her Majesty is the first and only monarch I have ever seen. How exalted is her station, how heavy her responsibilities, and how well are her duties performed I She is an incomparable woman, an obedi .nt daughter, an excellent wife, an exemplary mo- ther, an indulgent mistress, and an intelligent and merciful Sovereign. The women of England have great reason to be thankful to God, for setting before them so bright an example for their imitation : and the men of England that their allegiance is due to a Queen who reigns in the hearts and affections of the people. My own opinion is, that the descent of the sceptre to her Majesty, at decease of the late King, was a special interposition of Providence, for the protec- tion and safety of the empire. It was a time of great excitement. The Reformers, availing themselves of the turbulence of the lower orders whose passions they had inflamed, had, about that period, let loose the midnight incendiary to create a distress that did not exist, by destroying the harvests that were to feed the poor ; had put the masses into motion, and marched immense bodies of unemployed and 212 THE ATTACH^; OR, seditious men through the large towns of the kingdom, in order to infuse terror and dismay through the land ; to break asunder the ties between landlord and tenant, master and servant, parishioner and rector, and subject and sovereign. " Ignorant and brutal as these people were, and furious and cruel as were their leaders, still they were men and Englishmen, and when they turned their eyes to their youthful sovereign, and their virgin Queen, her spotless purity, her sex, her personal helplessness, and her many virtues, touched the hearts of even these monsters ; while the knowledge that for such a Queen^ millions of swords would leap from their scabbards, in every part of the empire, awakened their fears, and the wave of sedition rolled back again into the bo- som of the deep, from which it had been thrown up by Whiggery, Radicalism, and Agitation. Had there at that juncture been a Prince upon the throne, and that Prince unfortunately not been popular, there would, in all probability, have been a second royal martyr, and a Robespierre, or a Cromwell, would have substituted a reign of terror for t^e mild and merciful government of a constitutional and legitimate sovereign. The English people owe much to their Queen. The hereditary descent of the crown, the more we consider it and the more experienced we become, is, afler all. Squire, the best, the safest, and the wisest mode possible of transmitting it. " Sam is always extolling the value of a knowledge of human na- ture. It is, no doubt, of great use to the philosopher, and the law- giver ; but, at last, it is but the knowledge of the cunning man. The artful advocate, who plays upon the prejudices of a jury ; the un- principled politician, who addresses the passions of the vulgar ; and the subtle courtier, who works upon the weaknesses and foibles of Princes, may pride themselves on their knowledge of human nature, but, in my opinion, the only knowledge necessary for man, in his intercourse with man, is written in a far ditfereut book — the Book of Life. " Now, as respects the subject we are talking of, an hereditary monarchy, I have often and often meditated on that beautiful parable, the first and the oldest, as well as one of the most striking, impres- sive, and Instructive of all that are to be found in the Bible. It occurs in the ninth chapter of Judges. Abimelech, you may recol- lect, induced bis kindred to prepare the way for his ascent to the throne by a most horrible massacre, using those affectionate words, that are ever found in the mouths of all demagogues, for remember, he said, M am your bone and your flesh?' His followers are de- signated in the Holy record as ' vain and light persons,' who, when they accepted their bribe to commit that atrocious murder, said, surely hi is our brother. Regicides and rebels use to this day the same alluring language ; they call themselves ' the friends of the people,' and those that are vile enougfi to publish seditious tracts, SAM 8LI0K IN ENGLAND. 218 editary )arable, impres- }le. It recol- to tho words, lember, are de- , when , said, lay the of the tracts, and cowardly enough i ot to avow them, always subscribe themselves ' one of the People.' The perpetrators of this awful murder gave rise to the following parable : " ' The trees went forth on a time to anoint a king over them, and they said unto the oliver-tree, Reign thou over us.' " * But the oliver-tree said unto them, Should I leave my fatness, wherewith by me they honor God and man, and go to be promoted over the trees ?' " < And the trees said to the fig-tree. Come thou and reign over us.* '* * But the fig-tree said unto them, ' Should I forsake my sweet- ness, and my good fruit, and go to be promoted over the trees ?' " ' Then, said the trees unto the vine. Come thou and reign over us.' " * And the vine said unto them, Should I leave my wine, which cheereth God and man, and go to be promoted over the trees P " ' Then, said all the trees unto the bramble, Come thou and reign over us.' " And the bramble said unto the trees. If in truth ye anoint me king over you, then come and put your trust in my shadow ; if not, let fire come out of the bramble and devour the cedars of Lebanon.' " <' What a beautiful parable, and how applicable is it to all time and all ages. The oliver, the fig, and the vine had their several duties to perform, and were unwilling to assume those for which nature had not designed them. They were restrained alike by their modesty and their strong sense of rectitude. '' But the worthless bramble, the poorest and the meanest plant in the forest, with the presumptuous vanity so peculiar to weak and vulgar men, caught at once at the offer, aud said, ' Anoint me your king, and repose in my shadow ;' and then, with the horrible de- nunciations which are usually uttered by these lowbred tyrants, said, ' if not, let fire issue from me and destroy all the noble cedars of Lebanon.' " The shadow of a bramble I ! — How eloquent is this vainglorious boast, of a thing so humble, so naked of foliage, so pervious to the sun, as a bramble ! ! — of one, too, so armed, and so constituted by nature, as to destroy the fleece and lacerate the flesh of all animals incautious enough to approach it. As it was with the trees of the forest, to whom the option was offered to elect a king, so it is with us in the States to this day, in the choice of our chief magistrate. The olive, the fig, and the vine decline the honor. Content to re- main in the sphere in which Providence has placed them, perform- ing their several duties in a way creditable to themselves, and useful to the public, they prefer pursuing the even tenor of their way to being transplanteil into the barren soil of politics, where a poisonous atmosphere engenders a feeble circulation, and a sour and deterior- r i ■• UWIJHWI ii 2U THB ATTACH^; OR, ated fruit. The brambles alone contend for the prize ; and how often are the stately cedars destroyed to make room for those worth- less pretenders. Republicanism has caused our country to be over- run by brambles. The Reform Bill has greatly increased them in England, and responsible government has multiplied them tenfold in the colonies. May the offer of a crown never be made to one here, but may it descend, through all time, to the lawful heirs and descen- dants of this noble Queen. "What a glorious spectacle is now presented in London — the Queen, the Nobles, and the Commons, assembling at their appointed time, aided by the wisdom, sanctified by the prayers, and honored by the presence, of the prelates of the Church, to deliberate for the benefit of this vast empire ! What a union of rank, of wealth, of talent, of piety, of justice, of benevolence, and of all that is good and great, is to be found in this national council. The world is not able to shake an empire whose foundation is laid like that of England. But treason may undermine what force dare not assault. The strength of this nation lies in the union of the Church with the state. To sever this connection, then, is the object of all the evil disposed in the realm, for they are well aware that the sceptre will fall with the ruin of the altar. The brambles may, then, as in days of old, have the offer of power. What will precede, and what will follow, such an event, we all full well know. All Holy Scripture was written, we are informed, ' that we might read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest it ;* and we are told therein that such an offer was not made in the instance alluded to till the way was prepared for it by the murder of all those lawfully entitled to the throne, and that it was followed by the most feariul denunciations against all the aristocracy of the land. The brambles, then, as now, were levellers; the tall cedars were objects of their hatred. " It is a holy and blessed union. Wordsworth, whom, as a child of nature I love, has beautifully expressed my ideas on this subject : " ' Hail to the crown by Freedom shaped to gird An English sovereign's brow ! and to the throne Whereon she sits ! whose deep foundations Lt In veneration and the people's love ; Whose steps are equity, whose seat is law, Hail to the State of England ! And conjoin With this a salutation as devout, Made to the spiritual fabric of her Church, Founded in truth ; by blood of Martyrdom Cemented ; by the hands of Wisdom reared In beauty of lioliness, with ordered pomp. Decent and unreproved. The voice that greets The majesty of both, shall pray for both ; That mutually protected and sustained, They may endure as long as sea surrounds This favored land, or sunshine warms her soil.' " SAlf SLICE IN ENGLAND. 215 e; and how those worth- Y to be over- ased them in ;m tenfold ia to one here, and descen- [Jondon — the sir appointed Eind honored erate for the >f weahh, of . is good and i is not able of England, sault. The •ch with the ' all the evil sceptre will Q, as in days ad what will |ly Scripture if learn, and an offer was jpared for it ne, and that linst all the jre levellers; 1, as a child his subject : After repeating these verses, to which he gave great effect, he slowly rose from his seat — drew himself up to his full height — and lifted up both his hands, in a manner so impressive as to bring me at once upon my feet. I shall ever retain a most vivid recollection of the scene. His tall erect figure, his long white hair descending on his collar, his noble forehead, and intelligent and benevolent countenance, and the devout and earnest expression of his face, was truly Apostolical. His attitude and manner, as I have before ob- served, caused me involuntarily to rise, when he gave vent to his feelings in those words, so familiar to the ear, and so dear to the heart of every churchman, that I cannot deny myself the satisfaction of transcribing them, for the benefit of those whose dissent precludes them from the honor, and the gratification of constantly uniting with us in their use : " ' Almighty God, whose kingdom is everlasting and power infi- nite, have mercy upon the whole Church, and so rule the heart of thy chosen servant, Victoria, Queen and Governor, of England, that she, knowing whose minister she is, may, above all things, seek thy honor and glory, and that all her subjects, duly considering whose authority she hath, may faithfully serve, honor, and humbly obey her, in thee, and for thee, according to thy blessed word and ordinance. — ^Amen.' '* CHAPTER XXXV. SMALL TALK. " Squire," said Mr. Slick, " I am a-goin* to dine with PaJm — Lord Palmerston, I uiean, to-day, and arter that I'me for a grand let off to Belgrave Square," and then throwing himself into a chair, he said, with an air of languor, " these people will actually kill me with kindness ; I feel e'en a'most used up, — I want rest, for I am up to the elbows, — I wish you was a-going, too, I must say, for I should like to show you high life, but, unfortunately, you are a colonist. The British look down upon you as much as we look down upon them, so that you are not so tall as them, and a shocking sight shorter than us. — Lord, I wonder you keep your temper sometimes, when you get them comphments I've heerd paid you by the Whigs. * We'd be better without you by a long chalk,' they say, ' the colonies cx)st more than they are worth. They only sarve to involve us in dis- putes,' and all such scorny talk ; and then to see you coolly sayin', Great Britain without her colonies would be a mere trunk without l^lfWWpi, P I .JBW||»im(FW-^T«J»|l 1,1 III 'V'^Pf ■l"-l""'l 1 1 ■mviii«(iiiji|in.>i II 1 i 216 THE attache; or, arms or legs, and then cypherin' away at figures, to show 'em they are wrong, instead of givin' 'em back as good as they send, or up foot and let 'em have it ; and this I vvill say for the Tories, I have never heer'd them talk such everlastin' impudent nonsense, that's a fact, but the Whigs is Whigs, I tell you. But to get back to these parties, if you would let me or your colonial minister introduce you to society, I would give you some hints that would be useful to you, for I have made high life a study, and my knowledge of human natur' and soft sawder has helped me amazingly. I know the inns and outs of life from the palace to the log hut. And I'll tell you now what I call general rules for society. First, it ain't one man in a hundred knows any subject thorough, and if he does, it ain't one time in a thousand he has an opportunity, or knows how to avail it. Secondly, a smatterin' is better nor deeper knowledge for so- ciety, for one is small talk, and the other is lecturin'. Thirdly, pretendiii' to know, is half the time as good as knowin', if pretendin* is done by a man of the world cutely. Fourthly, if any crittur axes you if you have been here or there, or know this one or that one, or seen this sight, or t'other sight, always say yes, if you can without lyin', and then turn right short round to him, and say, ' What's your opinion on it ? I should like to hear your views, for they are always so original.* That saves you makin' a fool of yourself by talking nonsense, for one thing, and when a room ain't overly well furnish- ed, it's best to keep the blinds down in a general way ; and it tickles his vanity, and that's another thing. Most folks like the sound of their own voices better nor other peoples', and every one thinks a good listener and a good laugher, the pleasantest crittur in the world. Fifthly, lead where you know, when you don't, foller, but soft sawder always. Sixthly, never get cross in society, especially where tie galls are, but bite in your breath, and swaller all down. When women is by, fend off with fun ; when it's only men, give 'em a taste of your breed, delicately like, jist hintin' in a way they can't mistake, for a nod is as good as a wink to a blind horse. Oncet or twice here to London, I've had the rig run on me and our great nation, among men till I couldn't stand it no longer. Well, what does I do, — why, instead of breakin' out into an uprorious passion, I jist work round, and work round, to turn the talk a little, so as to get a chance to give 'em a guess what sort of iron I'me made of, and how I'me tempered, by sayin' naterally and accidentally like, * I was in Scotland the other day, goin' from Kelso to Edinboro'. There was a good many men folk on the top of the coach, and as I didn't know one, I jist outs with a cigar, and begins to smoke away all to myself, for company like. Well, one feller began grumblin' and growhn* about smokin', how ongenteel it was, and what a nuisance it was, and so on, and all tliat, and more, too, and then looked right straight at me, and said it hadn't ought to be allowed. Well, I jist took a squint round, and, SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 217 as I seed there was no women folks present — for if there had a-been I'd a-throwed it right away in a minit — but as there warn't, I jist smoked on, folded my arms, and said uothia'. At last, the crittur, findin' others agreed with him, and that I didn't give lip, spunks up to me, bullyin' like, and sais, ' What would you think, Sir,' sais he, * if I was to pull that cigar from your mouth and throw it right down on the ground.' ' I'll tell you,' sais I, quite cool, ' what I'd think, and that is, that it would be most partekilarly d— d odd if you didn't touch ground before the cigar. Try it,' sais I, puttin' my head for- ward, so he might take it, ' and I'll bet you five pounds you are off the coach before the cigar.' I gave the feller but one look, and that was wicked enough to kill the coon, and skin him, too. It cut his comb, you may depend ; he hauled in his horns, mumbled a leetle, and then sat as silent as a pine stump, and looked as small as if he was screwed into an auger hole. Arter tellin' of tliis story, I jist add, with a smile, ' Since the Judges have given out here they in- tend to hang for duellin', some folks think they can be rude ; but it never troubles me. I'me a good-natered man, and always was. I never could carry malice till next day, since I was born, so I punish on the spot.' A leetle anecdote like that, with a delicate elegant leetle hint to the eend on't, stops impudence in a minit. Yes, that's a great rule, never get cross in society ; it tante considered good breedin*. ^ Now, as for small change in society, you know. Squire, I ain't a deep lamed man, but I know a leetle of everything, a'most, and I try to have a curious fact in each, and that is my stock to trade with. Fust thing in company is dress, no man can pass muster un- less he is fust chop in that. Hat, gloves, shoes, from Paris ; cloths from Stultz, and so on, and then your outer man is as good as Count Dorsey's. Second thing is talk. Now, suppose I call on a lady, and see her at rug-work, or worsteds, or whatever you call it. Well, I take it up, coolly, and say, this is very beautiful, and very difficult, too, for that is the double cross stitch with a half slant, and then suggest about tent stich, satin stich, and so on ; but above all I swear her stich is the best in the world, whatever it is, and she looks all struck up of a heap, as much as to say, where on airth did you larn all that. ' And where did you lai'n it ?' I said in some surprise. * From motiier,' she replied. When she was a gal rug-work was all the edieation female women hud, besides house-keepin', so, in course, she talked for ever of the double cross stich, with the half slant, the fine fern stich, the finny stich, the brave bred stich, the smarting whip stich, and the Lord knows how many stiches ; and it's a pity they hadn't a stich to it, Squire, for one half on 'em have had all their natur' druv out of them and no art put into them, 'xcept the art of talking, and acting like fools. / like nalur' myself ^ and always didy but if we are so cussed fashionable, we must put a dress of our own 10 mu,., jBJiF" M IPiniUJIH" p.l.B|l|«^ll.^ipyPUJiT 1] 218 THE ATTACHE; OB, i on it, for goodness gracious sake, let it he somethin* transparent, that we may get a little peep through it sometimes, at any rate. " Well, then, sposiu* its picturs that's on the carpet, wait till you hear the name of the painter. If it is Rupees, or any one of the old ones," — " Rubens you mean," I said. — " Oh, yes ; cuss that word, I seldom use it," he replied, "■ for I am sure to make that mistake, and therefore I let others pronounce it fust. If its Rubens, or any o' them old boys, praise, for its agin the law to doubt them ; but if its a new man, and the company ain't most special judges, criticise. A leetle out of keepin' sais you, he don't use his grays enough, nor glaze down well ; that shadder wants depth ; gineral eflfect is good, tho' parts ain't ; those eye-brows are heavy enough for stucco, says you, and other unmeanin' terms like them. It will pass, I tell you, your opinion will be thought great. Them that judged the Carto(»), at Westminster Hall, knew plaguy little more nor that. But if there is a portrait of the lady of the house hangin* up, and its at all like enough to make it out, stop— gaze on it — ^walk back — close your fingers like a spy-glass, and look thro' 'em amazed like— en- chanted — chained to the spot. Then utter, unconscious like, *" that's a 'most a beautiful pictur'; — by Heavens that's a speakin' por- trait. Its well painted, too ; but, whoever the artist is, he is an onprincipled man.' ' Good gracious,' she'll say, ' w so?' ' Because, Madam, he has not done you justice, he pretends to have a con- science, and says he won't flatter. The cantin* rascal knew he could not add a charm to that face if he was to try, and has, therefore, basely robbed your countenance to put it on to his character. Out on such a villain,' sais you. ' O Mr. Slick,' she'll say, blushin', but lookin' horrid pleased all the time, ' what a shame it is to be so severe, and, besides, you are not just, for I am afeered to exhibit it, it is so flattered.' ' Flattered 1' sais you, turnin' round, and lookin* at her, with your whole soul in your face, all admiration like : — *■ flattered ! — impossible, Madam.' And then turn short otf, and say to yourself, aloud, ' Heavens, how unconscious she is of her own power I' " Well, sposin' its roses ; get hold of a moss-rose tree, and say, * these bushes send up few suckers ; I'll tell you how to propagate *em : — Lay a root bare : insert the blade of a penknife lengthwise, and then put a small peg into the slit, and cover all up again, and it will give you a new shoot there.' 'Indeed,' she'll say, 'that's worth knowin'.' Well, if its annuals, say, ' mix sawdust with the airth and they'll come double, and be of a better color.* ' Dear me I* she'll say, ' I didn't know that.' Or if its a tree-rose, say, ' put a silver-skinned onion to its roots, and it will increase the flavor of the i'oses, without givin out the leastest mossel in the world of its own.' Or if its a tulip, ' run a needleful of yarn thro' the bulb, to variegate it, or gome such little information as that.' Oh ! its a great thing to have a gineral little assortment, if its only one thing of a kind, so SAIC SLICE IN ENGLAND. 219 but that if its called for, you needn't send your friend to another shop for it. There is nothin' like savin' a customer where you can. In small places they can sound your depth, and tell whether you are a deep nine, or a quarterless six, as easy as nothin' ; but here they can't do any such a thing, for circles are too large, and that's the beauty of London. You don't always meet the same people here, and, in course, can use the same stories over and over agin', and not ear-wig folks ; nothin' is so bad as tellin' the same story twice. Now, that's the way the Methodists do. They divide the country into circuits, and keep their preachers a movin' from place to place. Well, each one has three or four crack sermons. He puts them into his port manter, gallops into a town, all ready cocked and primed, fires them off, and then travels on afore he is guaged and his measure took ; and the folks say what a'most a grand preacher that is, what a pleasin' man he is, and the next man fust charms, and then breaks their hearts by goin' away agin'. The Methodists are actilly the most broken hearted-people I ever see. They are doomed for ever to be partin' with the cleverest men, the best preachers, and the dearest friends in the world. I actilly pity them. Well, these little things must be attended to ; colored note-paper, filagreed envelopes, with musk inside and gold wafer outside : deli- cate, refined, and uppercrust. Some fashionable people don't use those things, and laugh at them little finikin forms. Now men, and, above all, colony men, that's only half way between an African and a white man can't. / could but you couldn't, that's the difference. Yes, Squire, these are rules worth knowin', they are founded on ex- perience, and experience tells me that fashionable people, all the world over, are, for the most part, as sofl as dough ; throw 'em agin' the wall and they actilly stick, they are so soft. But, soft as they be, they won't stick to you if you don't attend to these rules, and, above all things, lay in a good stock of soft sawder and small tcUk.'* CHAPTER XXXVI. WHITE BAIT. " I HAVE been looking about all the momin' for you. Squire," said Mr. Slick, " where on airth have you packed yourself! We are a goin' to make up a party to Blackwall, and eat white bait, and we want you to go along with us. I'll tell you what sot me on the notion. As I was a browsin' about the park this forenoon, who should I meet but Euclid Hogg of Nahant. < Why, Slick/ ^ "T" ■fW^ wi;ilP«ag««njKmjpiiiij,|ij|iji ^ 220 THE ATTAcni;; or, says he, * how do you do ? it's a month of Sundays a'most since I've seed you, sposin' we make a day of it, and go to Greenwich or Blackwall ; I want to hear you talk, and that's better nor your books at any time.' ' Well,' says I, * I don't care if I do go, if Minister will, for you know he is here, and so is father, too.' *Your father!' said he, a-startin' back — 'your father I Land of Goshen! what can you do with himf and his eyes stood still, and looked inward, as if reflecting, and a smile shot right across his cheek, and settled down in the corner of his mouth, sly, funny, and wicked. Oh ! how it cut me to the heart, for I knowed what was a passin' in his mind, and if he had a let it pass out, I would have knocked him down — I would, I sware. 'Your father!' said he. ' Yes,* sais I, *my father, have you any objections. Sir?' sais I, a-clinchin' of my first to let him have it ' Oh, don't talk that way, Bam,' said he, 'that's a good feller, I didn't mean to say nothin' offensive, I was only a thinkin' what under the sun fetched him here, and that he must be considerable in your way, that's all. If re- peatin' his name after that fashion hurt you, why I feel as ugly about it as you do, and beg your pardon, that's all.' Well, nothin' mollifies me like soft words ; so says I, ' It was me that was wrong, and I am sorry for it ; come, let's go and start the old folks.' ' That's right,' says he, * which shall it be, Greenwich or Blackwall ?' ' Black- wall,' says I, ' for we have been to t'other one.* ' So it shall be, old feller,' said he, ' we'll go to Lovegrove's and have white bait.' * White bait,' says I, * what's that, is it gals ? for they are the best bait I know on.* Well I thought the critter would have gone into fits, he larfed so. ' Well, you do beat all, Sam,' said he ; ' what a droll feller you be ! White bait! well, that's capital — I don't think it would have raised the idea of gals in any other soul's head but your own, I vow.' I knowd well enough what he was a-drivin* at, for in course a man m fashionable life, like me, had eat white bait dinners, and drank iced punch, often and often, tho' I must say I never tasted then* any where but on that part of the Thames, and a'most a grand dish it is too, there ain't nothin' equal to it hardly. Well, when Euclid had done lartin', says I, ' I'll tell you what pi ' it into my head. When I was last to Nova Scotia, on the Guelph 8ho>?. I '^' ; up to a farmer's house there, one Gabriel Gab's. All tiK b .1 baulin' in fish, hand over hand, like anything. The '?•; \ re iV ready to break with mackerel, for they were chock iuil, •.\i>xi'<^ ■>. "-'t. It was a good sight lor sore eyes, I tell you, to see tn ' ^k • ■^. >ple catchin' dollars that way, for a good haul is like fishin' up money, it's so profitable. — Fact I assure you. ' So,' says I, ' Uncle Gabe Gab,' cays I, ' what a'most grand haul of fish you have,* 'Oh, Mr. Slick!' sais he, and he turned up the whites of his eyes haiidsum, ' Oh !' said he, (and he looked good enough to out a'most) ' oh, Mr. Slick ! I'm a fisher of men, and not a fisher of SAM SLICE IN ENGLAND. S21 £sh.' Well, it made me mad, for nothin' ryles me do like cant, and the critter was actilly too infa''nal lazy to work, and had took to strollin' preachin' for a livin'. * I'me a fisher of men and not a fisher of fish,' says he. * Are you ?' sals I. ' Then you ought to be the most fortinate one in these diggins, / know.' ' How so ?' said he. * Why,' sais I, < no soul ever fished for men that had his hook sot with such beautiful bait as yours,' a-pinetin' to his three splenderi- ferous gals. Lord, how the young heifers screamed, and larfed, and tee-heed, for they was the rompinest, forredest, tormentenest, wildest, devils ever you see. It's curous. Squire, ain't it ? But a hypocrite father like Gabe Gab is shure to have roliickin' frolickin' children. They do well enough when in sight; but out of that they beat all natur.' Takin' off restraint is like takin' off the harness of a boss ; how they race about the field, squeel, roll over and over on the grass, and kick up their heels, don't they ? Gabe Gab's darters were pi-oper sly ones, and up to all sorts of mischief when his back was turned. I never seed them I didn't think of the old song — ' The darter of a fisherman That was so tall and slim, Lived over on the other side, Just opposite to him. He saw her wave her handkercher ■ As much as for to say, It's grand time for courtin now, For daddy's gone away. Yes, hypocrasy his enlisted more folks for old Scratch than any r«- cruitin* sergeant he has, that's a fact. But to get back to the white bait, we went and roused out old Minister and father, but father said he had most special business (tho' what onder the sun he is arter, I can't make out for the life of me), and Minister said he wouldn't go without you, and now it's too late for to-day. So what do you say to-morrow, Squire? Will you go? That's right; then we'll all go to-morrow, and I'll show you what * white baif is." CHAPTER XXXVII. THE CURLING WAVE AND THE OLD OAK TREE. AccoRDiNO to the arrangements made, as related in the last chapter, we went to Blackwall. Upon these excursions, when we all travelled together, I always ordered private apartments, that the conversation might be unrestrained, and that the Ireedom of remark, "•^ ^imm^fi^^^^^m w 222 THE ATTAOH^; OR, f f } I in which we indulged, might neither attract attention nor give offence. Orders having been given for *' white bait," Mr. Slick and his father walked into the garden, while the " Minister" and myself were engaged in conversation on various topics suggested by the moving scene presented by the river. Among other things, he pointed to the beautiful pile of buildings on the opposite side of the Thames, and eulogised the munificent provision England had made for the infirmities and old a;^ i of those whose lives hud been spent in the service of the country. " That palace. Sir," he said, " for dis- abled sailors, and the other at Chelsea, for decrepid soldiers, splen- did as they are, if they were the only charitable institutions of Eng- land, might perhaps be said to have had their origin, rather in state policy than national liberality ; but fortunately they are only part of an universal system of benevolence here. Turn which way you ^ill, you find Orphan Asylums, Magdalen Hospitals, Charity Schools, Bedlams, places of refuge for the blind, the deaf, the dumb, the deformed, the destitute, for families reduced by misfortune, and for those whom crime or profligacy have punished with infamy or disease. For all classes of sufi'erers charity has provided a home, and kindness a nurse, while funds have been liberally bestowed to encourage talent, and educate, promote, and reward merit ^ The amount of capital, permanently invested and annually sup- plied by voluntary contribution, for those objects, is incredible. What are the people who have done all this ? and whence does it flow ? They are Christians, Sir. It is the fruit of their religion ; and as no other country in the world can exhibit such a noble spec- tacle—so pleasing to God, and so instructive and honorable to man, it is fair to infer that that religion is better taught, better understood, and better exemplified here than elsewhere. You shall know a tree by its productions, and this is the glorious fruit of the Church of England. *' Liberals and infidels may ridicule its connexion with the State, and Dissenters may point to the Bench of Bishops, and ask with ignorant eflrontery, whether their usefulness is commensurate with their expense. I point to their own establishments and say, let their condition and their effects be your answer. I point to Owen and Irvin, whom they impiously cr ' iheir apostles, and while de- clining a comparison, repose myself un ier the shadow of the vene- rable hierarchy of the Church. The spires and hospitals and col- leges so diffusely spread over this great country, testify in its behalf. The great Episcopal Church of America raises its voice in the de- fence and praise of its parent ; and the colonies of the east and the west, and the north and the south, and the heathen everywhere implore the blessing of God on a Church, to whose liberality alone they owe the means of grace they now possess. But this is not all. When asked, where do you find a justification for this connexion, the SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 228 answer is short and plain, / pnd it tentten in the character of an Englishman. With all his faults of manner, Squire (and it is his manner that is chiefly reprehensible, not his conduct), show me a foreigner from any nation in the world, under any other form of Church government, whose character stands so high as an English- man's, How much of greatness and goodness — of liberality, and of sterling worth, is conveyed by that one word. And yet. Squire," he said, '* I would not attribute all the elements of his clmracter to his Church, although all the most valuable ones unquestionably must be ascribed to it ; for some of them are to be traced to the political in- stitutions of England. There are three things that mould and modify national character — the religion — the constitution — and the climate of a country. There are those who murmur against their God, and would improve their climate if they could, but this is impious ; and there are those who would overthrow the altar and the throne, in their reckless thirst for change, and this also is wicked. Avoid the contamination of both. " May man support the Church of God as here established, for it is the best that is known to the human race ; and may God preserve and prosper the constitution as here formed, for it is the perfection of human wisdom." He then took up his chair, and placing it directly in front of the open window, rested his head on his hands, and seemed to be absorbed in some speculation. He continued in this state of abstrac- tion for some time. I never disturbed him when I saw him in these meditating moods, as I knew that he sought them either as a refuge, or as a resource for the supply of conversation. He was soon doomed, however, to be interrupted by Mr. Slick, who, returning with his father at once walked up to him, and, tap- ping him on the shoulder, said, " Come, Minister, what do you say to the white bait now ? I'm getting considerable peckish, and feel as if I could tuck it in in good style. A slice of nice brown bread and butter, the white bait fried dry and crisp, jist laid a-top of it, like the naked truth, the leastest mossel in the world of cayenne, and then a squeeze of a lemon, as delicate as the squeeze of a gal's hand in courtin' time, and lick ! it goes down as slick as a rifle-ball ; it fairly makes my mouth water ] And then arter laying in a solid foundation of that, there's a glass of lignum-vity for me, a bottle of genuine old cider for you and father, and another of champagne for Squire and me to top off with, and then a cigar all round, and up killock and off for London. Come, Minister, what do you say? Why, what in airth ails him. Squire, that he don't answer ^ He's off the handle again as sure as a gun. Come, Minister," he said, ^gain, tapping him on the shoulder, " won't you rise to my hook, it's got white bait to the eend on't? « Oh I" said he, " is that you, Sam ?" '^rm^m^ 'fmi^' ^^wmmnra 224 THE ATTACH^!; OR, I " Sartain," he replied, " at least what's left of me. What under the sun have you been a thinkin' on so everlastin' deep ? I've been a-standin' talking to you here these ten minits, and I believe in my soul, you haven't heerd one blessed word." " I'll tell you, Sam," he aid, " sit down on this chair. Do yoa see that 'curling wave?' bei old it how it emerges out of the mass of water, increases as it rolls tn, rises to a head, and then curls over, and sinks again into the great flood from which it was forced up, and vanishes from sight forever. That is an emblem of a public man in America. Society there has no permanency, and therefore wants not only the high polish that the attrition of several generations gives, but one of the greatest stimulants and incentives to acticm next to religion that we know of — pride of name, and the hontr of an old family. Now don't interrupt me, Sam ; I don't mean to say that we haven't polished men, and honorable men, in abundance. I am not a man to undervalue my countrymen ; but then I am not so weak as you and many others are, as to claim all the advantages of a republic, and deny that we have the unavoidable attendant evils of one. Don't interrupt me. I am now merely stating one of the effects of political institutions on character. We have enough to boast of; don't let us claim all, or we shall have everything dis- puted. With us a low family amasses wealth, and educates its sons ; one of them has talent, and becomes a great public character. He lives on his patrimony, and spends it ; for, politics with us, though they make a man distinguished, never make him rich. He acquires a great name that becomes known all over America, and is every- where recognized in Europe. He dies and leaves some poor chil- dren, who sink under the surface of society from which he accident- ally arose, and are never more heard of again. The pride of his name is lost after the first generation, and the authenticity of descent is disputed in the second. Had our institutions permitted his perpetuating his name by an entailment of his estate (which they do not and cannot allow), he would have preserved his pro- perty during his life, and there would have arisen among his descend- ants, in a few years, the pride of name — that pride which is so anx- ious for the preservation of the purity of its escutcheon, and which generates, in process of time, a high sense of honor. We lose by this equality of ours a great stimulant to virtuous actions. Now look at that oak, it is the growth of past ages. Queen Elizabeth looked upon it as we now do. Race after race have beheld it, and passed away. They are gone, and most of them are forgotten; but there is that noble tree, so deep rooted, that storms and tempests cannot move it. So strong and so sound, that ages seem rather to have increased its solidity than impaired its health. That is an em- blem of the hereditary class in England — ^permanent, useful, and •■-f SAM 8LI0K IS ENGLAND. 225 ornamental ; it graces the landscape, and affords shelter and protec- tion under its umbrageous branches." ** And pjsons all the grain ondemeath it," said Mr. Slick, " and stops the plough in the furror, and spiles the ridges, and attracts the lightning, and kills the cattle that run under it from the storm." ''The cattle, Sam," he mildly replied, "sometimes attract the lightning that rends the branches. The tree does not destroy the grass beneath its shelter ; but nature, while it refuses to produce both in one spot, increases the quantity of grain that is grown at a distance, in consequence of the protection it enjoys against the wind. Thus, while the cultivation of the soil affords nurture for the tree, and increases its size, the shelter of the tree protects the grain. What a picture of a nobleman and his tenants ! What a type of the political world is to be found here in the visible objects of na- ture ! Here a man rises into a great public character — is ennobled, founds a family, and his posterity, in time feel they have the honor of several generations of ancestors in their keeping, and that if they cannot increase, they must at least not tarnish, the lustre of their name. What an incentive to virtuous action ! What an antidote to dishonor ! But here is the white bait ; after dinner we will again discourse of the Curling Wave and the Old Oak IVee." CHAPTER XXXVIII. anx- which se by Now abeth and but pests ler to em- and NATIONAL CHARACTER. After dinner Mr. Hopewell resumed the conversation referred to in the last chapter. " I observed to you just now. Squire, that there were three things that moulded national character; climate, political institutions, and religion. These are curious speculations, my children, and well worthy of study, for we are too apt in this world to mistake effect for cause. Look at the operation of climate on an Englishman. The cloudy sky and humid atmosphere in this country renders him phlegmatic, while the uncertain and variable weather, by constantly driving him to shelter, induces him to render that shelter as commodious and agreeable as possible. Hence home is predominant with him. Operating on all his household equally with himself, the weather unites all in the family circle. Hence his domestic virtues. Restricted by these circumstances, over which he has no control, to his own fireside, and constitutionally phlegmatic, as I have just observed, he becomes, from the force of habit, unwil- ling to enlarge or to leave that circle. Hence a reserve and coldness 10* ^w^ i ^•^!^^" 226 THE ATTACHfi; 0R| of manner towards strangers, too oflen mistaken for the pride of home or purse. His habits are necessarily those of business. The weather is neither too hot for exertion, nor too cold for exposure, but such as to require a comfortable house, abundance of fuel, and warm clothing. His wants are numerous, and his exertions must correspond to them. He is, therefore, both indtutrtous and frugal. Cross the channel, and a sunny sky produces the reverse. You have a volatile excitable Frenchman ; he has no place that deserves the name of a home. He lives in the gardens, the fields, in the public houses, and the theatres. It is no inconvenience to him to know all the world. He has all these places of public resort to meet his ac- quaintances in, and they meet on equal terms. The climate is such as to admit of light clothing, and slight shelter ; food is cheap, and but little more fuel is required than what suffices to dress it ; but little exertion is reniMsite, therefore, to procure the necessaries of life, and he is an idle, thoughtless, merry fellow. So much for cli- mate, now for political institutions that affect character. '' I need only advert to the form of this government, a limited monarchy, which is without doubt the best that human wisdom has yet discovered, or that accidental circumstances have ever conspired to form. Where it is absolute, there can be no freedom ; where it is limited, there can be no tyranny. The regal power here (notwith- standing our dread of royalty), varies very little from what is found in the United States conducive to the public good, to delegate to the President. In one case the sceptre is inherited and held for life, in the other it is bestowed by election, and its tenure terminates in four years. Our upper legislative assembly is elective, and resembles a large lake into which numerous and copious streams are constantly pouring, and from which others of equal size are perpetually issuing. The President, the Senators, and the Representatives, though differ- ently chosen, all belong to one class ; and are in no way distinguish- able one from the other. The second branch of the legislature in England is composed of nobility, men distinguished alike for their learning, their accomplishments, their high honor, enormous wealth, munificence, and all those things that constitute, in the opinion of the world, greatness. The Queen, then, and all the various orders of nobility, are not only in reality above all others, but it is freely, fully, and cheerfully conceded that they are so. " With us all religions are merely tolerated, as a sort of necessary evil ; no one church is fostered, protected, or adopted by the State. Here they have incorporated one with the State, and given the name of the kingdom to it, to distinguish it from all others — the Church of England. Excuse my mentioning these truisms to you, but it is necessary to allude to them, not for the purpose of instruction, for no one needs that, but to explain their effect on character. Here, then, are permanent orders and fixed institutions, and here is a reg- SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 227 •eely, sary tate. Blame urch It IS , for ere, reg- ular well-defined gradation of rank, from the sovereign on the throne to the country squire ; known to all, acknowledged by all, and ap- proved by all. This political stability necessarily imparts stability to the character, and the court and the peerage naturally infuse through society, by the unavoidable influence of the models they pre- sent, a high sense of honor, elegance of manners, and great dignity of character and conduct. An English gentleman, therefore, is kind and considerate to his inferiors, aflable to his equals, and respectful (not obsequious, for servility belongs to an absolute, and not a limit- ed monarchy, and is begotten of power, not of right) to his superiors. What is the case where there are no superiors and no inferiors ? Where all strive to be first and none are admitted to be so ; whero the law, in direct opposition to all nature, has declared those to be equal wlio are as unequal in their talents as they are in their pecu- niary monns ? In such a case the tone may be called an average one^ but what must the average of the masses be in intelligence, in mo- rals, in civilization ? to use another mercantile phrase, it must inev- itably be ' beUm pax.* All tliese things are elements is the forma- tion of character, whether national or individual. There is great manliness, great sincerity, great integrity, and a great sense of pro- priety in England, arising from the causes I have enumerated. One extraordimtry proof of the wholesome state of the public mind here is, the condition of the press. " By the law of the land, the liberty of the press is here secured to the subject. He lias a right to use it, he is punishable only for its abuse. You would naturally suppose, that the same liberty of the press in England and America, or in Great Britain and Russia, would produce the same effect, but this is by no means the cose. Here it is safe, but no where else, not even in the Colonies. Here a Court, an Established Church, a peerage, an aristocracy, a gentry, a large army ond navy, and last, though not least, an intelligent, moral, and highly respectable middle class, all united by one common interest, though they have severally a distinct sphere, and are more or less connected by ties of various kinds, constitute so large, so pow- erful, and so influential a body, that the press is restrained. It may talk boldly, but it cannot talk licentiously ; it may talk freely, but not seditiously. The good feeling of the country is too strong. The law of itself is everywhere unequal to the task. There are some liberal papers of a most demoralizing character, but they are the ex- ceptions that serve to show how safe it is to entrust Englishmen with this most valuable but most dangerous engine. In France these checks, though nominally the St.me, scarcely exist. To the great body of the people a different tone is acceptable. The had feeling of the country is too strong. " In the United States and in the Colonics these checks are also wanting. Here a newspaper ia often a joint-stock property. It is 'flPBPWP^*"^ \ 228 THE attache; or, worth thousands of pounds. It is edited by men of collegiate edu* cation and first rate talents. It sometimes reflects, and sometimes acts, upon the opinions of the higher classes. To accomplish this, its tone must be equal, and its ability, if possible, superior to that of its patrons. In America, a bunch of qnills and a paper, vrith the promise of a grocer to give his advertisements for insertion, is all that is necessary to start a newspaper upon. The checks I have spoken of are wanting. This I know to be the case with us, and I am certain your experience of colonial affairs will confirm my asser- tion that it is the case in the provinces also. Take up almost any (I won't say all, because that would be a gross libel on both my country and ycurs) ; but take up almost any iva>isatlantic newspaper, and how much of personality, of imputation, of insolence, of agita- tion, of pandering to bad passions, is there to regret in it ? The good feeling of the country is not strong enough for it. Here it is safe. With us it is safer than in any other place perhaps, but from a totally different cause — ^from the enormous number that are published, which limits the circulation of each, distracts rather than directs opinion, and renders unity of design as well as unity of action impos- sible. Vrhere a few papers are the organs of the public, the public makes itself heard and understood. Where thousands arc claiming attention at the same time, all are confounded, and in a m. nnei dis- regarded. But to leave illustrations. Squire, which are eadless, let us consider the effect of religion in the formation of character. " The Christian religion is essentially the same everywhere ; but the form of Church government, and the persons by whom tt is ad- ministered, modify national character in a manner altogether in- credible to those who have not traced these things up to their source and down to their consequences. Now, it will startle you no doubt when I say, only tell me the class of persons that the clergy of a country are taken from, and I will tell you at once the stage of re- £aement it is in. " In England the clergy are taken from the gentry, some few from the nobility, and some few from the humbler walks of life, but mainly from the gentry. The clergy of the Church of England are gentle- men and scholars. What an immense advantage that is to a coun- try ! What an element it forms in the refinement of a nation ! when a high sense of honor is superadded to the obligation of religion. France, before the Revolution, had a most learned and accomplished clergy of gentry, and the high state ol' civilization of the people tes- tified to their influence. In the Revolution the altar was overturned with the throne — the priesthood was dispersed, and society received its tone from a plebeian army. What a change has since come over the nation. It assumed an entirely new character. Some little im- provement has taken place of late ; but years must pass away before France can reco v er the loss it sustained in the long-continued ab- SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 229 sence of its amiable and enlightened hierarchy. A mild, tolerant, charitable, gentle, humble, creed like that of a Christian, should be taught and exemplified by a gentleman ; for nearly all his attributes are those of a Christian. This is not theory. An Englishman is himself a practical example of the benefits resulting from the union between the Church and the State, and the clergy and the gentry. " Take a country, where the small farmers furnish the ministers. The people may be moral, but they are not refined ; they may be honest, but they are hard ; they may have education, but they are coarse and vulgar. Go lower down in the scale, and take them from the peasantry. Education will not eradicate their prejudices, or re- move their vulgar errors. They have too many feelings and pas- sions in common with the ignorant associates of their youth, to teach those, from whom they are in no way distinguished but by a little smattering of languages. While they deprecate the aera of darkness, their conversation, unknown to themselves, fans the flame because their early training has made them regard their imaginary grievances as real ones, and induce them to bestow their sympathy where they should give their counsel — or to give their counsel where they should interpose their authority. A thoroughly low-bred, ignorant clergy, is a sure indication of the ignorance and degradation of a nation. What a dreadful thing it is when any man can preach, and when any one that preaches, as in Independent or Colonial America, can pro- cure hearers ; where no training, no learning is required — where the voice of vanity, or laziness is often mistaken for a sacred call, where an ignorant volubility is dignified with the name of inspiration — where pandering to prejudices is popular, and where popular preach- ing is lucrative ! How deleterious must be the effect of such a state of things on the public mind. " It is easy for us to say, this constitution or that constitution is the perfection of reason. We boast of ours that it confers equal rights on all, and exclusive privileges on none, and so on ; but there are other things besides rights in the world. In our government we surrender certain rights for the protection yielded by government, and no more than is necessary for this purpose ; but there are some important things besides protection. In England they yield more to obtain more. Some concession is made to have an hereditary throne, that the country may not be torn to pieces, as ours is every five years, by contending parties, for the oflice of chief magistrate ; or that the nation, like Rome of old, may not be at the mercy of the legions. Some concession is made to have the advantage of an hereditary peerage, that may repress the power of the crown on one side, and popular aggressions on the other ; — and further concession is made to secure the blessings of an Established Church, that the people may not be left to themselves to become the prey of furious fanatics like Cromwell, or murderous infidels like Robespierre ; and -TT' I 230 THE ATTAOHij ; OR, that superstitious zeal and philosophical indifference may alike be excluded from the temple of the Lord. What is the result of all this concession that Whigs call expensive machinery, Radicals the ignorant blunders of our poor old forefathers, and your wholesale Reformers the rapacity of might. What is the result? Such a moral, social, and political state, as nothing but the goodness of God could have conferred upon the people in reward for their many vir- tues. With such a climate — such a constitution, and such a church, is it any wonder that the national character stands so high that, to insure respect in any part of the world, it is only necessary to say, ^ I am an Englishman.' " CHAPTER XXXIX. THE PULPIT AND THE PRESS. It was late when we returned to London, and Mr. Hopewell and 1 olonel Slick being both fatigued, retired almost immediately for the night " Smart man. Minister," said the Attache, " ain't he ? You say smart, don't you? for they use words very odd here, and then fancy it is us talk strange, because we use them as they be. I met Lady Charlotte West to-day, and sais I, ' I am delighted to hear your mother has grown so clever lately.* * Clever ?' sais she, and she colored up like anythin', for the old lady, the duchess, is one of the biggest noodles in all England — * clever. Sir ?' * Yes,* sais I, ♦ I heerd she was layin' all last week, and is a-settin^ now.' Oh, Soli- man ! how mad she looked. *■ Layin' and settin'. Sir ? I don't un- derstand you.' * Why,' sais I, ' I heerd sle kept her bed last week, but i9 so much better now, she sot up yesterday and drove out to- day.' ' Oh ! better ?' sais she, * now I understand, oh yes ! thank you, she is a great deal better:' and she looked as chipper as pos- sible, seein' that I warn't a pokin' fun at her. I guess I used them words wrong, but one good thing is, she won't tell the story, I know, for old marm's sake. I don't know whether smart is the word or no, but clever, I suppose, is. " Well, he's a clever old man, old Minister, too, ain't he ? That talk of his'n about the curling wave and national character, to-day, is about the best I've heern of his since you come back agin. The worst of it is, he carries things a leetle tco far. A man that dives so deep into things is apt to touch bottom sometimes with his head, stir the mud, and rile the water so, he can hardly see his way out SAM SLICE IN ENGLAND. 231 himself, much less show others the road. I guess he went a leetle too low that time, and touched the sediment, for I don't 'xactly see that all that follows from his premises at all. Still he is a book, and what he says about the pulpit and the press is true enough, that's a fact. Their influence beats all natur*. The first time I came to England was in one of our splendid liners. There was a considerable number of passengers on board, and among them two outlandish, awkward, ongainly looking fellers, from Tammer Squat- ter, in the State o' Maine. One on *em was a preacher, and the other a literary gentleman, that published a newspaper. They was always together a'most like two oxen in a parstur, that are used to be worked together. Where one was t' other wam't never at no great distance. They had the longest necks and the longest legs of any fellers I ever see — reg'lar cranes. S waller a frog whole at a gulp, and bein' temperance chaps, would drink cold water enough arter for him to swim in. The preacher had a rusty suit of black on, that had grown brown by way of a change. His coat had been made by a Tammer Squatter tailor, that carried the fashions there forty years ago, and stuck to 'em ever since. The waist was up atween the shoulders, and the tails short like a boy's jacket; his trousers was most too tight to sit down comfortable, and as they had no straps, they wriggled, and wrinkled, and worked a'most up to his knees. Onderneath were a pair of water-proof boots, big enough to wade across a lake in a'most. His white cravat looked as yaller as if he'd kept it in the smoke-house where he cured his hams. His hat was a yaller white, too, enormous high in the crown, and enormous short in the rim, and the nap as close fed down as a sheep pastur' — ^you couldn't pull enough off to clot your chin, if you had bcratched it in shavin'. Walkin' so much in the woods in narrow paths, he had what we call the surveyor's gait ; half on him went first to clear the way thro' the bushes for t' other half to follow— his knees aiid his shoulders bein' the best part of a yard before him. If he wam't a droll boy it's a pity. When he wam't a talkin' to the editor, he was walkin' the deck and studyin' a book for dear life, sometimes a lookin' at it, and then holdin' it down and repeatin', and then lookin* agin for a word that had slipt thro' his fingers. Con- found him, he was always runnin' agin me, most knockin' me down ; so at last, * stranger,' sais I, * you always talk when you sit, and always read when you walk ; now jist revarse the thing, and make use of your eyes, or some of them days you'll break your nose.' * I thank you for the hint, Mr. Slick,' sais he, * I'U take your advice.* * Mr. Slick,' sais I, ' why, how do you know me ?' ' Oh,' sais he, * everybody knows you, I was told when I came on board you was the man that wrote the Clockmaker, and a very cute book it is too ; a great deal of human natur' in it. Come, s'pose we sit down and talk a leetle.' Sais I, ' that must be an entertainin' book you are vmm'm'.myr' "'!■./ ^jw^h'pwi" »"|"»ji" wf^^mw 28^ tHE ATTACH^; OR, a-readin* of — ^what is it ?' * Why,' sais he, * it'a a Hebrew Gram- mar.' ' A Hebrew Grammar,' sais I, * why what on airth do you larn Hebrew for ?' Says he, ' I'm a-goin' to the Holy Land for the sake of my health, and I want to lam a leetle of their gibberish afore I go.' ' Pray,' sais I, ' 'xcuse me, stranger, but what line are you in ?' * I'm,* sais he, * a leader of the Christian band at Tammer Squatter.' * Can you play the key bugle ?' sais I, * I have one here, and it sounds grand in the open air ; it's loud enough to give a pole- cat the ague. What instruments do you play on ? Oh, lord !' sais I, * let's have the gals on deck, and get up a dance. Have you a fiddle ?' * Oh,* sais he, ' Mr. Slick, don't bamm, I'm a minister.' * Well, why the plague didn't you say so,' sais I, * for I actilly mis- understood you, I did indeed. I know they have a black band at Boston, and a capital one it is too, for they have most excellent ears for music has those niggers, but then they pyson a room so, yoii can't set in it for five minutes ; and they have a white band, and they are Christians, which them oncircumcised imps of darkness ain't ; and I swear to man, I thought you meant you was a leader of one, of those white Christian bands.' ' Well,' sais he, ' I used that word leader because it's a humble word, and I am a humble man ; but minister is better, 'cause it ain't open to such a droll mistake as that,' He then up and told me he was in delicate health, and the Tammer Squatter ladies of his congregation had subscribed two thousand dollars for him to take a tower to Holy Land, and then lecturin' on it ne t winter for them. * Oh !' sais I, * I see you prefer bein' paid for umission better than a mission.' ' Well,' says he, * we aim it, and work awful hard. The other day as I passed thro' Bosting, the reverend Mr. Funnyeye sais to me — Hosia, sais he, I envy you your visit. I wish I could get up a case for the women too, for they would do it for me in a minnit ; but the devil of it is, sais he, I have a most ungodly appetite, and am so distressin' well, and look so horrid healthy, I am afeerd it won't go down. Do give me a receipt for lookin' pale. — Go to Tammer Squatter, sais I, and do my work in my absence, and see if the women won't work you oflf your legs in no time ; women haven't no marcy on bosses and preachers. They keep *em a goin* day and night, and think they can't drive *em fast enough. In long winter nights, away back in the country there, they ain't content if they havn't strong hyson tea, and preachin' every night ; and no mortal man can stand it, unless his lungs was as strong as a blacksmith's bellows is. They ain't stingy though, I tell you, they pay down handsome, go the whole figur', and do the thing genteel. Two thousand dollars is a pretty little sum, ain't it? and I needn't come back till it's gone. Back-wood preachin* is hard work, but it pays well if there ain't too many feedin' in the same pastur'. There ain't no profession a'most in all our country that gives so much power, and so much influepce as preachin.' A AT SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 288 pop^a^ preacher can do an3rthing, especially if he is wise enough to be a comfort, and not a caution to sinners.' " Well, the Editor looked like a twin-brother. He wore a long loose brown great-coat, that hung down to his heels. Once on a time it had to moujit guard over an under-coat ; now it was pro- moted. His trowsers was black, and shined in the sun as if they had been polished by mistake for his boots. They was a leetle of the shortest, too, and show'd the rim of a pair of red flannel drawers, tied with white tape, and a pair of thunder and lightning socks. He wore no shoes, but only a pair of Indian Rubbers, that was too big for him, and every time Bb took a step, it made two beats, one for the rubber, and the other for the foot, so that it sounded like a four- footed beast. " They were whappers, you may depend. They actilly looked like young canoes. Every now and then he'd slip on the wet deck, pull his foot out of the rubber, and then hop on one leg to t'other side, 'till it was picked up and handed to him. His shirt collar nearly reached his ear, and a black stock buckled tight round his throat, made his long neck look as if it had outgrown its strength, and would go into a decline, if it didn't fill out as it grew older. When he was in the cabin he had the table covered with long strips of printed paper that looked like columns cut out of newspapers. He, too, had got on a mission. He was a delegate from the Tammer Squatter Anti-Slavery Society that had subscribed to send him to attend the general meetin' to London. He was full of importance, and generally sat armed with two steel pens ; one in his hand, for use, and another atween his ear and his head, to relieve guard when the other was off duty. He was a composin' of his speech. He would fold his arms, throw himself back in his chair, look intently at the ceiling, and then suddenly, as if he had caught an idea by the tail, bend down and write as fast as possible, until he had recorded it for ever. Then, relapsin' again into a brown study, he would hum a tune until another bright thought again appeared, when he'd pounce upon it like a cat, and secure it. If he didn't make faces, it's a pity, workin' his lips, twitchin' his face, winkin* his eye, lightin* up his brows, and wrinklin' his forehead, awful. It must be shock- ing hard work to write, I tell you, if all folks have such a time on it as he had. At last, he got his speech done, for he ginn over writin', and said he had made up his mind. He supposed it would cost the Union the loss of the Southern States, but duty must be done. Tammer Squatter was not to be put down and terrified by any power on airth. One day, as I was a laying on the seats, taking a stretch for it, I heerd him say to the Preacher, * You have not done your duty. Sir. The Pulpit has left abolition to the Press. The Press is equal to it, Sir ; but, of course, it will require longer time to do it in. They should have gone together, Sir, in the great mH-f ^l>iii(i|lJ> uimiuinHigHpB T 284 THE ATTACH^; OB, I : cause. I shall tell the Christian ministry in my speech, they have not sounded the alarm as faithful sentinels. I suppose it will bring all the churches of the Union on me, but the Press is able to bear it alone. It's unfair, tho'. Sir, and you don't know your power. The Pulpit and the Press can move the world. That, Sir, is the Archi- medean lever.* The crittur was right. Squire, if two such gonies as them could talk it into 'em, and write it into 'em, at such an out- landish place as Tammer Squatter, that never would have been heerd of to the sea-board, if it hadn't a-been the boundary question made it talked of; and one on 'em got sent to Holy Latd, 'cause he guessed he looked pale, and k.iow'd he felt lazy, and t'other sent to have a lark to London, or oiness all the world kno> s London hante got nothin' to do wi J ^a; .hen, there can't be be< -er proof of the power of the Pulpii and the Press than that. Influence is one thing, and power another. Influence is nothin', any man can get votes; with us, we give their awa; f r they ain't worth sellin'. But power is shown in makin' IoILh sU^'A) ojt their money; and more nor half the subscriptions in the v. orld are preached out of folks, or * pressed ' out of 'em — that's a fact. I wish they would go in harness together always, for we couldn't do without either on them ; but the misfortune is, that the Pulpit, in a gineral way, pulls agin' the Press, and if ever it succeeds, the world, like old Rome, will be all in darkness, and bigotry and superstition will cover the land. Without the Pulpit, we should be heathens; without the Press, we should be slaves. It becomes .us Protestants, to support one, and to protect the other. Yes! they are great engines, are the Fvlpit and the Press'* CHAPTER XL. I WATERLOO AND BUNKER-HILL. As soon as breakfast was over this morning. Colonel Slick left the bouse, as usual alone. Ever since his arrival in London, his con- duct has been most eccentric. He never informs his son where he is going, and very seldom alludes to the business that induced him to come to England, and when he does, he studiously avoids any explanation. I noticed the distress of the Attach^, who evidently fears that he is deranged ; and to divert his mind from such a pain- ful subject of conversation, asked him if he had not been in Ireland during my absence. " Ah," said he, '• you must go to Ireland, Squire. It is one of the most beautiful countries in the -world, — ^few people see it, because SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 285 they fear it. I don't speak of the people, for agitation has ruined them : but I speak of the face of natur', for that is the work of God. It is splendid — ^that's a fact. There is more water there than in England, and, of course, more light in the landscape. Jts features are bolder, and, of course, more picturesque. Oh, you must see Killamey, — we haven't nothin' to compare to it. The Scotch lakes ain't fit to be named on the same day with it, — our'n are longer and broader, and deeper and bigger, and everything but prettier. I don't think there is nothin' equal to it. Loch Katrein and Loch Lomond have, been bedeviled by poets, who have dragged all the world there to disappoint 'em, and folks come away as mad as hatters at bein' made fools of, ♦vhen, if they had been let alone, they'd a-lied as bad perhaps as the poets have, and overpraised them themselves most likely. If you want a son not to fall in love with any splenderiferous gall, praise her up to the skies, call her an angel, say she is a whole team and a horse to spare, and all that : the moment the crittur sees her, he is a little grain disappointed, and says, * Well, she is handsome, that's a fact, but she is not so very, very everlastin* pretty arter all.' Then, he criticises her : — * Her foot is too thick in the instep — her elbow bone is sharp— she rouges— ^is affected, and so on ;' and the more you op- pose him, the more he abuses her, till he swears she is misreported, and ain't handsome at all ; — say nothin' to him, and he is spooney over head and ears in a minute ; he sees all beauties and no defects, and is for walkin' into her affections at oncet. Nothin' damages a gall, a preacher, or a lake, like over-praise ; a boss is one of the on- Uest things in natur' that is helpet by it. Now Killamey ain't over- praised — it tante praised half enough ; — the Irish praise it about the toploftiest, the Lord knows — but then nobody minds what they say — they blarney so like mad. But it's safe from the poets. My praise won't hurt it, 'cause if I was to talk till I was hoarse, I couldn't persuade people to go to a country where the sting was taken out of the snakes, and the pyson out of the toads, and the venom out of reptiles of all kinds, and given to whigs, demagogues, agitators, radicals, and devils of all sorts and kinds, who have biled it down to an essence, and poured it out into the national cup, until all them that drink of it foam at the mouth and rave like madmen. But you are a stranger, and no one there will hurt the hair of a stranger's head. It's only each other they're at. Go there and see it. It was Minister sent me there. Oh, how he raved about it I * Gro,' said he, * go there of a fine day, when the Lake is sleeping in the sunbeams, and the jealous mountain extends its shadowy veil, to conceal its beautiful bosom from the intrusive gaze of the stranger. Gro when the light silvery vapor rises up like a transparent scarf, and folds itself round the lofty summit of Mangerton, till it is lost in the fleecy clouds of the upper regions. Rest on your oars, and drif^ slowly down to the base of the cliff, and give utterance la the emo- 236 THE ATTACHE; OR, r I tions of your heart, and say, ' Oh, God, how beautiful I' and your voice will awaken the sleeping echoes from their drowsy caverns, and every rock and every cave, and every crag, and every peak of the mountain will respond to your feelings, and echo back in a thou- sand voices, * Oh, God, how beautiful !* Then trim your bark to the coming breeze, and steer for Muckross Abbey. Pause here again, to take a last, long, lingering took at this scene of loveliness — and with a mind thus elevated and purified, turn from nature to nature's God, and, entering upon the awful solitude that reigns over this his holy temple, kneel on its broken altar, and pray to Him that made this island so beautiful, to vouchsafe in his goodness and mercy to make it also tranquil and happy. Go,' he said, * and see it as I did, at such a time as this, and then tell me if you were not reminded of the Garden of Eden, and the passage of light whereby Angels descended and ascended, — when man was pure and woman in- nocent.' " - "Well done, Mr. Slick," I said, "that's the highest flight I ever heard you undertake to commit to memory yet. You are really quite inspired, and in your poetry have lost your provin- cialism." " My pipe is out. Squire," he said, " I forgot I was talkin' to you j I actilly thought I was a talkin' to the galls ; and they are so roman- tic, one must give *em a touch above common, 'specially in the high circles I'me in. Minister always talks like a book, and since you've been gone I have been larnin' all our own n&tive poets over and over, so as to get pieces by heart, and quote 'em, and my head runs that way like. I'll be hanged if I don't think I could write it my- self, if it would pay, and was worth while, which i% ain't, and I had nothin' above partickelar to do, which I have. I am glad you checked me, tho'. It lowers one in the eyes of foreigners to talk gallish that way to men. But raelly it is a fust chop place ; the clear thing, rael jam, and no mistake ; you can't ditto Killarney nowhere, I know." •^Here the Colonel entered abruptly, and said, " I have seed him, Sam, I have seed him, my boy." " Seen whom ?" said the Attache. " "Why Gineral Wellington, to be sure, the first man of the age, and well worth seein' he is too, especially to a military man like me. What's a prize ox to him, or a calf with two heads, or a caravan, or any other living show ?" " Whj' surely, father, you haven't been there to his house, have you ?" " To be sure I have. What do you think I came here for, but to attend to a matter of vast importance to me and you, and all of us ; and, at spare time, to see the Tunnel, and the Gineral, and the Queen, and the Tower, and such critturs, eh? Seen him, why, in SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 237 I you ' talk clear vhere, him, course I have ; I went to the door of his house, and a good sizable one it is too, most as big as a state-house, (only he has made the front yard look like a pound, with them horrid nasty great ugly barn-yard gates,) and rung the bell, and sais a gentleman that was there, ♦ Your name, Sir, if you please ;' Lieutenant-Colonel Slick,' sais I, * one of the Bunker Hill heroes.' ' Walk in here. Sir," sais he, ' and I'll see if his Grace is at home,' and then in a minute back he comes, and treats me most respectful, I must say, bowin' several times, and sais * this way. Sir,' and he throws open a door and bawls out, ' Lieutenant-Colonel Slick.' When I come in, the Gineral was a sittin' down, readin', but as soon as he heerd my name, he laid down the paper and rose up, and I stood still, threw up old Liberty, (you know I call this here old staff old Liberty, for it is luade out of the fust liberty pole ever sot up in SlickviUe,) — and stood on the salute, as we officers do in reviews on Independ- ence day, or at gineral trainin's. When he seed that, he started like. ' Don't be skeered,' sais I, ' Gineral, don't be skeered ; I ain't a goin' for to hurt you, but jist to salute you as my senior officer, for it tante often two such old heroes like you and me meet, I can tell you. You fit at Waterloo, and I fit at Bunker's Hill ; you whipt the French, and we whipt the English ; p'raps history can't show jist two such battles as them ; they take the rag off, quite. I was a Sargint, then,' sais I. ' So I should think,' sais he. ' Strange, Squire, ain't it, a military man can tell another military with half an eye ? — '■ So I should think,' sais he. — There ain't no deceivin' of them. They can tell by the way you stand, or walk, or hold your head ; by your look, your eye, your voice ; by everythin ; there is no mistake in an old veteran. *■ So I should think' sais he. ' But pray be seated. I have seen your son, Sir,' sais he, ' the Attach^ ; he has afforded us a great deal of amusement.' ' Sam is a cute man, Gineral,' sais I, ' and always was from a boy. It's ginerally allowed a man must rise airly in the momin' to catch him asleep, I can tell you. Tho' I say it that shouldn't say it, seein' that I am his father ; he is a well-informed man in most things. He is a'most a gr.jid judge of a boss, Gineral : he knows their whole shape, make, and breed ; there's not a p'int about one he don't know ; and when he is mounted on ' Old Clay,' the way he cuts dirt is cautionary ; he can make him pick up miles with his feet, and throw 'em behind him faster than any boss that ever trod on iron. He made them stare a few in the colonies, I guess. It ain?t every corn-field you can find a man in 'xactly like him, I can tell you. He can hoe his way with most any one I ever see. Indeed few men can equal him in homed cattle, either ; he can lay an ox with most men ; he can actilly tell the weight of one to five pounds. There is no homed cattle here, tho', for it's all liousen.' * There are more in the high circles he moves in,' sais the Gineral, smilin', ' than you would suppose.' Ob, 238 THE ATTACH^!; OR, he smiled pretty I he don't look so fierce as you'd guess that an old hero would. It's only ensigns do that, to look big. * There are more in the high circles he moves in,' sais the Gineral smilin', * than you would suppose.' * There mought be,' sais I, ' but I don't see none on 'em, for the high circles are all big squares here, and the pastur's are all built over, every inch on 'em, with stone and brick. I wonder if I could get some of the calves, they would improve the breed to Slickville amazingly. Sam sent me a Bedford pig, last year, and raelly it was a sight to behold ; small bone, thick j'int, short neck, broad on the back, heavy on the ham, and took next to nothin to feed him, nother ; I sold the young ones for twenty dollars a-piece, I did upon my soul, fact, I assure you, not a word of a lie in it. " ' Well, well,' says I, ' only think, that I, a hero of Bunker Hill, should have lived to see the hero of Waterloo. I wish you would shake hands along with me, Gineral, it will be somethin to brag of, I can tell you ; it will show our folks you have forgiven us.' ' For- given you ?' said he, lookin' puzzled. ' Yes,' says I, ' forgiven us for the almighty everlastin' whippin' we give you in the Revolutionary war.' ' Oh !' said he, smilin' again, ' now I understand— oh 1 quite forgiven, I assure you,' sais he, * quite.' ' That's noble,' sais I, * none but a brave man forgives — ^a coward, Gineral, never does ; a brave man knows no fear, and is above all revenge. That's very noble of you, it shows the great man and the hero. It was a tre- mendous fight that, at Bunker Hill. We allowed the British to come on till we seed the whites of their eyes, and then we let 'em have it. Heaven and airth I what capers the first rank cut, jumpin', rearin', plungin', staggerin', fallin' ; then, afore they formed afresh, we laid it into 'em agin and agin, till they lay in winrows like. P'raps nothin' was ever seen done so beautiful in this blessed world of our'n. There was a doctor from Boston commanded us, and he was unfor- tunately killed there. Tho' it's an ill wind that don't blow some- body good ; if the doctor hadn't got his flint fixed there, p'raps you'd never a-heerd of Washington. But I needn't tell you, in course you know all about Bunker Hill ; every one has heerd tell of that sacred spot.' ' Bunker Hill 1 Bunker Hill !' sais the Gineral, pre- tendin' to roll up his eyes, Bunker Hill ? — I think I have — where is it ?' * Where is it, eh ?' sais I. * So you never heerd tell of Bun- ker Hill, eh ? and p'raps you never heerd tell of Lexington, nother ?* * Why,' sais he, * to tell you the truth, Colonel Slick, the life I have led has been one of such activity, I have had no time to look into a lexicon since I give up schoolin', and my Greek is rather rusty I confess.' Why, damnation ! man,' sais I, ' Lexington ain't in any of them Greek republics at all, but in our own everlastin' almighty one.' * P'raps you mean Vinegar Hill,' sais he, ' where the rebels fought, in Ireland ? It is near Inniscorthy. ' Vinegar devil,' says I, ibr I began to get wrathy for to oome for to go for to pertend that way. SAM BUCK IN ENGLAND. 289 em I don't wonder it is Bour to you, and the Vinegar has made your memory a little mothery. No, it ain't in Ireland at all, but in Mas- sachusetta, near Boston.' ' Oh, I beg your pardon,' he sais, ' Oh, yes I I do recollect now ; Oh yes ! the Americans fought well there, very well indeed.* * Well, Sir,' Bais I, * I was in that great and glo- rious battle ; I am near about the sole survivor — the only one to tell the tale. I am the only man, I guess, that can say, — ^I have seed Waterloo and Bunker Hill — Wellington and Washington. (I put them too forrard first, tho' our'n was first in time and first in renown, for true politeness always says to the stranger, after you. Sir, is man- ners.) And I count it a great privilege too, I do indeed, Gineral. I heerd of you afore I come here, I can tell you ; your name is wel) known to Slickville, I assure you.' ' Oh, I feel quite flattered !' said Duke. ' Sam has made you known, I can assure you. Indeed,' sais he, smilin', fthere ain't nothin' ferocious about that man, I can tell you^, ' I am very much indebted to your son.' He did upon my soul, them were his very words, ' I am very much indebted to your son.' I hope I may be darned to darnation if he didn't, ' very much indebted,' he said. * Not at all,' sais I, ' Sam would do that, and twice as much for you any day. He writes to my darter all his sayin's and doin's, and I am proud to see you and he are so thick, you will find him a very cute man, and if you want a boss, Sam is your man. You've heern tell of Doctor Ivory Hovey, Gineral, hante you, the tooth-doctor of Slickville ?' ' No,' sais he, ' no !' ' Not Jiear of Doctor Ivory Hovey, of Slickville P sais I. * No ; I never heern of him,' he sais. * Well, that's strange too,' sais I, ' I thought everybody had heerd tell of him. Well, you've sartainly heern of Deacon Westfall, him that made that grand spec at Alligator's Lick?' ' I might,' sais he, ' but I do not recollect.' ' Well, that's 'cussed odd,' sais I, ' for both on 'em have heern of you and Waterloo toO) but then we are an enlightened people. Well, they are counted the best judges of hoss-fiesh in our country, but they both knock under to Sam. Yes ! if you want a boss, ax Sam, and he'll pick you out one for my sake, that won't stumble, as your'n did t'other day, and nearly broke your neck. Washington was fond of a boss ; I sup- pose you never seed him ? you mought, for you are no chicken now in age — ^but I guess not. ' I never had that honor,' he said. He said ' honor,' h«> did upon my soul. Heroes are never jealous ; it's only mean, low-spirited scoundrels that are jealous. ' I never had that honor,' he said. ** Now I must say I feel kinder proud to hear the fust man in the age call it an ' honor' jist to have seed him — ^for it's an honor, and no mistake : but it ain't every one, especially a Britisher, that is high- minded enough to say so. But Wellington is a military man, and that makes the hero, the statesman, and the gentleman — ^it does, uyum my soul. X Yes, I feel kinder proud, I tell you. 'Well,' sais I, 240 THB ATTACH^; OB, * Washington was fond of a boss, and I'll tell you what Gineral Lin. coin told me that he heard Washington say himself with his own lips, — Shpw me a man that is fond of a boss, and I'll show you the makins of a good dragoon. " ' Now, Sam always was fond of one from a boy. Ke u a judge, and no mistake, he caps all, that's a fact. Have you ever slept with him Gineral ?' sais I. * What, Sir ?' said he. ' Have you ever slept with liim ?* says I. * I have nev — ^ " *' Oh, heuvens and airth !" said his son ; " surely, father, you didn't «ay that to him, did you ?" And then turning to me he said in a most melancholy tone, " Oh, Squire, Squire, ain't this too bad ? I'm a ruined man, I'm a gone sucker, I am up a tree, you may depend. Creation ! only think of his saying that, I shall never hear the last of it. Dickens will hear of it; H. B. will hear of it, and there will be a caricature, * Have you slept with him, Gineral ?" ** Speak a little louder," said the Colonel, " I don't hear you." " I was a sayin'^ Sir," said the Attach^, raising his voice ; '' I hoped to heavens you hadn't said that" " Said it ! to be sure I did, and what do you think he answered ? * I never had that honor, Sir,' he said, a-drawin' himself up, and lookin' proud-like, as if he felt hurt you hadn't axed him — he did, upon my soul ! ' I never had that honor,' he said. So you see where you stand, Sam, letter A, No. 1, you do, indeed. ' I never had the hrnor, Sir, to see Washington. I never had the honor to sleep with Sam.' Don't be skeered, boy, your fortin is made. I thought you might have bragged and a-boasted a leetle in your let- ters, but I now ee I was mistakened. I had no notion you stood so high, I feel quite proud of your /position in society. " ' As for the honor,' sais I, ' Gineral, it will be all the other way, though the advantage will be mutual, for he can explain Oregon ter- ritory, right of sarch, free trade, and them things, better nor you'd s'pose ; and now,' sais I, ' I must be a-movin', Duke, for I guess din- ner is waitin', but I am happy to see you. If ever you come to Slickville, I will receive you with all due military honors, at the head of our Volunteer Corps, and show you the boys the Bunker Hill heroes have left behind 'em, to defend the glorious country they won for 'em with the sword. Good-bye, good-bye. I count it a great privilege to have seed you,' and I bowed myself out. He is a great man, Sam, a very great man. He has the same composed, quiet look, Washington had, and all real heroes have. I guess he is a great man fdl through the piece, but I was very sorry to hear you hadn't slept with him — very sorry indeed. You might sarve our great nation, and raise yourself by it too. Daniel Webster slept with the President all the time he was to Slickville, and he made him Secretary of State ; and Deacon Westfall slept with Van Buren at Alligator's Lick, and talked him over to make him Postmaster SAM SMCK IN KNQLAND. 241 Grenei-al. Ohl the next time you go to Duke's party, saia you, * Gineral,' sais you, *as there is no Miss Wellington, your wife, now livin', I'll jist turn in with you to-night, and discuss national matters, ou ain't sleepy.' " '' Airth and seas 1" said the Attach6 to me, " did ever any one hear the beat of that ? Oh dear, dear ! what will folks say to this poor dear old man ? I feel very ugly, I do indeed." " I don't hear you," said the Colonel. "Nothin', Sir," said the Attach^, "go on." *^ Sleep with him, Sam, and if he is too cautious on politics, why ax him to tell you of Waterhoy and do you tell him all about Bunker mar CHAPTER XLI. HOOKS AND EYES. — PART I. After our return from dinner to-day, Mr. Slick said, " Squire, what do you think of our host ?" I said, " I thought he was a re- markably well informed man, and a good talker, although he talked rather louder than was agreeable." " That feller," said he, " is nothin* but a cussed Hook, and they ■are critturs that it ought to be lawful to kick to the north-eend of creation, wherever you meet *em as it is to kick a dog, an ingian or a nigger." " A Hook," I said, " pray what is that ?" " Did you never hear of a Hook," he replied ; and, upon ray answering in the negative, he said, " Well, p'raps you hante, for I believe * hooks and eyes' is a tarm of my own ; they are to be found all over the world ; but there are more on *em to England, p'raps, than any other part of the globe a'most. I got that wrinkle, about hooks and eyes, when I was just one and twenty, from a gall, and since then I find it goes thro' all natur'. There are Tory hooks, and Whig hooks, and Rad- ical hooks, and rebel hooks, and so on, and they are all so mean it tante easy to tell which is the dirtiest or meanest of *em. But I'll tell you the fust thing sot me to considerin' about hooks and eyes, and then you will see what a grand lesson it is. " I was always shockin' fond of gunnin', and p'raps to this day there ain't no one in all Slickville as good at shot, or bullet as I be. Any created thing my gun got a sight of was struck dead afore it knew what was the matter of it. Well, about five miles or so from our house, there was two most grand duck-ponds, where the blue- winged duck and the teal used to come, and these ponds was on the farm of Squire Foley. Sometimes, in the wild-fowl season, I used 11 242 THE ATTACHE; OR, 1 i ! 1 i to go over there, and stay at the Squire's three or four days at a time, and grand sport I had too, I can tell you. Well, the Squire had but one child, and she was a darter, and the most beautiful crit- tur that ever trod in shoe-leather. Onion county couldn't ditto her nowhere, nor Connecticut nother. It would take away your breath a'niost to look at her, she was so handsum. Well, in course, I was away all day and didn't see much of Lucy, except at feedin' times, and at night, round the fire. Well, what does Lucy do, but say she should like to see how ducks was shot, and that she would go with me some day and look on. Well, we went the matter of three dif- ferent mornin's, tho' not hand runnin', and sot down in the spruce thickets, that run out in little points into the ponds, which made grand screens for shootin' from, at the birds. But old Marm Foley — Oh ! nothin* never escapes a wommi ; — old Marm obsarved when- ever Lucy was with me, I never shot no birds, for we did nothin' but talk, and that frightened 'em away ; and she didn't half like this watchin' for wild ducks so far away from home. * So,' sais she (and women know how to find excuses beautiful, it comes nateral to 'em), ' so,' sais she, ' Lucy dear, you mustn't go a-gunnin' no more. The dew is on the grass so airly in the mornin', and the bushes is wet, and you are delicate yourself; your great grandmother, on your fa- ther's side, died of consumption, and you'll catch your death a-cold, and besides,' sais she, ' if you must go, go with some one that knows how to shoot, for yoa have never brought home no birds yet.' Lucy, who w{is as proud as Lucifer, understood the hint at oncet, and was shockin' vext, but she wouldn't let on she cared to go with me, and that it was young Squii'e Slick she wanted to see, and not the ducks. ' So,' she sais, ' 1 was a thinkin' so too, Ma, for my part, I can't see what pleasure there can be settin* for hours shiverin' under a wet bush jist to shoot a duck. I shan't go no more.' Well, next mornin' arter this talk, jist as I was ready to start away, down comes Lucy to the keepin'-room, with both arms behind her head a-fixin' of the hooks and eyes. ' Man alive,' sais she, ' are you here j'Ct, I thought you was olf guunin' an hour ago; who'd a thought you was here?* ' Gunnin ?' says I, ' Lucy, my gunnin' is over, I shan't go no more now, I shall go honie ; 1 agree with you ; shiverin' alone under a wet bush for ho jrs is no fun ; but if Lucy was there' ^ Get out,* sais she, 'don't talk nonsense, Sam, and just tasten the upper hook and eye of my frock, will you ?' She turned round her back to me. Well, I took the hook in one hand and the eye in the other ; but aiiih and seas ! my eyes fairly snapped agin ; I never see such a neck since 1 was raised. It sprung right out o' the breast and shoulder, full and round, and then tapered up to the head like a swan's, and the complexion would beat the most delicate white and red rose that ever was seen. Lick, it made me all eyes ! I jist stood stock still, I couldn't move a finger if I was to die for it. ' What ^L_ ■n SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 243 ails you, Sam,' sais she, ' that you don't hook it ?' * Why,' says I, * Lucy dear, my fingers is all thumbs, that's a fact, I can't handle such little things as last as you can.' • Well, come,' sais she, ' make haste, that's a dear, mother will be a-comin' directly ;' and at last I shot too both my eyes, and fastened it, and when I had done, sais I, * there is one thing I must say, Lucy.' ' What's that ?* sais she. * That you may stump all Connecticut to show such an angeliferous neck as you have — 1 never saw the beat of it in all my born days — it's the most' * And you may stump the State, too,' sais she, ' to produce such another bold, forward, 'mpedent, onmannerly, tongue as you have, — so there now — so get along with you.' — ' Well, sais I, «if ' "'Hold your tongue,' sals she, 'this moment, or I'll go right out of the room now.' ' Well,' sais I, ' now I am mad, for I didn't mean no harm, and I'll jist go and kill ducks out of spite.' ' Do,' sais she, * and p'raps you'll be in good humor at breakfast.' Well, that night I bid 'em all good bye, and said I should be off airly and return to my own home to breakfast, as there was some considerable little chores to attend to there ; and in the mornin' as I was rakin' out the coals to light a cigar, in comes Lucy agin, and sais she, ' good bye, Sam, take this parcel to Sally ; I had to git up a-purpose to give it 10 you, for I forgot it last night. I hope you will bring Sally over soon, I am very lonesome here.' Then she went to the glass and stood with her back to it, and turned her head over her shoulders and put both hands behind her, a-tryin' to fix the hooks and eyes agin, and artei fussin' and fumblin' for awhile, sais she, ' I believe I must trouble you agin, Sam, for little Byney is asleep and mother won't be down this half hour, and there is no one to do it ; but don't talk nonsense now as you did yesterday.' ' Sartinly,' sais I, ' but a cat may look at a king, I hope, as grandfather Slick used to say, mayn't he ?' ' Yes, or a queen either,' sais she, ' if he only keeps his paws off.' 'Oh, oh!' sais I to myself, sais I, 'mother won't be down for half an hour, little Byney is asleep, and it's paws off, is it ?' Well, I fastened the hooks and eyes, though I was none of the quickest about it nother, I tell you, for it warn't easy to shut out a view of such a neck as that, and when I was jist finishin', ' Lucy,' sais I, ' don't ask me to fasten that are agin.* ' Why not ?' sais she. * Why, because if you do, I'll, I'll, I'll — ' What will you do?' sais she — ' 1 11, I'll, I'll do that,' sais I, puttin* my arms round her neck, turnin' up her face, and givin' her a smack that went off like a pistol. * Well, I never !' sais she, ' mother heard that as sure as you are born ! you impudent wretch you ! I'll never speak to you agin the • longest day I ever live. You ought to be ashamed of yourself to act that way, so you ought. So there now. Oh, I never in all my life ! Get out of my sight, you horrid iinpedent crittur, go out this minute, or I'll call mother.' Well, taith, I began to think I had car- 244 THE ATTACHE 1 OR, i ried it too far, so sais I, * I beg pardon, Lucy, I do indeed ; if you only knew all, you wouldn't keep angry, I do assure you.' * Hold your tongue,* sais she, * this very minit ; don't you ever dare to speak to nie agin.* ' Well,' sais I, ' Lucy, I don't return no more — I shall go home — we never meet again, an in course if we don't meet, we can't speak.' I saw her color up at that like anything, so, sais I to myself, it's all right, try a leetle longer, and she'll make it up. ' I had something,' sais I, ' to say, but it's no use now. My heart* — ' Well I don't wan't to hear it,' sais she, faintly. ' Well, then, I'll lock it up in my own breast for ever,' sais I, ' since you are so cruel — it's hard to part that way. My heart, Lucy,' — ' Well, don't tell me now, Sam,' sais she, * you frightened me most to death.' * Oh, I shall never tell you, you are so cruel,' says L * I have a proposal to make. But my heart — ^but never mind, good bye ;' and I put my hat on, and moved to the door. * Had you heerd my proposal, I might have been happy ; but :.s past now. I shall sail for Nova Scotia to-morrow; good bye.* 'Well, what is it then?* sais she, * I'm in a tittervation all over.* * Why, Lucy, dear,* sais I, * I con- fess I was very very wrong, indeed, I humbly axe your pardon, and I have a proposal to make, as the only way to make amends.* * Well,* sais she, a-lookin' down and colorin' all over, and a twistin* o' the corner of her apron-frill, ' well,' sais she, ' what is it, what i-* it, for mother will be here directly ?' ' No,' sais I, ' my lips is sealed for ever ; I know you will refuse me, and that will kill me quite.* * Refuse you, dear Sam,* sais she, how can you talk so unkind ? Speak, dear, what is it ?' ' Why,' sais I my proposal is to beg pardon and restore what I have stolen. S'posin' I give you that kiss back again ; will you make up and be friends ?' Oh, Lord, I never saw anyihin' like her face in all my life ; there was no pre- tence there; she raelly was all taken a-back, for she thought I was a-goin' to offer to her in airnest, and it was nothin' but to kiss her agin. She was actually bung fungered. * Well, I never !' sais she : and she seemed in doubt for a space, whether to be angry or good- natured, or how to take it ; at last she sais, ' Well, I must say you desarve it, for your almighty everlastin' imperence, will you pro- mise never to tell if I let you ?' * Tell !' sais I, ' I scorn it as I do a nigger.' ' Well, there then,' said she, standin', with her face lookin' down, and I jist put my arm round her, and if I didn't return that kiss with every farthin' of interest that was due, and ten per cent, of premium too, it's a pity, I tell you, that's all ! It was like a seal on wax ; it left the impression on her lips all day. ' Ah I sais she, ' Sam, it's time we did part, for you are actin* foolish now ; come, here's your powder-horn and shot-bug, take your gun and be off. I hear mother. But. Sam, I rely on your honor; be off.* And she pushed me gently on the shoulder, and said, * what a sarcy dear you be,' and shot to the door arter me, and then opened it agin SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 245 and called arter me, and said, ' Mind you bring Sally over to see me soon, I'm very lonely here. Bring her soon, Sam.' As I went home, I began to talk to myself. — Sam, sais T, ' hooks and eyes' is dangerous things, do you jist mind what you are about, or a sartin young lady with a handsome neck will clap a hook on you, as sure as you're born. So mind your eye. — This was a grand lesson ; it has taught me to watch hooks and eyes of all kinds, I tell ^ou." " Sam," said Colonel Slick, rising from his chair with some dif!i« culty, by supporting himself with both hands on its arms ; " Sam you are a d— d rascal." " Thank you. Sir," said his son, with a quick and inquisitive glance at me, expressive of his impatience and mortiJScation. " Thank you, Sir, I am obleeged to you for your good opinion." " You are welcome. Sir," said his father, raising himself to his full height. "■ To take advantage of that young lady and kiss her, Sir, as you did, was a breach of good manners, and to kiss her under her father s roof was a breach of hospitality ; but to talk of your havin' a proposal to make, and so on, to induce her to let you repeat it, was a breach of honor. You must either marry that girl or fight her father. Sir." ' " Well, Sir," said Mr. Slick, " considerin* I am the son of a Bunker Hill hero and one, too, that fought at Mud Creek and Peach Orchard, for the honor of the name, I will fight her father." " Right," said the Colonel, " Seein' she despises you, as I'm sure she must, p'raps fightin' is the best course." '' Oh, I'll fight him," said his son, " as soon as we return. He's a gone 'coon, is the old Squire, you may depend." "■ Give me your hand, Sam," said his father, " a man desarves to kiss a gall that will fight for her, that's a fact. That's a military rule, lovin' and fightin', Sir, is the life of a soldier. When I was a-goin' to Bunker Hill there was a gall — '* " Hem !" said Mr. Hopewell, turning restlessly in his chair. " Sam, give me a pipe, I hardly know which to disapprove of most, your story or your father's comments. Bring me a pipe, and let us change the subject of conversation. I think we have had enough to-day of * hooks and eyes' " '•T'^'^l^W^ { I 246 THE attach:^; ob, CHAPTER XLII. HOOKS AND EYES. -PART II. " lF«you recollect," said Mr. Slick, " I was a-tellin' of you yester- day about hooks and eyes, and how I larnt the fust lesson in that worldly wisdom from Lucy Foley. Now, our friend that entertained us yestei*day, is a hook, a Tory hook, and nothin' else, and I must say if there is a thing I despise and hate in this world, it is one of them critturs. The Tory party here, you know, includes all the best part of the upper crust folks in the kingdom — most o' the prime o' the nobility, clargy, gentry, army, navy, professions and real marchants. It has, in course, a vast majority of all the power, talent, virtue, and wealth of the kingdom a'most. In the natur' of things, therefore, it has been in power most o' the time, and always will be in longer than the Whigs, who are, in fact, in a gineral way not Liberals on principle, but on interest — not in heart, but in pro- fession. " Well, such a party is ' the eye,* or the power, and the ' hook* is a crooked thing made to hitch on to it. Every Tory jungle has one or more of these beasts of prey in it. Talk of a tiger hunt, heavens and airth ! it would be nothin' to the fun of huntin* one of these devils. Our friend is one ; he is an adventurer in politics and nothin' else — he talks high Tory, and writes high Tory, and acts high Tory, about the toploftiest ; not because he is one, for he is nothin', but because it curries favor, because it enables him to stand where he can put his hook in when a chance offers. He'll stoop to anythin*, will this wretch. If one of his tory patrons writes a book, he writes a review of it, and praises it up to the skies. If he makes a speech, he gets a leadin' article in its favor inserted in a paper. If his lady has a lap-dog, he takes it up and fondles it, and swears it is the sweetest one he ever seed in his life; and when the cute leetle divil, smellin' deceit on his fingers, snaps at 'em and half bites *em off, he gulps down the pain without winkin', and says, oh ! you are jealous, you little rogue, you know'd I was a goin to import a beautiful one from Cuba for your mistress. He is one o' them rascals that will crouch but not yelp when he is kicked — he knows the old proverb, that if a feller gets a rap from a jackass, he hadn't ought to tell of it. If ' the eye' has an old ugly darter, SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 247 he dances with her, and takes her in to dinner ; whatever tastes hei**n is, his'n is the same. If she plays he goes into fits, turns up the whites of his eyes, twirls his thumbs, and makes his foot move in time. If she sings, then it's a beautiful sono;, but made twice as sweet by the great effect she gives to it. After dinner he turns up his nose at cotton lords, and has some capital stories to tell of their vulgarity ; talks of the Corn-law League people havin' leave to hold their meetings in Newgate ; speaks of the days of Eldon and Wetherall as the glorious days of old England, and the Reform Bill as its sunset. Peel wants firmness, Stanley wants temper, Graham consistency, and all want somethin* or another, if * the eye' only thinks so. If there is anythin' to be done, but not talked of, or that can be neither done nor talked of, he is jist the boy for the dirty job, and will do it right ofl'. That's the way you know the hook when the eye is present. When the eye ain't, there you will know him by his arrogance and impedence, by his talkin* folks down, by his overbearin' way, by his layin' down the law, by his pretendin' to know all state secrets, and to be oppressed by the weight of 'em ; and by his pretendin' things ain't good enough for him by a long chalk. He talks big, walks big, and acts big. He never can go anywhere with you, for he is engaged to the Duke of this, and the Marquis of that, and the Airl of t'other. He is jist a nuisanto, that's a fact, and ought to be indited. Confound him, to-day he eyed me ail over, from head to foot, and surveyed me like, as much as to say, what a Yankee scarecrow you b^, what standin' com, I wonder, was you taken out of? When I seed him do that I jist eyed him the same way, only I turned up my nose and the corner of my mouth a few, as much as to say, I'me a sneeser, a reg'lar ring-tailed roarer, and can whip my weight in wild cats, so look out for sea' din's, will you. When he seed that, he was as civil as you please. Cuss him, how I longed to feel his short ribs, and tickle his long ones for him. If folks could only read men as I can, there wouldn't be many such cattle a bi'owsin' about in other men's pastur's, I know. But then, as Minister says, all created critturs have their use, and must live, I do suppose. The toad eats slugs, the swaller eats muskeeters, and the hog eats rattle-snakes ; why shouldn't these leeches fasten on to fat old fools, and bleed them when their habit is too full. " Well, bad as this crittur is, there is a wus one, and that is a Whig hook. The Whigs have no power of themselves, they get it all from the ^ladicals, Romanists, Republicans, Dissenters, and lower orders, and so on. Their hook, therefore, is at t'other eend, and hooks up. Instead of an adventurer, therefore, or spekelator in po- litics, a Whig hook is a statesman, and fastens on to the leaders of these bodies, so as to get their support. Oh, dear ! it would make you larf ready to split if you was to watch the menovres of these critturs to do the thing, and yet not jist stoop too low nother, to keep T ■ — r~~ irTSTiiTilp — i 248 THE ATTACHE ; OR, their own position as bi^ bugs and gentlemen, and jet flatter the vanity of these folks. The decentest leaders of these bodies they now and then axe to their tables, takin' care the company is all of their own party, that they mayn't be larfed at for their popularity- huntin'. If they ain't quite so decent, but jist as powerful, why they take two or three on 'em at a time, bag 'em, and shake 'em out into a room chock full of people, where they rub the dust oflf their clothes agin other folks afore long, and pop in the crowd. Some on 'em axe a high price. Owen and his Socialists made an introduction to the Queen as their condition. They say Melbourne made awful wry fa^ps at it, like a child takin' physic ; but it was to save life, so he shot to his eyes, opened his mouth, and swallered it. Nothin' never shocked the nation like that. They love their Queen, do the En- glish, and they felt this insult about the deepest. It was one o' them things that fixed the flint of the Whigs. It fairly frighteri'd folks, they didn't know what onder the sun would come next. But the great body of these animals ain't fit for no decent company whatsom- ever, but have them they must, cost what it will ; and what do you think they do now to countenance, and yet not to associate, — to pa- tronize and not come too familiar ? Why, they have a half-way house that sarves the family the vexation and degradation of havin' such vulgar fellers near 'em, and answers the purpose of gratifyin* these critturs' pride. Why, they go to the Reform Club and have a house dinner, to let these men feast their eyes on a lord, and do their hearts good by the sight of a star or a ribbon. Then, they do the civil — onbend — take wine with them — talk about enlightened views — removing restrictions — ameliorating the condition of the people — building an altar in Ireland and sacrificing seven church bishops c . it, to pacify the country — ^free trade— cheap bread, and all other stuff that's cheap talkin' — preach up unity — hint to each man if the party comes in he must have ofiice — drink success to re- form, shake hands and part. Follow them out arter dinner, and hear the talk of both ' hooks and eyes.' Says the hook, ' What a vulgar wretch that was ; how he smelt of tobacco and gin. I'm glad it's over. I think we have these men though, eh ? Staunch re- formers, those. 'Gad, if they knew what a sacrifice it was to dine with such brutes, they'd know how to appreciate their good luck.' This, I estimate, is about the wust sight London has to show ; rank, fortin, and station, degradin' itself for party purposes. Follow out the * eyes,' who, in their turn, become ' hooks ' to those below 'em. * Lucky in gainin' these lords, they say. * We must make use of them ; we must get them to help us to pull down the pillars of their own house that's to crush them'. They are as blind as Sampson, it's a pity they ain't quite as strong. Go to public meetin's and hear their blackguard speeches ; hear 'em abuse Queen, Albert, nobles, clargy, and all in a boby for it. It wont do for them to except their SAM SLICK IN ENOLAND. 249 friends that honored 'em at the * House dinner/ They are throwed into a heap together, and called every name they can lay their tongues to. Talk of our stump orators, they are fools to these fellers, they arn't fit to hold a candle to 'em. We have nothin' to pull down, nothin' but party agin party, and therefore envy, especial- ly envy of superiors, which is an awful feelin', don't enter into their heads and pyson their hearts. It's * great cry and little wool ' with us, and a good deal of fun, too ; many of these leaders here are bloodhounds ; they snuff gore, and are on the trail ; many of our'n snuff whiskey and fun, and their talk is Bunkum. I recollect oncet heerin' one of our western orators, one Colonel Hanibel Hombeak, of Sea-conch, argue this way : ' Whar was General Jackson, then ? a givin' of the British u'most an almighty lickin' at New Orleans, and whar was Harrison ? a-fattin' of hogs, makin' bad bacon, and gettin' more credit than he desarved for it ; and whar was our friend here ; a-drawin' of bills on Baltimore as fast as he could, and a- gettin' of them discounted ; and for these reasons I vote for nullifica- tion.' But here it is different talk. I heerd one reformer say, ' When the king was brought to the block the work was well begun, but they stopt there ; his nobles and his bishops should have shared the same fate. Then, indeed, should we have been free at this day. Let us read history, learn the lesson by heart, and be wise.' Now, don't let these folks talk to us of Bowie knives and Arkansaw tooth- fficks. In our country they are used in drunken private quarrels ; here they are ready to use 'em in public ones. ' Hooks and eyes ! !' I'll count the chain for you. Here it is : 1st link, — Masses; 2nd — Republicans ; 3rd — Agitators ; 4th — Repealers ; 5th — Liberals ; 6th — Whigs. This is the great reform chain, and a pretty considerable tarnation precious chain it is, too, of ' hooks and eyes.' " CHAPTER XLIII. RESPONSIBLE GO VERNMENT.— PART I, em. le of their Despatches having been received from Canada, announcing the resignation of the Local Cabinet, responsible government became, as a matter of course, a general topic of conversation. I had never heard Mr. Hopewell's opinion on th i subject, and as I knew no man was able to form so correct a one as himself, I asked him what he thought of it. " If you will tell me what responsible government is," he said, " then I will tell you what I think of it. As it is understood by the 11* - -^r-r-r^TT.^^ f™ •'r^^SJi^ 250 THB ATTACH^:; OB, leaders of the Liberal party in Canada, it is independence and repub- licanism ; as it is understood here, it is a cant term of Whig inven- tion, susceptible of several interpretations, either of which can be put upon it to suit a particular purpose. ' It is a Greek incantation to call fools into a circle.' It is said to have originated from Lord Durham ; that alone is sufficient to stamp its character. Haughty, vain, impetuous, credulous, prejudiced, and weak, he imagined that theories of government could be put into practice with as much ease as they could be put upon paper. I do not think myself he attached any definite meaning to the term, but used it as a grandiloquent phrase, which, from its size, m:st be supposed to contain sometliing within it ; and from its popular compound, could not fail to be ac- ceptable to the party he acted with. It appears to have been left to common parlance to settle its meaning, but it is not the only word used in a different and sometimes opposite sense, on the two sides of the Atlantic. All the evil that has occurred in Canada since the introduction of this ambiguous phrase, is attributed to his lordship. But in this respect the public has not done him justice ; much good was done during his dictatorship in Canada, which, though not emanating directly from him, had the sanction of his name. He found on his arrival there a very excellent council collected together by Sir John Colborne, and they enabled him to paas many valuable ordinances, which it has been the object of the responsibles ever since to repeal. The greatest mischief was done by Poulett Thomp» son ; shrewd, sensible, laborious, and practical, he had great personal weight, and as he was known to have unlimited power delegated to him, and took the liberty of altering the tenure of every office of emolument in the country, he had the greatest patronage ever known in a British province, at his command, and, of course, extraordinary official influence. " His object evidently was not to lay the foundation of a perma- nent system of government there. That would have taken a longer period of time than he intended to devote to it. It was to reorgan- ize the legislative body under the imperial act, put it into immediate operation, carry through his measures at any cost and hy any means, produce a temporary pacification, make a dashing and striking effect, and return triumphant to Parliament, and say, ' I have effaced all the evils that have grown out of years of Tory misrule, and given to the Canadians that which has so long and so unjustly been withheld from them by the bigotry, intolerance, and exclusiveness of that party, ' Responsible Government.* That short and disastrous Administration has been productive of incalculable mischief. It lias disheartened and weakened the loyal British party. It has embold- ened and strengthened the opposite one, and from the extraordinary means used to compel acquiescence, and obtain majorities, lowered the tone of moral feeling throughout the country. SAM SUCK IN ENGLAND. 251 " He is now dead, and I will not speak of him in the terms I should have used had he been living. The object of a truly good and patriotic man should have been not to create a triumphant party to carry his measures, (because he must have known that to pur- chase their aid, he must have adopted too many of their views, or modified or relinquished too many of his own,) but to extinguish all party, to summon to his council men possessing the confidence of every large interest in the country, and by their assistance to admin- ister the government with fairness, firmness, and impartiality. No government based upon any other principle will ever give general satisfaction, or insure tranquillity in the Colonies, for in politics as in other things, nothing can be permanent that is not built upon the immutable foundations of truth and justice. The fallacy of this * Responsibility System* is, that it consists, as the liberals interpret it, of two antagonist principles, Republican and Monarchical, the former being the active, and the latter the passive principle. When tliis is the case, and there is no third or aristocratic body, with which both can unite, or which can prevent their mutual contact, it is evi- dent the active principle will be the ruling one. " This is not a remote but an immediate consequence, and as soon as this event occurs, there is but one word that expresses the result — independence. One great error of Poulett Thompson was, in strengthening, on all occasions, the democratic, and weakening the aristocratic, feeling of the country, than which nothing could be more subversive of the regal authority and influence. Pitt wisely designed to have created an order in Canada, corresponding as far as the different situations of the two countries would admit, to the here- ditary order in England, but unfortunately listened to Whig reason- ing and democratic raillery, and relinquished the plan. The sound- ness of his views is now apparent in the great want that is felt of such a counterpoise, but I will talk to you of this subject some other time. " I know of no colony to which Responsible Government, as now demanded, is applicable ; but I know of few to which it is so wholly unsuitable as to Canada. If it means anything, it means a govern- ment responsible to the people for its acts, and of course pre-suppo- ses a people capable of judging. " As no community can act for itself, in a body, individual opinion must be severally collected, and the majority of votes thus taken must be accepted as the voice of the people. How, then, can this be said to be the case in a community where a very large portion of the population surrenders the right of private judgment to its priests, and where the politics of the priesthood are wholly sub- servient to the advancement of their church, or the preservation of their nationality ? A large body like this in Canada will always be made larger by the addition of ambitious and unscrupulous men of ^'''^J,^ ' it 1,1 ■ 252 THE ATTACHE; OR, Other creeds, who are ever willing to give their talents and influence in exchange for its support, and to adopt its views, provided the party will adopt them. To make the Government responsible to such a party as this, and to surrender the patronage of the Crown to it, is to sacrifice every British and every Protestant interest in the country, " The hope and the belief, and indeed the entire conviction that such would be the result, was the reason why the French leaders accepted responsible government with so much eagerness and joy, the moment it was proffered. They felt that they had again, by the folly of their rulers, become sole masters of a country they were un- able to reconquer, and were in the singular and anomalous condition of having a monopoly of all the power, revenue, authority, and patronage of the Government, without any possibility of the real owners having any practical participation in it. The French, aided by others holding the same religious views, and a few Protestant Radi- cals, easily form a majority ; once establish the doctrine of ruling by a majority, and then they are hwfully the government, and the exclu' aion and oppression of the English, in their own colony, is sanctioned by law, and that law imposed by England on itself. What a mon- strous piece of absurdth/, cruelty, and injustice ! In making such a concession as this, Poulett Thompson proved himself to have been cither a very weak or a very unprincipled man. Let us strive to be charitable, however difficult it be in this case, and endeavor to hope it was an error of the head rather than the heart. " The doctrine maintained here is, that a governor, who has but a delegated authority, must be responsible to the power that delegates it, namely, the Queen's Government ; and this is undoubtedly the true doctrine, and the only one that is compatible with colonial de- pendence. The Liberals (as the movement party in Canada style themselves) say he is but the head of his executive council, and that that council must be responsible to the people. Where, then, is the monarchical principle ? or where is the line of demarcation between such a state and independence ? The language of these troublesome and factious men is, ' Every Government ought to be able to possess a majority in the legislature powerful enough to carry its measures ;' and the plausibility of this dogmatical assertion deludes many per- sons who are unable to understand the question properly. A ma- jority is required, not to carry Government measures, but to carry cer- tain persons into office and power. A colonial administration neither has, nor ought to have, any government measures. Its foreign policy and internal trade, its post office and customs department, its army and navy, its commissariat and mint, are imperial services pro- vided for here. Its civil list is, in most cases, established by a per manent law. All local matters should be left to the independent action of members, and are generally better for not being interfered with. If they are required, they will be voted, as in times past ; if i I •■ SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 263 not, they will remain unattcmpted. No difficulty was ever felt oa this score, nor any complaint ever made, until Lord Durham talked of Boards of Works, Commissionerships, Supervisors, Lord Mayors, District Intendants, and other things that at once awakened the cu- pidity of hungry demagogues and rapacious patriots, who forthwith demanded a party Government, that they might have party-jobs, and the execution of these lucrative affairs. A Government by a ma- jority has proved itself, with us, to be the worst of tyrannies ; but it will be infinitely more oppressive in the Colonies than in the States, for we have republican institutions to modify its evils. Neither that presumptuous man, Lord Durham, nor that reckless man, Thompson, appear to have had the slightest idea of this difference. With us, the commission of a magistrate expires of itself in a few years. The upper branch of the legislature is elective, and the members are constantly changed ; while everything else is equally mutable and republican. In the Colonies, the magistrates are virtually appointed for life, and so is a legislative councillor, and the principle has been, times past, practically applied to every office in the country. m ; if Responsible Government, then, in the Colonies, where the elective franchise is so low as to make it almost universal suffrage, is a great and unmitigiited republican principle introduced into a country, not only dependant on another, but having monarchical institutions wholly incompatible with its exercise. The magistrate, in some of the provinces, has a most extensive judicial as well as ministerial jurisdiction, and I need not say how important the functions of a legislative councillor are. A temporary majority, having all the patronage, (for such is their claim, in whatever way they may at- tempt to explain it,) is, by this new doctrine, to be empowered to appoint its partisans to all these permanent offices — an evil that a change of party cannot remedy, and therefore one that admits of no cure. This has been already severely felt wherever the system has been introduced, for reform has been so long the cover under which disaffection has sheltered itself, that it seldon includes among its supporters any of the upper class of society. The party usually consists of the mass of the lower orders, and those just immediately above them. Demagogues easily and constantly persuade them that they are wronged by the rich, and oppressed by the great, that all who are in a superior station are enemies of the people, and that those who hold office are living in idle luxury at the expense of the poor. Terms of reproach or derision are invented to lower and degrade them in the public estimation; cliques, family compacts, obstructionists, and other nicknames, are liberally applied ; and when facts are wanting, imagination is fruitful, and easily supplies them. To appoint persons from such a party to permanent office, is an alarming evil. To apply the remedy we have, of the elective prin- ciple and short tenure of office, is to introduce republicanism into "»"'■■• ^1' • 254 THE ATTACHE; OR, every department. What a delusion, then, it is to suppose that Responsible Government is appUcahle to the North American pro- vinces, or that it is unytJdng else than practical independence as regards England, with a jtracticul exclusion from injluence and office of all that is good or respectable, or loycU, or British, as regards the colony ? " The evil has not been one of your on-n seeking, but one that has been thrust upon you by the quackery of Englidh statesmen. The remedy is beyond your reach ; it must be applied by a higher power. The time is now come when it is necessary to si)eak out, and speak plainly. If the Secretary for the Colonies is not firm, Canada is lost for ever J" i CHAPTER XLIV. RESPONSIBLE G OVE RNMENT.— PART II. The subject of Responsible Government, which had now become n general topic of conversation, was resumed again to-day by Mr. Slick. " Minister," said he, " I quite concur with you in your idee of that form of colony government. When I was to Windsor, Nova Scotia, a few years ago, Poulett Thompson was there, a-waitin' for a steamer to go to St. John, New Brunswick; and as I was a-passin* Mr. Wilcox's inn, who should I see but him. I knowed him the moment I seed him, for I had met him to London the year before, when he was only a member of parliament ; and since the Reform Bill, you know, folks don't make no more account of a member than an alderman ; indeed, since I have moved in the first circles, I've rather kept out oi* their way, for they arn't thought very good com- pany in a gineral way, I can tell you. Well, as soon as I met him, I knowed him at once, but I wam't a-goin' for to speak to him fust, seein* that he had become a big bug since, and p'raps wouldn't talk to the likes of me. But up he comes i" a minit, and makes a low bow — he had a very curious bow. It was jist a stiff low bend iur- rard, as a feller does afore he goes to take an everlastin' jump ; and sais he, 'How do you do, Mr. Slick? will you do me the favor to walk in and sit down awhile, I want to talk to you. We are en- deavorin', you see,' sais he, ' to assimilate matters here as much as possible to what exists in your country.' * So I see,' sais I ; ' but I am ashamed to say, I don't exactly comprehend what responsible government is in a colony.* ' Well,' sais he, ' it ain't easy of defini- tion, but it will work itself out, and adiust itself in practice. I have SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 255 given them a fresh hare to run, and that is a great matter. Their attention is taken oflf from old sources of strife, and fixed on thin. I have brolcen up all old parties, shuffled the cardb, and given them a new dual and new partners.* ' Take care,' sais I, ' that a knave doesn't turn up for trump card.' He looked thoughtful for a mo< ment, and then sais, ' Very good hit, Mr. Slick ; very good hit, indeed ; and, between ourselves, in politics, I am afraid there arts everywhere, more knaves than honors in the pack.' I have often thought of that expression since — ' a fresh hare to run ;' what a principle of action for a statesman, wam't it ? But it was jist like him ; he thought everybody he met was fools. One half the people to Canada didn't know what onder the sun he meant; but they knowed he was a radical, and agin the Church, and agin all the old English families there, and therefore they followed him. Well, he seed that, and thought them fools. If he'd a-lived a little grain longer, he'd a-found they were more rogues than fools, them fellers, for they had an axe to grind as well as him. Well, t'other half seed he was a schemer, and a schemer, too, that wouldn't stick at nothiu' to carry out his eends ; and they wouldn't have nothin' to say to him at ail. Well, in course, he called them fools, too ; if he'd a-lived a little grain longer, I guess he'd a found out whose head the fool's cap fitted best. ' Well,' sais I, ' it warn't a bad idee that, of givin* *em ' a fresh hare to run ;' it was grand. You had nothin' to do but to start the hare, say * stuboy,' clap your hands ever so loud, and off goes the whole pack of yelpin' curs at his heels like wink. It's kept them from jumpin' and fawnin', and cryin', and cravin', and pawin' on you for everlastin', for somethin' to eat, and a botherin' of you, and a spilin' of your clothes, don't it ? You give 'em the dodge properly that time ; you got that lesson from the Indgin dogs on the Mississippi, I guess, didn't you ?' ' No,' sais he, lookin' one half out of sorts and t'other half nobsquizzled ; ' no, I was never there,' sais he. ' Not there ?' sais I, * why, you don't say so ! Not there ? well, it passes all ; for it's the identical same dodge. When a dog wants to cross the river there, he goes to a p'int of land that stretches away r It into the water, and sits down on his hind legs, and cries at the tip eend of his voice, most piteous, and howls so it would make your heart break to hear him. It's the most horrid dismal, soleracoly kiound you ever know'd. Well, he keeps up this tune for the matter of half an )ur, till the river and the Woods ring again. All the crocodiles for three miles up and three miles down, as soon as they hear it, run as hard as they can lick to the spot, for they are very humane boys them, cry like women at nothin' a'most, and always go where any ' rittur is in distress, and drag him right out of it. Well, as soon a. tlie dog has 'em all collected, at a charity-ball like, a- waitin' for their supper, and a-lickin' of their chops, off he starts, hot toot, down the bank of the river, for a mile or so, and then ^"■"'■mZ-t^^" 256 THE ATTACHE; OR, souses right in and>swims across as quick as he can pull for it, and gives them the slip beautiful. Now, your dodge and the Mississippi dog is so much alike, I'd a bet anything a'most, you took the hint from him.* " * What a capital story !' sais he ; ' how oncommon good ! upon my word, it's very apt ;' jist then steam-boat bell rung, and he off to the river, too, and give me the dodge.' " I'll tell you what he put me in mind of. I was to Squire Shears, the tailor, to Boston, oncet, to get measured for a coat. ' Squire, sais I, * measure me quick, will you, that's a good soul, for I'm in a horrid hurry.' ' Can't,' s lis he, ' Sam ; the designer is out — sit down, he will be in directly. ' ' The designer,' sais I, * who the devil is that, what onder the sun do you mean ?' \V< :1., it raised my curiosity — so I squats down on the counter and lights i. cigar. * That word has made my fortin', Sam,' sais he. ' It is somethin' new. He designs the coat, that is what is vulgarly called — cuts it out ; — and a nice thing it is, too. It requires a hght hand, great freedom of toLch, a quick eye, and gre?t taste. It's all he con do, for he couldn't so much as sow a button on. He is an Englishman of the name of Street. Artist is a common word — a foremar. is a common word — a measurer is low, very low ; but * a designer,* oh, it's fust chop — it's quite the go. ' My designer !' — Heavens, what a lucky hit that was ! "Well, Mr. Thompson put me in mind of Street, the designer, he didn't look onlike him in person nother, and he was a grand hand to cut out work for others to do. A capital hand for makin*- measures and designin*. But to get back to my story. He said he had given 'em to Canada 'a fresh hare to run.* Well, they've got tired of the chace, at last, arter the hare * for they hante been able to catch it.* They've returned on the tracks from where they started, and stand starin' at each ether like fools. For the fust time they begin to ax themselves the question, what is res- ponsible government? Well, they don't know, and they ax the Governor, and he don't know, and he axes Lord John, the Colonial Secretary, and he don't know. At last Lord John looks wise and sais, ' It's not onlike prerogative — its existence is admitted — it's only its exercise is questioned.' Well, the Governor looks w.'se and sais the same, and the people repeat over the words arter him — look puzzled, and say they don't exactly onderstand the answ .r nother. It reminds me of what happened to me oncet to Brussels. I was on the top of a coach there, a-goin' down that dreadful steep hill there, not that it is so awful steep nother ; but hills are curiosities there, they are so scarce, and every little sharp pinch is called a high hill — -jist as every sizeable hill to Nova Scotia is called a mountain. Well, sais the coachman to me, ' 2'ournez la mecanique.* I didn't know what the devil he meant — I didn't onderstand French when it id talked that way, and don't now. A man must speak very slow in SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 257 and French for me to guess what he wants. *"What in natur' is that?* sais I ; but as he didn't onderstand English, he just wrapt it up in three yards more of French, and give it back to me agin. So there was a pair of us. Well, the coach began to go down hill like winky, and the passengers put their heads out of the windows, and bawled out, ^Toumez la mecanique/' and the coachman roared it out, and so did people on the streets ; so, what does I do but screams out, too, ' Toumez la mecanique /' Well, coachman seein' it war no use talkin', turned right about, put the pole through a pastry cook's window — throwed down his bosses, and upsot the coach, and away we all went, body and bones into the street. When I picked myself up, the coachman comes up and puts his fists into my face, and sais, ' You great lummakin fool, why didn't you toume la mecanique T and the passengers got all round me shakin' their fists, too, sayin', * Why didn't you toume la mecanique T I didn't know what the plag^^e they meant ; so, I ups fist and shakes it at them, too, and roartj . ut, ' Why, in the name of sense,' &ais I, ' didn't you toume la mecanique V Well, they began to larf at last, and one on *em that spoke a little English, sais, ' It meant to turn the handle of a little machine that put a drag on the wheels.' ' Oh !' pais I, ' is that it ? What the plague's got into the feller not to speak plain English, if he had a-done that, I should have onderstood him then.' " Now that's the case with this Responsible Government, it tante plain English, and they donH onderstand it. As soon as the state coach begins to run down hill, the people call out to the Governor, ' Toumez la, mecanique /' and he gets puzzled, and roars out to Secretary, ' Toumez la mecanique P and he gets mad, and sais, ' D — n you ! toumez la mecanique yourself!' None on 'em knows the word — the coach runs down the hill like lightnin', upsets and smashes everything. That comes a not speakin' plain English. There is only one party pleased, and that's a party that likes to see all governments upsot. They say, ' It's goin' on beautiful. It don't want a turn of the mecanique at all,' and sing out, as the boatman did to his son when the barge was a goin' over the falls to Ohio— * Let her went, Peter, don't stop her, she's wrathy.' — What Minister sais is true enough. Government is intended for tha benefit of all. All parties, therefore, should, as far as possible, have a voice in the Council — and equal justice be done to all — so that as all pay their shot to its support, all should have a share in it^ advantages. Them fellers to Canada have been a howlin' in the wilderness for years — * We are governed by a party — a clique — a family compact.' Well, England believed 'em, and the party — the clique — and the family compact was broken up. No sooner said than done — they turn right round, as quick as wink, and say — ' We want a party government, now — not that party, but our party — not that clique, but this clique — not that family compact, but this family compact. For that old 258 THE attache; or. n party, clique, and compact were British in their language— British in their feelings, and British in their blood. Our party clique and compact IS not so narrow and restricted, for it is French in its language, Yankee in its feelin', and Republican in its blood.' " " Sam," said Mr. Hopewell, with that mildness of manner which was his great characteristic and charm, " that is strong language, very." " Strong language, Sir !" said the Colonel, rising in great wrath, " it's infamous — none but a scoundrel or a fool would talk that way. D — n me, Sir ! what are them poor benighted people strugglin' for, but for freedom and independence ? They want a leader, that's what they want. They should fust dress themselves as Indgins — go to the wharves, and throw all the tea in the river, as we did ; and then in the dead of the night, seize on the high hill back of Montreal and fortify it, and when the British come, wait till they see the whites of their eyes, as we did at Bunker Hill, and give them death and destruction for breakfast, as we did. D — n me. Sir !" and he seized the poker and waved it over his head, " let them do that, and send for me, and, old as I am, I'll lead them on to victory or death. Let 'em send for me. Sir, and, by the 'tarnal, I'll take a few of my * north- eend boys' with me, and show 'em what clear grit is. Let the Brit- ish send Wellington out to command the troops if they dare, and I'll let him know Bunker Hill ain't Waterloo, I know. Rear rank, take open order — right shoulders forward — march;" and he marched round the room and sat down. " It's very strong language that, Sam," continued Mr. Hopewell, who never noticed the interruptions of the Colonel, " very strong language indeed, too strong, I fear. It may wound the feelings of others, and that we have no right to do unnecessarily. Squire, if you report this conversation, as I suppose you will, leave out all the last sentence or two, and insert this : ' Responsible Government is a term not well defined or understood, and appears to be only appli- cable to an independent country. But whatever interpretation is put upon it, one thing is certain, the Government of Great Britain over her colonies is one of the lightest, kindest, mildest^ and most pa- ternal in the whole world.' " !i I SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 259 rV- CHAPTER XLV. i' „ . ' THE DUKE OF KENT AND HIS TRUMPETER. Mr. Slick's weak point was his vanity. From having risen suddenly in the world, by the unaided efforts of a vigorous, unedu- cated mind, he very naturally acquired great self-reliance. He un- dervalued every obstacle, or, what is more probable, overlooked tlie greater part of those that lay in his way. To a vulgar man like him, totally ignorant of the modes of life, a thousand little usages of society would unavoidably wholly escape his notice, while the selec- tion, collocation, or pronunciation of words were things for which he appeared to have no perception and no ear. Diffidence is begotten by knowledge, presumption by ignorance. The more we know, the more extended the field appears upon which we have entered, and the more insignificant and imperfect our acquisition. The less we know, the less opportunity w«5 have of ascertaining what remains to be learned. His success in his trade, his ignorance, the vulgarity of his early occupations and habits, and his subsequent notoriety as a humorist, all contributed to render him exceedingly vain. His vanity was of two kinds, ntxtional and personal. The first he has in common with a vast number of Americans. He calls his country " the greatest nation atween the Poles," — he boasts " that the Yan- kees are the most free and enlightened citizens on the face of the airth, and that their institutions are the perfection of human wisdom." \ He is of his father's opinion, that the battle of Bunker Hill was the greatest battle ever fought ; that their naval victories were the most briUiant achievements ever heard of; that New "York is superior to London in beauty, and will soon be so in extent ; and finally, that one Yankee is equal in all respects to two Englishmen, at least. If the Thames is mentioned, he calls it an insignificant creek, and re- minds you that the Mississippi extends inland a greater distance than the space between Nova Scotia and England. If a noble old park tree is pointed out to him, he calls it a pretty little scrub oak, and immediately boasts of the pines of the Rocky Mountains, which he affirms are two hundred feet high. Show him a waterfall, and it is a noisy babbling li'ttle cascade compared with Niagara ; or a lake, and it is a mere duck-pond in comparison with Erie, Superior, Cham- plain, or Michigan. It has been remarked by most travellers, that 35 ■^ 260 THE ATTACHE ; OR, this sort of thing is so common in the States, that it may be said to be almost universal. This is not now tlie ease. ' It has prevailed more generally heretofore than at present, but it is now not much more obvious than in the people of any other country. The neces' sityfor it no longer exists. That the Americans are proud of having won their independence at the point of the sword, from the most powerful nation in the world, under all the manifold disadvantages of poverty, dispersion, disunion, want of discipline in their soldiers, and experience in their officers, is not to be wondered at. They have reason to be proud of it. It is the greatest achievement of modern times. That they are proud of the consummate skill of their forefathers in framing a constitution the best suited to their position and their wants, and one withal the most difficult in the world to ad- just, not only with proper checks and balances, but with any checks at all, — at a time too when there was no model before them, and all experience against them, is still less to be wondered at. Nor have we any reason to object to the honest pride they exhibit of their noble country, their enlightened and enterprising people, their beau- tiful cities, their magnificent rivers, their gigantic undertakings. The 8udden rise of nations, like the sudden rise of individuals, begets under similar circumstances similar effects. While there was the freshness of novelty about all these things, there was national vanity. It is now an old story — their laurels sit easy on them. They are accustomed to them, and they occupy less of their thoughts, and of course less of their conversation, than formerly. At first, too, strange as it may seem, there existed a necessity for it. Good policy dictated the expediency of cultivating this self-com- placency in the people, however much good taste might fo bid it. As their constitution was based on self-government, it was indispens- able to raise the people in their own estimation, and to make them feel the heavy responsibility that rested upon them, in order that they might qualify themselves for the part they were called upon to act. As they were weak, it was needful to confirm their courage by strengthening their self-reliance. As they were poor, it was proper to elevate their tone of mind, by constantly setting before them their high destiny ; and as their Republic was viewed with jealousy and alarm by Europe, it was important to attach the nation to it, in the event of aggression, by extolling it above all others. The first gen- eration, to whom all this was new, has now passed away ; the second has nearly disappeared, and with the novelty, the excess of national vanity which it necessarily engendered will cease also. Personal vanity stands on wholly different grounds. There not only is no ne- cessity, but no justification for it whatever. It is always offensive, sometimes even disgusting. Mr. Hopewell, who was in the habit of admonishing the Attache whenever he thought admonition neces- sary, took occasion to-day to enlarge on both points. As to the first. SAM SLICE IN ENGLAND. 261 it none- nsive, habit ■aeces- first, he observed, that it was an American failing, and boasting abroad, as he often did, iif extravagant terms of his country, was a serious injury to it, for it always produced argument, and as those who argue always convince themselves in proportion as they fail to convince others, the only result of ciuch discussions was to induce strangers to search for objections to the United States that they knew not before, and then adopt them forever. But as for personal boasts, he said, they were beneath contempt. " Tell you what it is, Minister," said Mr. Slick, " I am not the fool you take me to be. I deny the charge. I don't boast a bit more nor any foreigner, in fact, I don't think I boast at all. Hear old Bull here, every day, talkin' about the low Irish, the poor, mean, proud Scotch, the Yankee fellers, the horrid foreigners, the * nothin' but a colonist,' dlid so on. He asks me out to entertain me, and then sings ' Britannia rules the waves.* My old grandmother used to rule a copy book, and I wrote on it. I guess the British rule the waves, and we write victory on it. Then hear that noisy, splutterin' crittur, Bull-Frog. He talks you dead about the Grand Nation, the beautiful France, and the capitol of the world — Paris. ^ What do I do ? Why I only say, * our great, almighty republic is the toplofti- est nation atween the Poles.' That ain't boastin', nor crackin', nor nothin' of the sort. It's only jist a fact, like — all men must die — or any other truth. Oh, catch me a-boastin' ! I know a trick worth two of that. It ain't pleasant to be your own trumpeter always, I can tell you. It reminds me," said he (for he could never talk for five minutes without an illustration), " it reminds me of what hap- pened to Queen's father in Nova Scotia, Prince Edward as they called him then. " Oncet upon a time he was travellin* on the Great Western road, and most of the rivers, those days, had ferry-boats and no bridges. So, his trumpeter was sent afore him to 'nounce his comin', with a great French-horn, to the ferryman, who lived on t'other side of the water. Well, his trumpeter was a Jarman, and didn't speak a word of English. Most all that family was very fond of Jarmans, they settle them everywhere a'most. When he came to the ferry, the magistrates and nobs, and big bugs of the country were all drawn' up in state, waitin' for Prince. (In those days, abusin' and insultin' a Governor, kickin' up shindy in a province, and playin' the devil there, warn't no recommendation in Downin' Street. Colonists hadn't got their eyes open then, and at that time there was no school for the blind. It was Pullet Thompson taught them to read. Poor critturs ! they didn't know no better then^ so out they all goes to meet King's son, and pay their respects, and when Kissinkirk came to the bank, and they seed him all dressed in green, covered with gold lace, and splenderiferous cocked-hat on, with lace on it, and a great big, old-fashioned brass French-horn, that was rubbed bright 2;z: 262 THB ATTACH^; OR, ': enough to put out eyes, a-hangln* over his shoulder, they took him for the Prince, for they'd never seed nothin' half so fine afore. The bugle they took for gold, 'cause, in course, a Prince wouldn't wear nothin' but gold, and they thought it was his huntin' horn — and his bein' alone, they took for state, 'cause he was too big for any one to ridu with. So, they all off* hats at once to old Kissinkirk, the Jar- man trumpeter. Lord, when he see that, he was bunfungered ! " ' Thun sie ihren hut an du verdamnter thor,' sais he ; which means, in English, * Put on your hats, you cussed fools.* Weli, they was fairly stumpt. They looked fust at him and bowed, and then at each other ; and stared vacant ; and then he sais agin, * Mynheers, damn !' for that was the only English word he knew, and then he stampt agin, and sais over, in Dutch, once more, to put on their hats ; and then called over as many (crooked) Jarman oaths as would reach across the river, if they were stretched out sti'ait. A What in natur* is that?' sais one; 'Why, high Dutch,' sais an old man ; 'I heerd the Waldecker troops at the evakyation of New York speak it. Don't you ktiow the King's father was a high Dutchman, from Brunswick ; in course, the Prince can't speak English.'/' Well,' sais the other, ' do you know what it means ?' A In course, I do,' sais Loyalist, (and, oh, if some o' them boys.couldn't lie, I don't know who could, that's all ; by their own accounts, it's a wonder how we ever got independence, for them fellers swore they won every battle that was fought,) ' in course, I do,' sais he, ' that is,' sais he, ' I used to did to speak it at Long Island, but that's a long time ago. Yes, I understand a leetle,' sais Loyalist. ' His Royal Highness' excellent Majesty sais, — Man the ferry-boat, and let the magistrates row me ovtr the ferry. — It is a beautiful language, is Dutch.' / ' So it is,* sais they, ' if one could only understand it,' and off* they goes, and spreads out a great roll of home-spun cloth for him to walk on, and then they form two lines for him to pass through to the boat. Lord I when he comes to the cloth he stops agin, and stamps like a jackass when the files tease him, and gives the cloth a kick up, and wouldn't walk on it, and sais, in high Dutch, in a high Jarman voice, too, ' You infarnal fools! — ^you stupid blockheads! — you cussed jackasses!* and a great deal more of them pretty words, and then walked on. 'Oh, dear!' sais they, 'only see how he kicks the cloth; that's cause it's liomespun. Oh, dear ! but what does lie say ?' sais they. /Well, Loyalist felt stumpt ; he knew some screw was loose with the Prince by the way he shook his fist, but what he couldn't tell ; but as he had begun to lie, he had to go knee deep into it, and push on. ' He sais, he hopes he may die this blessed minit if he won't tell his father, the old King, when he returns to home, how well you have behaved,* sais he, ' and tliat it's a pity to soil such beautiful cloth.' /'Oh !' sais they, ' was that it ? we was afraid somethin' or another had gone wrong ; come, let's give three cheers for the Princu's Most Excellent SAM SLICE IN ENGLAND. 263 Majesty/ and they made the woods and the river ring agin. Oh, how mud Kissenkirk was ! he expected the Prince would tie him up and give him five hundred lashes for his impedence in representin* of him. Oh, he was ready to bust with rage and vexation. He darsn't strike any one, or he would have given 'em a slap with the h^rn in a moment, he was so wrathy. So, what does he do as they was holdin' the boat, but ups trumpet and blew a blast in the Gustos' ear, all of a sudden, that left him hard of hearin' on that side for a month ; and he sais, in high Dutch, * Tunder and blitzen ! .Take that, you old fool ; I wish I could blow you into the river.' 'Well, they rowed him over the river, and then formed agin two lines, and Kissenkirk passed up atween 'em as sulky as a bear ; and then he put his hand in his pocket, and took out somethin', and held it out to Custos, who dropt right down on his knee in a minit, and received it, and it was a fourpenny bit. Then, Kissinkirk waved his hand to them to be off quick-stick, and muttered agin somethin', which Loyalist said was, ' Go across agin and wait for my sarvants,' which they did. / ' Oh !' sais the magistrate to Custos, as they was a-goin' back agin, 'how could you take pay, squire ? How could you receive money from Prince ? Our county is disgraced for ever. You have made us feel as mean as Ingians.' / ' I wouldn't have taken it, if it had been worth anythin', sais Custos, ' but didn't you see his delicacy ; he knowed that, too, as well as I did, so he offered me a fourpenny bit, as much as to say, 'You are above all pay, but accept the smallest thing possible, as a keepsake fi'om King's son.' ' Those were his very words,* sais Loyalist ; ' I'll swear to 'em, the very identical ones.' /' I thought so,* sais Custos, looking big. ' I hope I know what is due to his Majesty's iloyal Highness, and what is due to me, also, as Custos of this county. And he drew himself up stately, and said nothin', and looked as wise, - as tlie owl who had been studyin' a speech for five years, and intended to speak it when he got it by heart. /Jist then, down comes Prince and all his party, galloppin' like mad to the ferry, for he used to ride always as if old Nick was at his heels ; jist like a streak of lightnin'. So, up goes the Custos to Prince, quite free and easy, without so much as touchin' his hat, or givin' him the time o' day. ' What the plague kept you so long ?' sais he ; ' your master has been waitin' for you this half-hour. Come, bear a hand, the Prince is all alone over there.* ^t was some time afore Prince made out what he meant ; but when he did, if he didn't let go, it's a pity. He almost upsot the boat, he larfed so obstroperous. One squall o' larfin' was hardly over atbre another come on. Oli, it^ was a tempestical time, you may depend ; and when he'd got over one fit of it, he'd say, ' Only think of them takin' old Kissinkirk for me !' and he'd larf agin ready to split. Kissinkirk was frightened to death ; he didn't know how Prince would take it, or what he would do, for he was a awful strict r 264 THE A'itache; or, officer; but when he seed liim lavf so, he knowed all was i ght. Poor old Kissinkirk ! the last time I seed him was to Windsor. He lived in a'f'arm-house there, on charity. He'd larnt a little English, though not much. It was him told me the story ; and when he wound it up, he sais, ' It tante always sho shafe, Mishter Shlick, to be your own Urumpeter ;' and 1*11 tell you what, Minister, I am of the same opinion with the old bugler. It is not always safe to be one's own trumpeter, and that's a fact.^ CHAPTER XLVI. REPEAL. Ever since we have been in London, we have taken " The Times "and "The Morning Chronicle," so as to have before us both sides of every question. This morning, these papers were, as usual, laid on the breakfast-table ; and Mr. Slick, after glancing at their contents, turned to Mr. Hopewell, and said, " Minister, what's your opinion of O'Conneil's proceedings? What do you think of him?" " I think differently from most men, Sam," he said ; " I neither join in the junqualified praise of his friends, nor in the wholesale abuse of his enemies, for there is much to approve and much to censure in him. He lias done, perhaps, as much good and as much harm to Ireland, as her best friend or her worst enemy. I am an old man now, daily treading on the confines of the grave, and not knowing the moment the ground may sink under me and precipitate me into it. I look, therefore, on all human beings with calmness and impartiality, and besides being an American and a Republican, I have no direct interest in the man's success or failure, farther than they may affect the happiness of the grea:, human family. Looking at the struggle, therefore, as from an eminence, a mere spectator, I can see the errors of both sides, as clearly as a by-stander does those of two competitors at a game of chess My eyesight, however, is dim, and 1 find 1 cannot trust to the report of others. Party spirit runs so high in Ireland, it is difficult to ascertain the trutli of any- thing. Facts are sometimes invented, often distorted, and always magnified. No man either thinks kindly or speaks temperately of another, but a deadly animosity has superseded Christian charity in that unhappy land. We must not trust to the opinions of others, tiierefore, but endeavor to form our own. Now, he is charged with being a Roman Catholic. The answer to this is, he has a right to be one if he chooses — as much right as I have to be a Chui'chman ; SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 265 that if I difTer from him on some points, I concur with him in more, and only grieve we cannot agree in all ; and that whatever objec- tions I have to his Church, I have a thousand times more respect for it than I have for a thousand dissenting political sects, that disfigure and degrade the Christian world. Then, they say, * Oh, yes, but he is a bigoted Papist I' Well, if they have nothing worse than this to allege against him, it don't amount to much. Bigotry means an unusual devotion, and an extraordinary attachment to one's church. I don't see how a sincere and zealous man can be otherwise than bigoted. It would be well, if he were imitated in this respect by Protestants. Instead of joining schismatics and sec- tarians, a little more bigoted attachment to our excellent Mother Church would be safer and more respectable for them, and more con- ducive to the interests of true religion. But the great charge is, he is an Agitator ; now, I don't like agitation, even in a good cause. It is easy to open flood-gates, but always difficult, and sometimes im- possible to close them again. No ; I do not like agitation. It is a fearful word. But if ever there was a man justified in resorting to it, which I doubt, it was O'Connell. A Romish Catholic by birth, and, if you will have it, a bigoted one by education, he saw his coun- trymen laboring under disabilities on account of their faith, — what could be more natural for him than to suppose that he was serving both God and his country, by freeing his Cliurch from its distinctive and degrading badge, and elevating Irishmen to a political equality with Englishmen. The blessings of the priesthood, and the grati- tude of the people, hailed him wherever he went ; and when he attained', the victory, and wrested the concession from him who wrested the sceptre from Napoleon, he earned the title, which he has since worn, of * the Liberator.' What a noble and elevated po- sition he then stood in ! But, Sam, agitation is progressive. The impetus of his onward course was too great to sutler him to rest, and the ' Liberator ' has sunk again into the Agitator, without the sanctity of the cause to justify, or the approval of mankind to re- ward him. Had he, then, paused for a moment, even for a moment, when he gained emancipation, and looked around him, what a pros- pect lay before him whichever way he turned, for diflFusing peace and happiness over Ireland ! Having secured an equality of politi- cal rights to his countrymen, and elevated the position of the peasan- try. — had he, then, endeavored to secure the rights of the landlord, and revive the sympathy between them and their tenants, which agitation had extinguished ; had he, by suppressing crime and out- rage, rendered it sate for absentees to return, or for capital to flow into his impoverished country — had he looked into the future for images of domestic comfort and tranquillity to delight the imagina- tion, instead of resorting to the dark vistas of the past for scenes of oppression and violence to inflame the passions of his countrymen — 12 :r 266 THE A1TACHE: OR, had he held out the right hand of fellowship to his Protestant brethren, and invited and induced them to live in the unity of love and the bonds of peace with their llomish neighbors, his second victory would have surpassed the first, and the stern Liberator would have been again crowned amid the benedictions of all, as * the Father ' of his country. But, alas ! agitation has no tranquil eddies to repose in ; it rides on the billow and the tempest, and lives but on the troubled waters of the deep. " Instead of this happy condition, what is now the state of Ireland? The landlord flies in alarm from a home that is no longer safe from the midnight marauder. The capitalist refuses to open his purse to develop the resources of a country, that is threatened with a civil war. Men of different creeds pass each other with looks of defiance, and with that stern silence that marks the fixed resolve, to ' do or die.' The Government, instead of being able to ameliorate the condition of the poor, is engaged in garrisoning its forts, supplying its arsenals, and preparing for war ; while the poor deluded people are drawn away from their peaceful and honest pursuits, to assemble in large bodies, that they may be inflamed by seditious speeches, and derive fresh confidence from the strength or impunity of numbers. " May God of his infinite goodness have mercy on the author of all these evils, and so purify his heart from the mistaken motives that now urge his onwards in him unhappy course, that he may turn and repent him of his evil way, while return is yet practicable, and repentance not too late ! " Now, what is all this excitement to lead to? A Repeal of the Union ? what is that ? Is it independence, or is it merely a demand for a dependant local legislature ? If it is independence, look into futurity, and behold the state of Ireland at the end of a few years. You see that the Protestants of the North have driven out all of the opposite faith, and that the Catholics, on their part, have exiled or exterminated all the heretics from the South. You behold a Chinese wall of separation running across the island, and two inde- pendent, petty, separate States, holding but little intercourse, and hating each other with an intensity only to be equalled by tribes of savages. And how is this unhappy condition to be attained ? By a cruel, a wicked, and a merciless civil war, for no war is so bloody as a domestic one, especially where religion, terrified at its horrors, flies from the country in alarm, and the banner of the Cross is torn from the altar to be desecrated in the battle-field. Sam, I have seen one, may my eyes never behold another. No tongue can tell, no pen describe, no imagination conceive its horrors. Even now, after the lapse of half a ceutux'y, I shudder at the recollection of it. If it be not independence that is sought, but a local legislature, then Ireland descends from an integral part of the empire into a colony, and the social position of the people is deteriorated. Our friend, the Squire, SAM SLICE IN ENGLAND. 267 and who, at this moment, is what O'Connell desires to be, a colonist, is laboring incessantly to confirm and strengthen the connexion of the possessions abroad with England, to break down all distinctions, to procure for his countrymen equal rights and privileges, and eitlier to abolish that word ' English,' and substitute ' British,' or to oblite- rate the term ' Colonial,' and extend the generic term of English to all. He is demanding a closer and more intimate connexion, and instead of excluding Colonists from Parliament, is anxious for them to be represented there. In so doing, he evinces both his patriotism and his loyalty. O'Connell, on the contrary, is struggling to revive the distinction of races, to awaken the hostility of separate creeds, to dissolve the Political Union. If he effects his purpose, he merely weakens England, but he ruins Ireland. This line of conduct may originate in his bigotry, and probably it does, but vanity, temper, and the rent, are nevertheless to be found at the bottom of thia boiling cauldron of agitation. "Oh! that some Father Matthew would arise, some pious priest, some holy bishop, some worthy man (for they have many excellent clergymen, learned prelates, and great and good men in their Church), and staff in hand, like a pilgrim of old, preach up good will to man, peace on earth, and Unity of Spirit. Even yet the struggle might be avoided, if the good would act wisely, and the wise act firmly. Even now O'Connell, if he would adopt this course, and substitute conciliation for agitation (for hitherto conciliation has been all on the other side), would soon have the gratification to see his country pros- perous and happy. While those who now admire his talents, though they deprecate his conduct, would gladly unite in acknowledging the merits, and heaping honors on the ^Pacificator of all Ireland.' No, my friends, so far from desiring to see the Union dissolved, as a philanthropist and a Christian, and as a politician, I say, * Esto Per- petua.' " CHAPTER XLVII. THE HORSE STEALER, OR ALL TRADES HAVE TRICKS BUT OUR OWN. After dinner to-day the conversation turned upon the treaties existing between England and the United States, and I expressed my regret that in all, the Americans had a decided advantage. " Well, I won't say we hante," said Mr. Slick. " The truth is, w© do understand diplomacy, that's a fact. Treaties, you see, are bar- gains, and a feller would be a fool to make a bad bargain, and if i^ 268 THK ATTACH6; OR, there ain't no racl chcatin' in it, why a man lias a right to make as pood a one as he can. Wc got the boat of tho Boundary Line, that's a fact, hilt then Webster ain't a critter tluit looks as if the yeast was letl out of him by mistake, he ain't quite as soft as dough, and he ain't onderbaked nother. Well, the tariff is a good job for us too, so is the fishery story, and the Oregon will be all right in the eend too. We write our clauses, so they bind ; your diplomatists write them so you can drive a stage-coach and six through 'em, and not touch the hobs on cither side. Our socdolagers is too deep for any on 'em. So polite, makes such soft-sawder speeches, or talks so big ; hints at a great American market, advantages of peace, difficulty of keepin' our folks from goin* to war; boast of our old home, same kindred and language, magnanimity and good faith of England ; calls com- pensation for losses only a little aflair of money, knows how to word a sentence so it will read like a riddle, if you alter a stop, grand hand at an excuse, gives an answer that means nothing, dodge and come up t'other side, or dive so deep you can't follow him. Yes, we have the best of the treaty business, that's a fact. Lord ! how I have often laughed at that story of Felix Foyle and the horse-stealer 1 Did I ever tell you that contrivance of his to do the Governor of Canada ?" " No," I replied, " I never heard of it." He then related the story with as much glee as if the moral delinquency of the act was excus- able in a ca'se of such ingenuity. " It beats all," he said. " Felix Foyle lived in the back part of the State of New York, and carried on a smart chance of business in the provision line. Beef, and pork, and flour was his staples, and he did a great stroke in 'em. Perhaps he did to the tune of four hundred thousand dollars a year, more or less. Well, in course, in such a trade as that, he had to employ a good many folks, as clei-ks, and salters, and agents, and what not, and among them was his book- keeper, Sossipater Cuddy. Sossipater (or Sassy, as folks used to call him, for he was rather high in the instep, and was Sassy by name and Sassy by natur' too,) — well, Sassy was a 'cute man, a good judge of cattle, a grand hand at a bargain, and a'most an excellent scholar at figures. He was ginerally allowed to be a first-rate busi- ness man. Only to give you an idee, now, of that man's smartness, how ready and up to the notch he was at all times, I must jist stop fust, and tell you the story of the cigar. "In some of our towns we don't allow smokin' in the streets, though in most on 'em we do, and where it is agin law it is two dol- lars fine in a gineral way. Well, Sassy went down to Bosten to do a little chore of business there, where this law was, only he didn't know it. So, as soon as he gets off the coach, he outs with his case, takes a cigar, lights it, and walks on smokin' like a furnace flue. No fiooner said than done. Up steps constable, and sais> ' I'll trouble SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 269 and you for two dollars for smokin' agin law in the streets.' Sassy was as quick as wink on him. ' Smokin' I' 8ais he, ' I warn't u smokinV * Oh, my !' sais constable, ' how you talk, man. I won't say you lie, 'cause it ain't polite, but it's very like the way I talk when I lie. Didn't I see you with my own eyes ?' * No,' sais Sassy, ' you didn't. It don't do always to believe your own eyes, they can't be depended on more nor other people's. I never trust mine, I can tell you. I own I had a cigar in my mouth, but it was because I like the flavor of the tobacco, but not to smoke. I take it it don't convene with the dignity of a free and enlightened citizen of our almighty nation to break the law, seein' that he makes the law himself, and is his own sovereign, and his own subject too. No, I warnt smokin', and if you don't believe me, try this cigar yourself, and see if it ain't so. It hante got no fire in it.' Well, constable takes the cigar, puts it into his mug, and draws away at it, and out comes the smoke like any- thin'. '♦ ' I'll trouble you for two dollars, Mr. High Sheriff devil,' sais Sassy, ' for smokin' in the streets ; do you underconstand, my old 'coon?' Well, constable was all taken aback, he was finely bit. * Stranger,' sais he, * where was you raised ?' ' To Canady line,' sais Sassy. * Well,' says he, ' you're a credit to your broghtens up. Well, let the fine drop, for we are about even I guess. Let's liquor ;' and he took him into a bar and treated him to a mint-julep. It was gin- erally considered a great bite that, and I must say I don't think it was bad — do you ? But to get back to where I started from. Sassy, as I was a-sayin', was the book-keeper of old Felix Foyle. The old gentleman sot great store by him, and couldn't do without him, on no account, he was so ready like, and always on hand. But Sassy thought he could do without him, tho'. So, one fine day, he absqoti* lated with four thousand dollars in his pocket, of Felix's, and cut dirt for Canady as hard as he could clip. Felix Foyle was actilly in a most beautiful frizzle of a fix. He knew who he had to deal with, and that he might as well follow a fox a'most as Sassy, he was so everlastin' cunnin', and that the British wouldn't give up a debtor to us, but only felons ; so he thought the fust loss was the best, and was about givin' it up as a bad job, when an idee struck him, and off he started in chase with all steam on. Felix was the clear grit when his dander was up, and he never slept night or day till he reached Canady, too ; got on the trail of Sassy, and came up to where he was airthed at Niagara. When he arrived it was about noon, so as he enters the tavern he sees Sassy standin' with his face to the fire and his back to the door, and what does he do but slip into the meal-room and hide himself till night. Jist as it was dark in comes old Bambrick, the inn-keeper, with a light in his hand, and Felix slips behind him, and shuts too the door, and tells him the whole story from beginnin' to eend; how Sassy had sarved him; 270 THE ATTACHE; OB, and lists the old fellow in his sarvice, and off they set to a magistrate and get out a warrant, and then they goes to the deputy-sheriff and gets Sassy arrested. Sassy was so taken aback he was hardly able to speak for the matter of a minit or so, for he never expected Felix would follov/ him into Canady at all, seein' that if he oncet reached British side he was safe. But he soon come too agin, so he ups and bullies. * Pray, Sir,' sais he, * what do you mean by this ?' ' Nothin' above partikelar,' says Felix, quite cool, ' only I guess I want the pleasure of your company back, that's all,' and then tumin' to the onder sheriff, * Squire,' sais he, ' will you take a turn or two in the entry, while Sassy and I settle a little matter of business together,' and out goes Nab. * Mr. Foyle,' sa;3 Sassy, ' I have no business to settle with you — arrest me, Sir, a* your peril, and I'll action you in law for false imprisonment.' 'Where's my money?' sais Felix— ' Where's my four thousand dollars ?' ' What do I know about your money ?' sais Sassy. * Well,' sais Felix, ' it is your business to know, and I paid you as my book-keeper to know, and if you don't know you must jist return with me and find out, that's all — so ^ nme, let's be a-movin'. Well, Sassy larfed right out in his face ; ' why you cussed fool,' sais he, ' don't you know I can't be taken out o' this col- ony State, but oiily for crime, what a rael soft horn you be to have done so much business and not know that ?' * I guess I got a war- rant that will take you out tho',' sais Felix — ' read that,' a-handin* of the paper to him. * Now I shall swear to that agin, and send it to Governor, and down will come the marchin' order in quick stick. Fm soft, I know, but I ain't sticky for all that, I ginerally come off clear without Jeavin' no part behind.' The moment Sassy read the warrant his face fell, and the cold perspiration rose out like rain- drops, and his color went and came, and his knees shook like any- thin'. ' Hoss-stealin' !' sais he, aloud to himself — ' hoss-stealin' ! — Heavens and airth, what parjury ! ! Why, l elix,' sais he, ' you know devilish well I never stole your boss, man ; how could you go and swear to such an infarnal lie as that ?' ' Why I'm nothin' but " a cussed fool" and a " rael soft horri," you know,' sais Felix, ' as you said jist now, and if I had gone and sworn to the debt, why you'd a kept the money, gone to jail, and swore out, and I'd a-had my trou- ble for my pains. So you see I swore you stole my hoss, for that's a crime, tho' absquotolation ain't, and that will force the British Governor to deliver you up, and when I get you into New York state, why you settle with me for my four thousand dollars, and I will settle with you for stealin' my hoss,' and he put his linger to the tip eend of his nose, and winked and said, * Young folks think old folks is fools, but old folks know young folks is fools. I warn't born yesterday, and I had my eye-teeth sharpened before your'n were through the gums, I guess — ^}'ou hante got the Boston constable to deal with now, I can tell you, but old Felix Foyle himself, and be i^plf'ff--""^' ™ I .• JJ Ul)|fVJ>iil .1l■lW^iWi^VP-!llRMfl«f .fWL^Rlipvii J i fijp . SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 271 a ain't so blind but what he can feel his way along I guess — do you take my meanin', my young 'coon ?' * I'm sold,' sais Sassy, and he sot down, put both elbows on the table, and covered his face with his hands, and fairly cried like a child. ' I'm sold,' sais he. ' Buy your pardon, then,' sais Felix, * pay down the four thousand dollars, and you are a free and enlightened citizen once more.' Sassy got up, unlocked his portmanter, and counted it out all in paper rolls jist as he received it. ' There it is,' sais he, ' and I must say you desarve it; that was a great stroke of your'n.' ' Stop a bit,' says Felix, seein' more money there, all his savin's for years, ' we ain't done yet, I must have five hundred dollars for expenses,' ' There, d — n you,* sais Sassy, throwin' another roll at him, * there it is ; are you done yet?' *No,' sais Felix, *not yet; now you have done me justice, I must do you the same, and clear your cijaracter. Call in that gen- tleman, the constable, from the entry, and I will go a treat of half a pint of brandy. — Mr. Officer,' sais Felix — ' here is some mistake, tliis gentleman has convinced me he was only follerin', as my clerk, a debtor of mine here, and when he transacts his business, will return, havin' left his boss at the lines, where I can get him if I choose ; and I must say I am glad on't for the credit of the nation abroad. Fill your glass, here's a five dollar bill for your fees, and here's to your good health. If you want provision to ship off in the way of trade, I'm Felix Foyle, and shall be happy to accommodate you.' " Now," said Mr. Slick, " that is what I call a rael clever trick, a great card that, warn't it .'* He desarves credit, does Felix, it ain't every one would a-been up to trap that way, is it ?" " Sam," said his father, rising with great dignity and formality of manner, *' was that man, Felix Foyle, ever a militory man .'"' " No, Sir ; he never had a commission, even in the militia, as I knows on." " I thought not," said the Colonel, " no man, that had seen mili- ary life, could ever tell a lie, much less take a false oath. That fel- ler, Sir, is a villain, and I wish Washington and I had him to the halberts ; by the 'tarnal, we'd teach him to disgrace our great name before those benighted colonists. A liar, Sir! as Doctor Franklin said, the great Doctor Franklin, him that burnt up two forts of tlie British in the revolution xvar, by bringin' dod 'xcept it's fresh laid — is it ? " Well, the English are like the old Deacon ; they don't see a man's merits till he's dead, and then they wake up all of a sudden, and say, ' Oh ! we must honor this feller's skeleton,' and Peel, and Brougham, and all the dons, go and play pall-bearers to it, stand over his grave, look sentimental, and attitudenize a few ; and when I say to 'em you hadn't ought to have laid him right a top of old Dr. Johnson — for he hated Scotchmen so like old Scratch ; if he was to find it out he'd kick strait up on eend, and throw him off; they won't larf, but give me a look as much as to say, Westminster Ab- bey ain't no place to joke in. Jist as if it warn't a most beautiful joke to see these men, who could have done ever so much for the poet in his lifetime, when it could have done him good — but who never even so much as held out a finger to him, except in a little matter not worth havin' — now he is dead, start up all at once and patronize his body and bones when it can't do him one mossel of good. Oh ! they are like Deacon Flint — they understand when it's too late. " Poor old Tom Campbell, there was some pleasures of hope that he never sot down in his book, I know. He hoped — as he had charmed and delighted the nation, and given 'em another ondyin' name, to add to their list of poets, to crack and to brag of — he'd a had a recompense at least in some government appointment that would have cheered and soothed his old age, and he was disappinted, that's all ; and that's the pleasures of hope, Squire, eh ? He hoped that fame, which he had in his life, would have done him some good 12* ■Tf'r-^-jr-' t 'I 274 THE ATTACHfi; OR, in his life— didn't he ? Well, he lived on that hope till he died, and that didn't disappint him; for how can a feller say he is dis- appinted by a thing he has lived on all his days ? and that's the Pleasures of Hope. " He hoped, in course. Peel would be a patron of poets — and so he is, he acts as a pall-bearer, 'cause as soon as the pall is over him, he'd never bother him nor any other minister no more. Oh ! ' Hope told a flatterin' tale ;' but all flatterers are liars. Peel has a princely fortune, and a princely patronage, and is a prince of a feller ; but there is an old sayin' * Put not your trust in Princes.' If poor Tom was alive and kickin' I'd tell him who to put his trust in — and that's Bentley. He is the only patron worth havin', that's a fact. He does it so like a gentleman : ' I have read the poem, Mr. Campbell, you were so kind as to indulge me with the perusal of; if you would permit me to favor the world with a sight of it, I shall have great pleasure in placin' a cheque for two thousand guineas in your bank- er's hands.' " Oh ! that's the patron. The great have nothin' but smiles and bows, Bentley has nothing but the pewter — and that's what I like to drink my beer out of. Secretaries of State are cattle it's pretty hard to catch in a field, and put a bridle on, I can tell you. No, they have nothin' but smiles, and it requires to onderstand the lan- guage of smiles, for there are all sorts of them, and they all spe.ik a different tongue. " I have seen five or six of them secretaries, and Spring Rice, to my mind, was the toploftiest boy of em all. Oh ! he was the boy to smile ; he could put his whole team on sometimes if he liked, and run you right off the road. Whenever he smiled very gracious, followed you to the door, and shook you kindly by the hand, and said,— call again, your flint was fixed : you never seed him no more. Kind- hearted crittur, he wanted to spare you the pain of a refusal, and bein' a little coquettish, he puts his prettiest smile on, as you was never to meet again, to leave a favorite impression behind him ; they all say — call agin : Bentley, never ! No pleasures of hope with him / he is a patron, he don't wait for the pall. " Peel, sportsman-like, is in at the death ; Bentley comes with the nurse, and is in at the birth. There is some use in such a patron as that. Ah ! poor Campbell ! he was a poet, a good poet, a beautiful poet ! He knowed all about the world of imagination, and the realms of fancy ; but he didn't know nothin' at all about this world of our'n, or the realm of England, or he never would have talked of the * Pleasures of Hope' :or an author. Lord bless you ! let a dancin' gall come to the opera, jump six foot high, light on one toe, hold up the other so high you can see her stays a'most, and then spin round like a daddy-long-legs that's got one foot caught in a taller candle, and go spinuin' round arter that fashion for ten minits, it will touch ■ -n,>n«p,q»lB_4M SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 275 Peel's heart in a giffy. This spinnin' jinny will be honored by the highest folks in the land, have diamond rings, goold snuff-boxes and pusses of money given her, and gracious knows what. " Let Gineral Tom Thumb come to London, that's two foot nothin and the Kentucky boy that's eight foot somethin', and see how they will be patronised, and what a sight of honor they will have. Let Van Amburg come with his lion, make him open his jaws, and then put his head down his throat, and pull it out, and say, 'What a brave boy am I !' and kings and queens, and princes and nobles will come and see him, and see his lion feed, too. Did any on 'em ever come to see Campbell feed ? he was a great lion this many a long day. Oh dear! he didn't know nothin', that's a fact; he thought himself a cut above them folks : it jist showed how much he know'd. Fine sentiments ! Lord, who cares for them ! " Do you go to Nova Scotia now, and begin at Cape Sable, and travel all down to Cape Canso, — the whole length of the province, pick out the two best lines from his ' Hope,' and ask every feller you meet, *di-fwmmmr vtwfnjf^j^m^mm 276 THE attachb; or, came and said, ' How damn cold the Abbey is!* the Duke of Argyle, Scotchman-like, rubbed his back agin Roubilliac's statue of his great ancestor, and thought it was a pity he hadn't migrated to Princfe Edward's Island ; D'Israeli said he was one of the ' Curiosities of Literature ;' while Macaulay, who looks for smart things, said, * Poor fellow, this was always the object of his ambition; it was bis '^hope beyond the grave.' " " Silence, Sir," said Mr. Hopewell, with more asperity of manner than I ever observed in him before ; *' silence, Sir. If you will not respect yourself, respect, at least, the solemnity of the place in which you stand. I never heard such unworthy sentiments before ; though they are just what might be expected from a pedlar of clocks. You have no ideas beyond those of dollars and cents, and you value fam« as you would a horse, by what it will fetch in ready money. Your observations on the noblemen and gentlemen who have done them- selves honor this day, as well as the poet, by taking a part in thi» sad ceremony, are both indecent and unjust ; while your last remark is absolutely profane. I have every reason to believe, Sir, that he had ' a hope beyond the grave.' All his writings bear the stamp of a mind strongly imbued with the pure spirit of religion : be must himself have felt ' the hope beywid the grave ' to have described it as he has done ; it is a passage of great beauty and sublimity. " ' Eternal hope ! when yonder spheres suUime Pealed their first note» to sound the march of Time, Thy joyous youth begsm — but not to fade, — When all the sister planets have decay'd ; When wrapt in fire the realms of ether glow, And Heaven's last thunder shakes the world below ; Thou, undismay'd, shalt o'er the ruins smile. And light thy torch at Nature's funeral pile.' " We have both done wrong to-day, my swi ; you have talked flippantly and irreverently, and I have suffered my temper to be agitated in a very unbecoming manner, and that, too, in consecrated ground, and in the house of the Lord. I am not disposed to remain here just now — ^let us depart in peace— give me your arm, my son, and we will discourse of other things." When we returned to our lodgings, Mr. Slick, who felt hurt at the sharp rebuke he had received from Mr. Hopewell, recurred .again to the subject. " That was one of the old man's crotchets to-day, Squire," he said; " he never would have slipt off the handle that way, if that speech of Macau lay's hadn't a-scared him like, for he is as skittish as a two-year-old, at the least sound of such a thing. Why, I have heerd him say himself, the lot of a poet was a hard one, over and over again ; and that the world let them fust starve to death, and then SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 277 built monuments to 'em that cost more money than \rould have made 'em comfortable all their born days. Many and many a time, when he used to make me say over to him as a boy ' Gray's Elegy,* he'd say, ' Ah ! poor man, he was neglected till attention came too late. — When he was old and infarm, and it could do him no good, they made him a professor in some college or another ;' and, then he'd go over a whole string — Mason, Mickle, Bums, and I don't know who all, for I ain't much of a bookster, and don't recollect ; — and how often I've heerd him praise our Government for makin' Washington Irvin' an embassador, and say what an example we sot to England, by such a noble spontaneous act as that, in honorin' letters. I f«el kinder hurt at the way he took me up, but I'll swear I'm right arter all. In matters and things of this world, I won't give up my opinion to him nor nobody else. Let some old gineral or admiral do something or another that only requires the courage of a bull, and no sense, and they give him a pension, and right off the reel make him a peer. Let some old field-ofllcer's wife go follerin' the army away back in Indgy further than is safe or right for a woman to go, — git taken pris'ner, give a horrid sight of trouble to the army to git her back, and for this great service to the nation, she gits a pension of five hundred pounds a-year. But let some misfortunate devil of an author do — what only one man in a century can, to save his soul alive, write a book that will live — a thing that does show the perfection of human mind, and what do they do here? — let his body live on the ' Pleasures of Hope ' all the days of his life, and his name live afterwards on a cold white marble in West- minster Abbey. They be hanged — the whole bilin' of them — them and their trumpery procession, too, and their paltry patronage of standin' by a grave, and sayin', ' Poor Campbell !' " Who the devil cares for a monument, that actiUy desarves one ? He has built one that will live when that are old Abbey crumbles down, and when all them that thought they was honorin' him are dead and forgotten ; his monument was built by his own brains, and his own hands, and the inscription ain't writ in Latin nor Greek, nor any other dead language, nother, but in a livin' language, and one, too, that will never die out now, seein' our great nation uses it -—and here it is — ♦• • The Pleasures 6f Hope, by Thomas CninpbeU.' ** f, A 278 THE ATTACH^; OB, CHAPTER XLIX. DON'T I LOOK PALE? OR, THE IRON GOD. Mr. Slick having sis usual, this morning, boasted of the high society he mingled with the preceding evening, and talked with most absurd familiarity of several distinguished persons, very much to the delight of his father, and the annoyance of Mr. Hopewell, the latter, at last, interrupted him with some very juaicicus advice. He told him he had observed the change that had come over him lately with very great regret ; that he was altogether in a false position and acting an unnatural and absurd part. " As a Republican," he said, " it is expected that you should have the simplicity and frankness of manner becoming one, and that your dress should not be that of a courtier, but in keepmg with your cha- racter. It is well known here that you were not educated at one of our universities, or trained to official life, and that you have risen to it like many others of our countrymen, by strong natural talent. To assume, therefore, the air and dress of a man of fashion, is quite absurd, and if persisted in, will render you perfectly ridiculous. Any little errors you may make in the modes of life will always be passed over in silence, so long as you are natural ; but the moment they are accompanied by affectation, they become targets for the shafts of satire. " A little artificial manner may be tolerated in a very pretty wo- man, because great allowance is to be made for female vanity; but in a man, it is altogether insufferable. Let your conversation, there- fore, be natural, and as to the fashion of your dress, take the good old rule — " ' Be not the first by whom the new is tried, Nor yet the last to lay the old aside.' In short, be Sam Slick." " Don't be afeerd, Minister," said Mr. Slick, " I have too much tact for that. I shall keep the channel, and avoid the bars and shallows, I know. I never boast at all. Brag is a good dog, but hold-fast is a better one. I never talk of society I never was in, nor never saw but once, and that by accident. I have too much sense for that ; but I am actilly in the first circles here, quite at SAM SLICE IN ENGLAND. 279 home in 'em, and in speaking of 'em. I am only talkin' of folks I meet every day, see every day, and jaw with every day. I am part and passel of 'em. Now risin' sudden here ain't a bit stranger than men risin' with us. It's done every day, for the door is wide open here; the English ain't doomed to stand still and vegitate like cabbages, I can tell you ; it's only colonists like Squire there, that are forced to do that. Why, they'll tell you of a noble whose grand- father was this, and another whose grandfather was that small beer; of one who was sir^d by a man that was born in our old Boston, and another whose great-grandfather was a farmer on Kenebec river, and if the family had remained colonist would have been snakin' logs with an ox-team to the Bangor mills, instead of being a minis- ter for all the colonies, as he was not long ago. No, catch me a crackin' and a braggin' for nothin', and then tell me of it. I'm not a-goin' to ask every feller I meet, ' Don't I look pale ?' like Soloman Figg, the tailor to St. John, New Brunswick — him they called the * Iron God.' " " Oh, oh, Sam !" said Mr. Hopewell, lifting up both hands, " that was very profane ; don't tell the story if there's any irreverence in it, any flippancy, anything, in short, at all unbecoming. That is not a word to be used in vain." " Oh, never fear. Minister, there is nothin' in the story to shock you ; if there was, I'm not the boy to tell it to any one, much less to you. Sir." " Very well, very well, tell the story then if it's harmless, but leave that word out when you can, that's a good soul !" " Soloman Figg was the crittur that give rise to that sayin' all over New Brunswick and Nova Scotia, ' Don't I look pale ?' and I calculate it never will die there. Whenever they see an important feller a-struttin' of it by, in tip-top dress, tryin' to do a bit of fine, or hear a crittur a-braggin' of great men's acquaintance, they jist puts their finger to their nose, gives a wink to one another, and say, * Don't I look pale ?' Oh, it's grand ! But I believe I'll begin at the beginnin', and jist tell you both stories about Soloman Figg. " Solomon was a tailor, whose tongue ran as fast as his needle, and for sewin' and talkin' perhaps there warn't his equal to be found nowhere. His shop was a great rondivoo for folks to talk politics in, and Soloman was an out-and-out Radical. They are ungrateful skunks are English Radicals, and ingratitude shows a bad heart; and in my opinion to say a feller's a Radical, is as much as to say he's everything that's bad. I'll tell you what's observed all over England, that them that make a fortin out of gentlemen, as soon as they shut up shop turn round, and become Radicals, and oppose them. Radicalism is like that Dutch word Spitzbube. It's every- thing bad biled down to a essence. Well, Soloman was a Radical — he was agin the Church, because he had no say in the appoint- 280 THE ATTACH^; OB, ment of the parsons, and couldn't bully them. He was agin law- yers 'cause they took fees from him when they sued him. He was agin judges, 'cause they rode their circuits and didn't walk. Ho was agin the governor, 'cause the governor didn't ask him to dine. He was agin the admiral, 'cause pursers had ready-made clothes for sailors, and didn't buy them at his shop. He was agin the army 'cause his wife ran off with a sodger — the only good rea- son he ever had in his life ; in short, he was agin everything and everybody. " Well, Soloman's day came at last, for every dog has his day in this world. Responsible government came, things got turned upside down, and Soloman turned up, and was made a magistrate of. Well, there was a Carolina refugee, one Captain Nestor Biggs, lived near him, an awful feller to swear, most o' those refugees were so, and he feared neither God nor man. " He was a sneezer of a sinner was Captain Nestor, and always in law for everlastin'. He spent his whole pension in Court, folks said. Nestor went to Soloman, and told him to issue a writ agin a man. It was Soloman's first writ, so says he to himself, 'I'll write fust afore I sue ; writin's civil, and then I can charge for letter and writ too, and I'm always civil when I'm paid for it. Mother did right to call me Soloman, didn't she ?' Well, he wrote the letter, and the man that got it din't know what under the sun to make of it. This was the letter — * "'Sir, if you do not return to Captain Nestor Biggs, the Iron God of his, now in your possession, I shall sue you. Pos is the wod. Given under my hand, Soloman Figg, one of her most gracious Majesty's Justices of the Peace in and for the County of St. John." " Radicals are great hands for all the honors themselves, tho' they won't ginn none to others. ' Well,' sais the man to himself, ' what on airth does this mean ?' So off he goes to the church parson to read it for him. " ' Dear me,' sais he, * this is awful ; what is this ? I by itself, I-r-o-n — Iron, G-o-d — God. Yes, it is Iron God ! — Have you got such a graven image ?' " Me,' sais the man, * No : I never heard of such a thing.' " ' Dear, dear,' sais the parson, * I always knew the captain was a wicked man, a horrid wicked man, but I didn't think he was an idolater. I thought he was too sinful to worship anything, even an iron idol. What times we live in, let's go to the Captain.' " Well, off they sot to the Captain, and when he heerd of this graven image, he swore and raved — so the parson put a finger in each ear, and ran round the room, screamin' like a stuck pig. ' I'll tell you what it is, old boy,' says the Captain, a rippin' out some most awful smashers, ' if ou go on kickin' up such a row here, I'U stop SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 281 your wind for you double-quick, bo no muBimery, if you please. Come along with me to thut scoundrel, Solomon Figg, and I'll make him go down on his knees, and beg pfirdon. What the devil does he mean by talkin' of iron idols, I want to know/ ^ Well, they went into Soloman's house, and Soloman, who was sittin' straddle-legs on a counter, a sewin' away for dear life, jumps down in a minit' ons shoes and coat, and shows 'em into his office, which was jist opposite to his shop. ' Read that, Sir,' sais the Cap- tain, lookin' as fierce as a tiger ; ' read that, you everlastin' radical scoundrel ! did you write that infamous letter ?' Soloman takes it, and reads it all over, and then hands it back, lookin' as wise as an owl. 'Its all right,' sais he. 'Right,' sais the Captain, and he caught him by the throat. * What do you mean by my " Iron God," Sir ? what do you mean by that, you infernal libeUin', rebel rascal ?* ' I never said it,' said Soloman. ' No, you never said it, but you wrote it.' ' I never wrote it ; no, nor I never heerd of it.* * Look at these words,' said the Captain, ' did you write them ?' ' Well, well,' sais Soloman, ' they do spell alike, too, don't they ; they are the identical same letters G-o-d, dog; I have spelt it backwards, that's all ; it's the iron dog, Captain ; you know what that is-— don't you. Squire : it is an iron wedge sharped at one eend, and bavin' a ring in it at t'other. It's drove into the but eend of a log, an' a chain is hooked to the ring, and the cattle drag the log eend-ways by it on the ground ; it is called an iron dog.' Oh, how the Captain swore 1" " Well," said the Minister, " never mind repeating his oaths ; he must have been an ignorant magistrate indeed not to be able to spell '' He was a Radical magistrate of the Jack Frost school, Sir," said Mr. Slick. " The Liberals have made magistrates to England not a bit better nor Soloman, I can tell you. Well, they always called him arter that the Iron G ." " Nevor mind what they called him," said Mr.. Hopewell ; " but what is the story of looking pale, for there is a kind of something in that last one that I daa't exactly like ? There are words in it that shock me ; if you could tell the story without them, it is not a bad story ; tell us the other part." " Well, you know, as I was a sayin*, when responsible government came to the Colonies, it was like the Reform bile to England, stir- ring up the pot, and a settin' all a fermentin', set a good deal of scum a floatin' on the top of it. Among the rest, Soloman, being light and frothy, was about as buoyant as any. When the House of Assembly met to Fredericton, up goes Soloman, and writes his name on the book at Government House — Soloman Figg, J. P. Down comes the Sargeant with a card, quick as wink, for the Gov- ernor's ball that night. Soloman wam't a bad lookin' feller at all ; IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) 1.0 I.I ■^y£ Mil |50 "^ Hl^ ^ tSS, 112.0 iim — 1 '-"^ III '-^ < 6" ► ^ ^ ^^>' '^.«i»'* Photogr^hic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14S80 (716) 873-4503 // ^ .^^^. ^ 282 THE ATTACH^; OR, and bein' a tailor, in course he had his clothes well made ; and, take him altogether, he was jist a leetle nearer the notch than one half of the members was, for most on 'em was from the country, and looked a nation sight more like Caraboos than legislate rs ; indeed the nobs about Fredericton always call them Caraboos. ** Well, his tongue wagged about the limberest you ever see ; his head was turned, so he talked to every one ; and at supper he eat and drank as if he never see vittals afore since he was weaned. He made a great night of it. Our Consul told me he thought he should have died a larfin' to see him : he talked about the skiiis of the coun- try, and the fork of the river, and button-hole connections, and linin' his stomach well, and basting the Yankees, and everything but cab- baging. No man ever heerd a tailor use that word, any more than they ever see a Jew eat pork. Oh ! he had a reg'lar lark of it, and his tongue ran like a mill-wheel, whirlin' and sputterin' like anythin'. The officers of the regiment that was stationed there took him for a Member of Assembly, and seein' he was a character, had him up to the mess to dine next day. '* Soloman was as amazed as if he was jist bom. < Heavens and airth !' said he, ' responsible government is a great thin' too, ain't it. Here am I to Government House with all the big bugs and their ladies, and upper crust folks, as free and easy as an old glove. To- day I dine with the officers of regiment, the most aristocratic regiment we ever had in the Province. I wish my father had put me into the army ; I'd rather wear a red coat than make one any time. One thing is certain, if responsible government lasts long, we shall all rise to be gentlemen, or else all gentlemen must come down to the level of tailors, and no mistake ; one coat will fit both. Dinink at a mess, eh ! Well, why not ? I can make as good a coat as Buckmaster any day.' " Well, Soloman was rather darnted at fust by the number of sar- vants, and the blaze of uniform coats, and the horrid difficult cook- ery ; but champagne strengthened his eyesight, for every one took wine with him, till he saw so clear he strained his eyes ; for they grew weaker and weaker arter the right focus was passed, till he saw things double. Arter dinner they adjourned into the barrack-room of one of the officers, and there they had a game of ' Here comes I, Jack upon hips.' " The youngsters put Soloman, who had a famous long back, jist at the right distance, and then managed to jump jist so as to come right on him, and they all jumped on him, and down he'd smash with the weight ; then they'd banter him for not bein' game, place him up agin in line, jump on him, and smash him down agin till he could hold out no longer. Then came hot whisky toddy, and some screech- in' songs ; and Soloman sung, and the officers went into fits, for he fiung such splendid songs ; and then his health was drunk, and Solo- SAM SLICE IN ENGLAND. 288 man made a speech. He said, tho' he had a * stitcK in the side from laughin/ and was < sewed up* a'most too much to speak, and was afraid he'd ' rip ouf what he hadn't ought, yet their kindness had ^tied* him as with ^lisV to them for 'the remnant' of his life, and years would never * sponge* it out of his heart. " They roared and cheered him so, a kinder confused him, for he couldn't recollect nothin' arter that, nor how he got to the inn ; but the waiter told him four sodgers carried him in on a shutter. Next day, off Soloman started in the steam-boat for St. John. The offi- cers had took him for a Member of Assembly, and axed him jist to take a rise out of him. When they lamed the mistake, and that it was ready-made Figg, the tailor, they had been makin' free with, they didn't think it was half so good a joke as it was afore ; for they seed one half of the larf was agin them, and only t'other half agin Soloman. They never tell the story now ; but Soloman did and still does like a favorite air with variations. As soon as he got back to St. John, he went about to every one he knew, and said, ' Don't I look pale ?' * Why, no, I can't say you do.' * Well, I feel used up enough to look so, I can tell you. I'm ashamed to say I've been horrid dissipated lately. I was at Government House night before last' " * You at Government House ?' * Me ! to be sure ; is there any- thing strange in that, seeing that the family compact is gone, the Fredericton clique broke up, and 'sponsible governments come? Yes, I was to Government House — it waa such an agreeable party ; I believe I staid too late, and made to , free at supper, for I had a headache next day. Sad dogs them officers of the regiment ; they are too gay for me. I dined there yesterday at their mess ; a glorious day we had of it — ^free and easy — all gentlemen — no damn starch airs, sticking themselves up for gentlemen, but rael good fel- lers. I should have gone home arter mess, but there's no gettin' away from such good company. They wouldn't take no for an an- swer ; nothin' must serve them but I must go to Captain 's room. *Pon honor, 'twas a charming night. Jack upon hips — whisky speeches, songs and whisky again, till I could hardly reach home. Fine fellows those of the regiment, capital fellers ; no nonsense about them ; had their shell jackets on ; a stylish thing; them shell jackets, and not so formal as full dress nother. What a nice feller Lord Fetter Lane is; easy excited, a thimble full docs it, but it makes him as sharp as a needle* " Then he'd go on till he met another friend ; he'd put on a dole- ful face, and Say, * Don't I look pale ?' ' Well, I think you do ; what's the matter?' and then he'd up and tell the whole story, till it got to be a by-word. Whenever any one sees a feller now a-doin' big, or a-talkin' big, they always say, ' Don't I look pale ?' as ready- made Figg said. 284 THE ATTACH^; OB, *' Now, Minister, I am not like Soloman, I've not been axed by mistake, I'm not talkin' of what I don't know ; sc don't be afeerd, every one knows me ; tante necessary for me, when I go among the toplofliest of the nation, to run about town the next day, sayin' to every man I meet, ' Don't I look pale ?' " m of I CHAPTER L. THE COLONIAL OFFICE. The last three days were devoted to visiting various mad-houses and lunatic asylums in London and its vicinity. In this tour of in- spection we were accompanied by Dr. Spun, a distinguished physi- cian of Boston, and an old friend of Mr. Hopewell's. Afler leaving Bedlam, the Doctor, who was something of a humorist, said there was one on a larger scale which he wished to show us, but declined giving the name until we should arrive at it, as he wished to sur- prise us. Our curiosity was, of course, a good deal excited by some vague allusions he made to the condition of the inmates ; when he suddenly ordered the carriage to stop, and conducting us to the entrance of a court, said, " Here is a pile of buildings which the nation has devoted to the occupation of those whose minds having been engrossed dur- ing a series of years by politics, are supposed to labor under mono- mania. All these folks," he said, " imagine themselves to be govern- ing the world, and the only cure that has been discovered is, to in- dulge them in their whim. They are permitted to form a course of policy, which is submitted to a body of persons chosen for the express purpose, who either approve or reject it, according as it appears more or less sane, and who furnish or withhold the means of carry- ing it out, as they see fit. *' £ach man has a department given to him, filled with subordi- nates, who, though not always the best qualified, are always in their rght mind, and who do the working part of the business; the board of delegates, and of superior clerks, while they indulge them in their humor, as far as possible, eudeavor to extract the mischievous part from every measure. They are, therefore, generally harmless, and are allowed to go at large, and there have been successive genera- tions of them for 'centuries. Sometimes they become dangerous, and then the board of delegates pass a vote of 'want of confidence' in them, and they are all removed, and other imbeciles are substituted in their place, when the same course of treatment is pursued.** • ai SAH SLIOK IN ENGLAND. 285 and *< Is a care often effected ?* said Mr. Hopewell. " Not very often," said the Doctor ; " they are considered as the most difficult to cure of any insane people, politics having so much of excitement in them ; but now and then you hear of a man being perfectly restored to health, abandoning his ruling passion of politics, and returning to his family, and devoting himself to rural or to liter- ary pursuits, an ornament to society, or a patron to its institutions. Lately, the whole of the inmates became so dangerous, from some annoyances they received, that the whole country was alarmed, and every one of them was removed from the buildings. ** In this Asylum, it has been found that harsh treatment only aggravates the disease. Compliance with the whim of patients soothes and calms the mind, and diminishes the nervous excitement Lord Glencoe, for instance, was here not long since, and imagined he was governing all the colonies. Constant indulgence very soon operated on his brain like a narcotic ; he slept nearly all the time, and when he awoke, his attendant, who affected to be first clerk, used to lay before him despatches, which he persuaded him he had written himself, and gravely asked him to sign them : he was very soon permitted to be freed from all restraint. Lord Palmerstaff imagined himself the admiration of all the women in town, he called himself Cupid, spent half the day in bed, and the other half at his toilet; wrote all night about Syria, Boundiury line, and such matters; or else walked up and down the room, conning over a speech for Parliament, which he said was to be delivered at the end of the session. Lord Wallgrave fancied he was the devil, and that the Church and the Bench were conspiring against him, and punishing his dearest friends and supporters, so he was all day writing out pardons for felons, orders for opening jails, and retaining prisoners, or devising schemes for abolishing parsons, making one bishop do the work of two, and so on. Lord M " Here, the words '' Downing Street " caught my eye, as designating the place we were in, which I need not say contains the government offices, and, among others, the Colonial Office. ^ This," I said, " is very well for you, Dr. Spun, as an American, to sport as a joke, but it is dangerous ground for me, as a colonist and a loyal man, and, therefore, if you please, we will di'op the allegory. If you apply your remark to all government offices, in all countries, there may be some truth in it, for I believe all politicians to be more or less either so warped by party feeling, by selfishness, or prejudices, that their minds are not altogether truly balanced ; but I must protest against its restriction to the English government alone, as distinguished from others." <* I know nothing about any of their offices," said Mr. Hopewell, ** but the Colonial office ; and that certainly requires re-construction. The interests of the colonies are too vast, too various, and too com- 286 THE ATTACH^; OR. h plicated, to be intrusted to any one man, however transcendant his ability, or persevering his industry, or extensive his information may be. Upon the sudden dissolution of a government, a new colo- nial minister is appointed : in most cases, he has everything to leaiTi, having never had his attention drawn to this branch of public business, during the previous part of his political life ; if this happens unfortunately to be the case, he never can acquire a thorough know- ledge of his department, for during the whole of his continuance in office, his attention is distracted by various government measures of a general nature, which require the attention of the whole cabinet. The sole qualification that now exists for this high office is parlia- mentary influence, talent, and habits of business ; but none of them separately, nor all of them collectively, are sufficient. Personal and practical experience for a series of years, of the people, and the affairs of the colonies, is absolutely indispensable to a successful dis- charge of duty. " How many persons who have held this high office were either too indolent to work themselves, or too busy to attend to their duties, or too weak, or too wild in their theories, to be entrusted with such heavy responsibilities? Many, when they acted for themselves, have acted wrong, from these causes ; and when they allowed others to act for them, have raised a subordinate to be a head of the office whom no other persons in the kingdom or the colonies but them- selves would have entrusted with such important matters : it is, therefore, a choice of evils ; colonists have either to lament a hasty or erroneous decision of a principal, or submit to the dictation of an upper clerk, whose talents, or whose acquirements are perhaps much below that of both contending parties, whose interests are to be bound by his decision." " How would you remedy this evil ?" I said, for it was a subject in which I felt deeply interested, and one on which I knew he was the most competent man living to offi3r advice. *' Every board," he said, " must have a head, and, according to the structure of the machinery of this government, I would still have a Secretary of State for the Colonies ; but instead of under secre- taries, I would substitute a board of control, or council, which- ever board best suited, of which board he should be ex-officio Presi- dent. It is thought necessary, even in a colony, where a man can both hear, and see, and judge for himself, to surround a governor with a council, how much more necessary is it to afford that assist- ance to a man who never saw a colony, and, until he accepted office, probably never heard of half of them, or if he has heard of them, is not quite certain even as to their geographic situation. It is natural that this obvious necesblty should not have presented itself to a minister before : it is a restraint on power, and tlicrefore not accept- able. He is not willing to trust his governors, uad therefore gives SAM SLICK IN BNOLAND. 287 endant his iformation new colo- ? to leara, of public s happens gh know- nuance in asures of e cabinet, is parlia- e of them sonal and ■, and the issful dis- re either ir duties, ("ith such !mselves, id others :he office ut them- rs : it is, t a hasty on of an ps much e to be subject he was rding to ill have p secre- which- Presi- tan can >vernor assist- 1 office, lem, is latural f to a ^cept- I gives them a council ; he is then unwilling to trust both, and reserves the right to approve or reject their acts in certain cases. He thinks them incompetent ; but who ever supposed he was competent ? If the resident governor, aided by the best and wisest heads in a colony, advised, checked, and sounded by local public opinion, is not equal to the task, how can a Lancashire or Devonshire member of Par- liament be ? Ask the weak or the vain, or the somnolent ones, whom I need not mention by name, and they will severally tell you it is the easier thing in the world ; we understand the principles, and our under secretaries understand the details ; the only difficulty we have is in the ignorance, prejudice, and rascality of colonists themselves. Go and ask the present man, who is the most able, the most intelligent, the most laborious and eloquent one of them all, if there is any difficulty in the task to a person who sedulously strives to understand, and honestly endeavors to remedy colonial difficulties, and hear what he will tell you. " ' How can you ask me that question, Sir ? When did you ever call and find me absent from my post? Read my despatches, and you will see whether I work ; study them, and you will see whether I understand. I may not always judge rightly, but I endeavor always to judge honestly. You inquire whether there is any difficulty in the task. Can you look in my face and ask that question ? Look at my care-worn brow, my hectic eye, my attenuated frame, my pallid face, and my premature age, ond let them answer you. Sir, the labor is too great for any one man : the task is Herculean. Ambition may inspire, and fame may reward ; but it is death alone that weaves the laurel round the brow of a successful colonial minister.' * • , " No, my good friend, it cannot be. No man can do the work. If he at:;.mpts it, he must do it badly ; if he delegates it, it were better left undone : there should be a board of control or council. This board should consist in part of ex-governors and colonial offi- cers of English appointment, and in part of retired members of as- sembly or legislative councillors, or judges, or secretaries, or other similar functionaries, being native colonists. All of them should have served in public life a certain number of years, and all should be men who have stood high in public estimation, not as popular men (for that is no test), but for integrity, ability, and knowledge of the world. With such a council, so constituted, and so comported, you would never hear of a Governor-General dictating the des- patches that were to be sent to him, as is generally reported in Canada, with or without foundation, of Poulett Thompson. One of the best governed countries in the world is India ; but India is not governed in Downing Street. Before responsible government can be introduced there, it must receive the approbation of practical men, conversant with the country, deeply interested in its weli'are, 288 THE ATTACH^; OR, and perfectly competent to judge of its merits. India is safe from experiments ; I wish you were equally secure. While your local politicians distract the attention of the public with their personal squabbles, all these important matters are lost sight of, or rather are carefully kept out of view. The only voice that is now heard is one that is raised to mislead, and not to inform ; to complain with- out truth, to demand without right, and to obstruct without principle. Yes, you want a board of control. Were this once established, instead of having an office in Downing Street for the Secretary of State for the Colonies, which is all you now have, you would possess in reality what you now have nominally — ' a Colonial Office.' " CHAPTER LI. BARNEY OXMAN AND THE DEVIL. The manner and conduct of Colonel Slick has been so eccentric, that for several days past I have had some apprehensions that he was not altogether compos mentis. His spiritfs have been exceeding- ly unequal, being at times much exhilarated, and then subject to a corresponding depression. To-day, I asked his son if he knew what had brought him to England, but he was wholly at a loss, and evidently very anxious about him. " I don't know," he said, " what onder the sun fetched him here. I never heered a word of it till about a week afore he arrived. I then got a letter from him, but you can't make head or tail of it ; here it is. " * Dear Sam — Guess I'll come and see you for a spell ; but keep dark about it. I hante been much from home of late, and a run at grass won't hurt me, I reckon. Besides., I have an idea that some- thin' may turn up to advantage. At any rate, it's worth looking after. AH I want is proof, and then I guess I wouldn't call old Hickory, or Martin Van, no, nor Captain Tyler nother, my cousin. My farm troubles me, for a farm and a wife soon run wild if left alone long. Barney Oxman has a considerable of a notion for it, and Barney is a good ..farmer, and no mistake ; but I'm most afeerd he ain't the clear grit. Godward, he is very pious, but, manward, he is a little twistical. It was him that wrastled with the evil one at Musquash Creek, when he courted that long-legged heifer, Jerusha Eells. Fast bind, sure find, is my way ; and if he gets it, in course, he must tind security. I have had the rheumatiz lately. Miss Hubbard Hobbs, she that was Nancy Waddle, told me two teaspoonsful of brimstone, in a glass of gin, going to bed, for SAM SLICE IN ENGLAND. 289 safe from your local r personal or rather low heard ilain with- principle. tablished, iretary of Id possess se.' " jccentric, s that he :ceeding- (jeet to a lew what OSS, and "what of it till him, but }ut keep a run at it some- looking call old cousin. d if left n for it, I afeerd inward, Jvil one heifer, le gets umatiz old me led, for three nights, handrunnin\ was the onlyest thing in natur* for it. The old catamount was right for oncet in her life, as it cured me of the rheumatiz ; but it cured me of gin, too. I don't think I could drink it any more for thinkin' of the horrid brimstone. It was a little the nastiest dose I ever took ; still it's worth knowin'. I like simples better nor doctors' means any day. Sal made a hundred dollars by her bees, and three hundred dollars by her silk-worms, this year. It aint't so coarse that, is it? But Sal is a good girl, too good for that cussed idle fellow, Jim Munroe. What a fool I was to cut him down that time he got hung by the leg in the moose- trap you sot for him, warn't I ? There is nothin' new here, except them almighty villains, the Loco Focos, have carried their man for governor ; but this you will see by the papers. The wonder is what I'm going to England for ; but that is my business, and not theirn. I can squat lov/ and say nothin' as well as any one. A crittur that goes blartin' out all he knows to every one ain't a man in no sense of the word. If you haven't nothin' above partikelar to do, I should like you to meet me at Liverpool about the loth of next month that is to be, as I shall feel considerable scary -when I first land, seein' that I never was to England afore, and never could cleverly find my way about a large town at no time. If all eventuates right, and turns out well, it will saranly be the making of the Slick family, stock, lock, and barrel, that's a fact I most forgot to tell you about old Varginy, sister of your old Clay. I depend my life on that mar i. You can't ditto her nowhere. There actilly ain't a beast fit to be named on the same day with her in all this county. "Well, Varginy got a most monstrous fit of the botts. If she didn't stamp and bite her sides, and sweat all over like Statiee, it's a pity. She went most ravin' distracted mad with pain, and I actilly thought I'd a-lost her, she was so bad. Barney Oxman was here at the time, and sais he, * I'll cure her. Colonel, if you will leave it to me.' ' Well,' sais I, ' do what you please, only I wish you'd shoot the i- oor crittur to put her out of pain, for I believe her latter eend has come, that's ^ fact.' Well, what does he do, but goes and gets half a pint of hardwood ashes and pours on to it a pint of vinegar, opens Varginy's mouth, holds on to her tongue, and puts the nose of the bottle in; and I hope I may never live another blessed minit, if it didn't shoot itself right off down her throat. Talk of a beer bottle bustin' it's cork, and walkin' out quick stick, why, it ain't the smallest part of a circumstance to it. " * It cured her. If it warn't an active dose, then physic ain't medecine, that's all. It made the botts lose their hold in no time. It was a wonder to behold. I believe it wouldn't be a bad thing for a man in the cholera, for that ain't a bit wuss than botts, and nothin' invatur' can stand that dose — ^I ain't sure it wouldn't bust a byler. If I had my way, I'd physic them 'cussed Loco Fooos with it } it 13 ^BB 290 THE ATTACHE; OR, * \ f • would drive the devil out of them, as drownin' did out of the swine that was possessed. I raised my tuniips last year in my corn-hills at second hoeing ; it saved labor, land, and time, and was all clear gain : it warn't a bad notion, was it ? The Squash Bank has failed. I was wide awake for them ; I knowed it would, so I drawed out all I had there, and kept the balance agin me. I can buy their paper ten cents to the dollar to pay with. I hope you have nothin' in the consarn. I will tell you all other news when we meet. Give my respects to Gineral Wellington, Victoria Queen, Mr. Everett, and all inquiring friends. •' ' Your affectionate Father, "♦S. Slick, Lieut. Col."* " There it is," said Mr. Slick. " He has got some crotchet or another in his head, but what the Lord only knows. To-day, seein* he was considerable up in the stirrups, I axed him plain what it ac- tilly was that fetched him here. He turned right round fierce on me, and eyein* me all over, scorny like, he said, " The Great West- erh, Sam, a tight good vessel, Sam — ^it was that fetched me over ; and now you have got your answer, let me give you a piece of ad- vice : — Ax me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies.* And he put on his hat, and walked out of the room." " Old men," I said, " love to be mysterious. He probably came over to see you, to enjoy the spectacle of his son moving in a society to which he never could have aspired in his most visionary and cas- tle-building days. To conceal this natural feeling, he afiects a secret. Depend upon it, it is merely to pique your curiosity." " It may be so," said Mr. Slick, shaking his head, incredu- lously ; " it may be so, but he ain't a man to pretend nothin', is father." In order to change the conversation, which was too personal to be agreeable, I asked him what that story of wrastling with the evil one was, to which his father hinted in his letter. " Oh, wrastling with the evil one," says he, it ain't a bad story that ; didn't I ever tell you that frolic of ' Barney Oxman and the devil ?' " Well, there lived an old woman some years ago at Musquash Creek, in South Carolina, that had a large fortin' and an only dar- ter. She was a widder, a miser, and a dunker. She was very good, and very cross, as many righteous folks are, and had a loose tongue and a tight puss of her own. All the men that looked at her darter she thought had an eye to her money, and she warn't far out o* the way nother, for it seems as if beauty and money was too much to go together in a general way. Rich galls and handsome galls are sel- dom good for nothin' else but their cash or their looks. Fears and peaches ain't often found on the same tree, I tell you. She lived SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. S91 all alone a'most, with nobody but her darter and her in the house, and some old nigger slaves, in a hut near at hand ; and she seed no company she could help. The only place they went to, in a gineral way, was meetin', and Jerusha never missed that, for it was the only chance she had sometimes to get out alone. " Barney had a most beautiful voice, and always went there too, to sing along with the galls; and Barney, hearin' of the fortin of Miss Eels, made up to her as fierce as possible, and sung so sweet, and talked so sweet, and kissed so sweet, that he soon stood number one with the heiress. But then he didn't often get a chance to walk home with her, and when he did, she darsn't let him come in for fear of the old woman ; but Barney warn't to be put off that way long. When a gall is in one pastur*, and a lover in another, it's a high fence they can't get over, that's a fact. " * Tell you what,* sais Barney, * sit up alone in the keepin' room, Bushy dear, arter old mother has gone to bed, put out the light, and I'll slide down on the rope from the trap-door on the roof. Tell her you are exercised in your mind, and want to meditate alone, as the words you have heard this day have reached your heart.* ''Jerusha was frightened to death a'most, but what won't a woman do when a lover is in the way. So that very night she told the old woman she was exercised in her mind, and would wrastle with the spirit '" Do, dear,* says her mother, ' and you won't think of the vanities of dress, and idle company no more. You see how I have given them all up since I made profession, and never so much as speak of them now, no, nor even thinks of 'em.' " Strange, Squire, ain't it ! But it's much easier to cheat our- selves than cheat the devil. That old hag was too stingy to buy dress, but persuaded herself it was bein' too good to wear it. " Well, the house was a flat-roofed house, and had a trap-door in the ceilin', over the keepin' room, and there was a crane on the roof, with a rope to it, to pull up things to spread out to dry there. As soon as the lights were all out, and Barney thought the old woman was asleep, he crawls up on the house, opens the trap-door, and lets himself down by the rope, r 'd he and Jerusha sat down into the hearth in the chimney comer courtin*, or as they call it in them diggins * sniflBn' ashes.* When daylight began to show, he went up the rope hand over hand, hauled it up arter him, closed to the trap- door, and made himself scarce. Well, all this went on as slick as could be for awhile, but the old woman seed that her daughter looked pale, and as if sho hadn't had sleep enough, and there was no gettin* of her up in the momin' ; and when she did she was yawkin' and gapin*, and so dull she hadn*t a word to say. " She got very uneasy about it at last, and used to get up in the night sometimes and call her darter, and make her go off to bed, and 292 THB ATTACH^; OK, i < ! " oncet or twice came plaguy near catching of them. So what does liarnuy do, but takes two niggers with Iiini when he goes urtcr thut, and leaves them on the root', and fastens a large basket to the rope, and tells them if they feel the rope pulled to hoist away for dear life, bu(^ not to speak a word for tlie world. Well, one night the old woman came to the door as usual, and sais, * Jerusha,' suys she, * what on airth ails you, to make you sit up all night that way ; do con)j} to bed, that's a dear.* ' Presently, marm,' says she, * I am wrastling with the evil one, now ; I'll come presently.' ' Dear, dear,' sais she, ' you have wrastled long enough with him to have throwed Iiim by this time. If you can't throw him now, give it up, or he may throw you.' Presently, marm,' sais her darter. ' It's always the same tune,' sais her mottier, going off grumbling ; — ' it's always pre- sently, presently ; — what has got into the gall to act so ? Oli, dear I what a pertracted time she has on it. She has been sorely exerci- 8ed, poor girl.* '* As soon as she had gone, Barney larfed so he had to put his arm round her waist to steady him on the bench, in a way that didn't look onlike rompin', and when he went to whisper he larfed so he did nothin' but touch her cheek with his lips, in a way that looked plaguily like kissing, and felt like it too, and she pulled to get away, and they had a most reg'lar wrastle as they sat on the bench, when, as luck would have it, over went the bench, and down went both on *em on the floor with an awful smash, and in bounced the old woman — ' Which is uppermost ?' sais she ; — ' Have you throw'd Satan, or has Satan throw'd you ? Speak, Rushy ; speak dear ; who's throw'd ?' ' I have throw'd him,' sais her darter ; ' and I hope I have broke his neck, he acted so.' * Come to bed, then,' sais she, ' darling, and be thankful ; say a prayer backward, and' — jist then the old woman was seized round the waist, hoisted through the trap- door ito the roof, and from there to the top of the crane, where t)ie basket stopped, and the first thing she know'd she was away up ever so far in the air, swingin* in a large basket, and no soul near her. " Barney and his niggers cut stick double quick, crept into the bushes, and went all round to the road in front of the house, just as day was breakin*. The old woman -was then singin' out for dear life, kickin', and squealin', and cryin', and prayin', all in one, pro- perly frightened. Down runs Barney as hard as he could clip, lookin' as innocent as if he'd never heerd nothin' of it, and pertendin' to be horrid frightened, ofit^rs his services, climbs up, releases the old woman, and gets blessed and thanked, and thanked and blessed till he was tired of it. ' Oh !* says the old woman, ' Mr. Oxman, the moment Jeruslui tlirowed the evil one, the house shook like an airth- quake, and as I entered the room he seized me, put me into a bas- SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 293 ket, and flew off with me. Oh, I shall never forget his fiery eye« balls, and the horrid smell of brimstone he hud!' " ' Had he a cloven foot, and a long tail ?' sais Barney. * I couldn't see in the dark,' sais she, * but his claws were awful sharp ; oh, how they dug into my ribs I it e'en a'most took the flesh off'— oh, dear I Lord have mercy on us ! I hope he is laid in the Red Sea, now.' 'Tell you what it is, aunty,' sais Barney, 'that's an awful Btory, keep it secret for your life ; folks might say the house was hamted — that you was possessed, and that Jerushy was in league with the evil one. Don't so much as lisp a syllable of it to a livin' sinner breathin' ; keep the secret and I will help you.' "The hint took, the old woman had no wish to be bum:, or drown'd for a witch, and the moment a feller has a woman's secret he is that woman's master. He was invited there, stayed there, and married there ; but the old woman never know'd who the ' evil one* was, and always thought till her dyin' day it was old Scratch him- self. Arter her death they didn't keep it secret no longer; and many a good lough has there been at the story of Barney Oxmaa and the devil." , , ..w- CHAPTER LII. REPUDIATION. ... During the last week I went into Gloucestershire, for the pur- pose of visiting an old and much valued friend, who resides near Cirencester. In the car there were two gentlemen, both of whom were strangers to me, but we soon entered into conversation. One of them, upon ascertaining where I was from, made many anxious inquiries as to the probability of the Repudiating States ever repay- ing the money that had been lent to them by this country. He said he had been a great sufferer himself, but what he regretted much more than his own loss was, that he had been instrumental in indu- cing several of his friends to invest largely in that sort of stock. I told him I was unable to answer the question, though I thought the prospect rather gloomy ; that if, however, he was desirous of procu- ring accurate information, I could easily obtain it for him, as the celebrated Mr. Slick, and a very distinguished American cler- gyman, were now in London, to whom I would apply on the subject. " Mr. Slick !" he said, with much surprise, " is there, then, really such a person as Sam Slick ? I always thought it a fictitious i H 294 THE ATTAOHi) ; OB, / character, although the man is drawn so naturally, I have never been able to divest myself of som^ ddqbts as to his reality." "There is," I said, "smcA a nUzuas Mr. Slick, and such a man as Mr. Hopewell, although those ai^npt' their real names ; I know the persons well. The author has <^rawn them from life. Moat of the anecdotes in those books called! / 3^te Clockmaker,' and ' Attache,' are real ones. The travelling^arts of them are fictitious, and intro- duced merely as threads to st^mg l^e conversations on, while the reasoning and humorous part^ ti(re . only such as both those persons are daily in the habit of utterinj^or would have uttered if the topics were started in their presence. .,,J5i» • , -.• 13* SB 298 THE ATTACH^ ; OB, « Well, call it what you like, I wish you had never been bred a preacher." ** I have no such wish. I do not, at the close of my life, desire to exclaim with Wolsey, ' Had I served my God with half the zeal I have served my king, he would not now have deserted me in my old age.'" " You hante got a king, and nobody sarves a president, for he is nothin' but one of us, so you needn't be skeered, but I do wish you'd a-taken to politics. Good gracious, why can't Stephenson or Everitt talk as you do ; why don't they put the nail in the right place, and strike it right straight on the head ? The way you put that repudi- ation is jist the identical thing. Bowin' gallus polite, and sayin' — * Debt is all right, you ought to have it — a high tone of feelin' — very sorry — force of circumstances — ^political institutions — universal suffrage — happy country. England — national honor all in my eye — good bye V How much better that is, than justifyin', or buUyin' or sayin' they are just as bad themselves, and only make matters wus ; I call that now true policy." "If you call that true policy, I am sorry for you," he replied; " because it is evident you are ignorant of a very important truth." « What is that. Minister ?" " * That honesty is always the best policy! Had this great moral lesson been more universally known, you never would have heard of * Bepudiaiion* " CHAPTER LIII. THE BACKLOG, OR COOLNES As we sat chatting together late last night, the danger of a fire at sea was talked of, the loss of the * Kent' Ladiaman, and the remark- able coolness of Colonel M'Grigor on that occasion was discussed, and various anecdotes related of calmness, presence of mind, and coolness, under every possible form of peril. " There is a good deal of embellishment in all these stories," said Mr. Slick. " There is always a fact to build a story on, or a peg to hang it on, and this makes it probable ; so that the story and its fic- tions get so mixed up, you can't tell at last what is truth and what is fancy. A good story is never spiled in the tellin', except by a crittur that don't know how to tell it. Battles, shipwrecks, highway robberies, blowed-up steamers, vessels a fire, and so on, lay a foun- dation as facts. Some people are saved — that's another fact to build on ; — some captain, or passenger, or woman hante fainted, and that's I;! SAM SLIOK IN ENGLAND. 299 enough to make a grand affair of it You can't hardly believe none of them, that's the truth. Now, I'll tell you a story that happen'd in a farm-house near to father's to Slickville, jist a common scene of common life, and no romance about it, that does jist go for to show what I call coolness : ** Our nearest neighbor was Squire Peleg Sanford ; well, the old Squire and all his £itmily was all of them the most awful passionate folks that ever lived, when they chose, and then they could keep in their temper, and be as cool at other times as cucumbers. One night, old uuch) Peleg, as he was called, told his son Gucom, a boy of fourteen years old, to go and bring in a backlog for the fire. A backlog, you know. Squire, in a wood fire, is always the biggest stick that one can find or carry. It takes a stout junk of a boy to lift one. ^ Well, as soon as Gucom goes to fetch the log, the old Squire drags forward the coals, and fixes the fire so as to leave a bed for it, and stands bj ready to fit it into its place. Presently in comes Gu- com with a Uttle cat stick, no bigger than his leg, and throws it on. Uncle Peleg got so mad, he never said a word, but just seized his ridin' whip, and gave him a'most an awful wippin'. He tanned his hide properly for him, you may depend. ^ Now,' said he, ^ go. Sir, and bring in a proper backlog.' *^ Gucom was clear ^it as well as the old man, for he was a chip of the old block, and no mistake ; so, out he goes without so much as sayin' a word, but instead of goin' to the wood pile, he walks off altogether, and staid away eight years, till he was one-and-twenty, and his own master. Well, as soon as he was a man grown, and lawfully on his own hook, he took it into his head one day he'd go to home and see his old father and mother agin, and show them he was alive and kickin', for they didn't know whether he was dead or Dot, never havin' heard of, or from him one blessed word all that time. When he arrived to the old house, daylight was down, and lights lit, and as he passed the keepin'-room winder, he looked in, and there was old Squire sittin' in the same chair he was eight years afore, when he ordered in the backlog, and gave him such an on- marciful wippin'. So, what does Gucom do, but stops at the wood pile, and picks up a most hugaceous log (for he had grow'd to be a'most a thunderin' big feller then), and, openin' the door, he marches in, and lays it down on the hearth, and then lookin' up, sais he, * Father, I've brought you in the backlog.' " Uncle Peleg was struck up all of a heap ; he couldn't believe his eyes, that that great six-footer was the boy he had cow-hided, and he couldn't believe his ears when he heard him call him father ; a man from the grave wouldn't have surprised bim more — ^he was quite on&kilized, and be-dumbed for a minute. But he came top right off, and was iced down to freezin' point in no time. f ■i 800 THE ATTACH^; OR, ' ' " * What did you say ?' sais he. " ' That I have brought you in the backlog, Sir, you sent me out for." ; " * Well, then, you've been a d 'd long time a-fetchin' it,' sais he ; ' that's all I can say. Draw the coals forrard, put it on, and then go to bed.' " Now, that's a fact. Squire ; I know'd the parties myself — and that's what 1 do call coolness — ^and no mistake f CHAPTER LIV. MARRIAGE. 9' To-DAT, as we passed St. James's church, we found the streets in the neighborhood almost obstructed by an immense concourse of fashionable carriages. " Ah !" said Mr. Slick, " here is a splice in high life to-day. I wish to goodness I could scrouge in and see the gall. Them nobility women are so horrid hansuin, they take the shine off all creation a'most. I'll bet a goose and trimmins she looks like an angel, poor thing! Fd like to see her, and somehow I wouldn't like to see her nother. I like to look at beauty always, my heart yarns towards it ; and I do love women, the dear critturs, that's a fact. There is no musick to my ear Uke the rustlin' of petticoats; but then I pity one o' these high bred galls, that's made a show of that way, and decked out in first chop style, for all the world to stare at afore she is offered up as a sacrifice to gild some old coronet with her money, or enlarge some landed estate by addin' her'n on to it. Half the time it ain't the joinin' of two hearts, but the joinin* of two pusses, and a wife is chose like a boss, not for her looks, but for what she will fetch. It's the greatest wwider in the world them kind o' marriages turn out as well as they do, all thin's considered. I can't account for it no way but one, and that is, that love that grows up slow will last longer than love that's bom full grown. The fust is love, the last is passion. Fashion rules all here. " These Londoners are about as consaited folks of their own ways as you'll find onder the sun a'most. They are always a-jawin* about good taste, and bad taste, and correct taste, and all that sort o' thin'. Fellers that eat and drink so like the devil as they do, it's no wonder that word ' taste ' is for everlastiu' in their mouth. Now, to my mind, atween you and me and the post, for I darn't say so here to company, they'd stare so if I did, but atween you and me, I don't think leadin' a gall out to a church chock full of company, to be SAM SLICE IN ENGLAND. 801 stared at, like a prize ox, by all the young bucks and the old does about town, to criticise, satirize, and jokerise on, or make prophecies on, a-pityin' the poor feller that's caught such an almighty tartar, or a-f'eelin' for the poor gall that's got such an awful dissipated feller; or rakin' up old stories to new-frame 'em as pictures to amuse folks with, (for envy of a good match always gets to pityin' *em, as if it liked 'em, and was sorry for 'em,) and then to lead her off to a de- juney a la fussier ; to hear her health drunk in wine, and to hear a whisper atween a man-woman and a woman-man, not intended to be heerd, except on purpose ; and then posted off to some old mansion or another in the country^ and all along the road to be the standin' joke of post-boys, footmen, and ladies' maids, and all them kind o' cattle ; and then to be yoked together alone with her lover in that horrid large, lonely, dismal house, shut up by rain all the time, and imprisoned long enough to git shockin' tired of each other ; and then to read her fate on the wall in portraits of a long line of ancestral brides,- who came there bloomin', and gay, and young like her, and in a little while grew fat and old, or skinny and thin, or deaf, or blind, (women never get dumb,) and who sickened and pined and died, and went the way of all flesh ; and she shudders all over, when she thinks in a few years some other bride will look at her pictur', and say, 'What a queer looking woman that is I how unbecomin' her hair is done up !' and then, pi'ntin' to her bustle, say to her brides- maid in a whisper, with a scomy look, ' Do you suppose that moun- tain was a bustle, or was she a Hottentot Venus, grandpa' married?' and bridesmaid will say, ' Dreadful looking woman Land she squints, too, I think ;' then to come 'back to town to run into t'other extreme, and never to be together agin, but always in company, havin' a great horror of that long, lone, tiresome honey-moon month in the country; — all this ain't to my mind, now, jist the best taste in the world no- ther. I don't know what you may think, but that's my humble opinion, now that's a fact. We make everlastin* short work of it sometimes. It reminds me of old uncle Peleg I was a-tellin' you of last night, who acted so cool about the backlog. He was a magis- trate to Slickville, was Squire Peleg ; and by our law Justices of the Peace can splice folks as well as Ministers can. So, one day Slocum Outhouse called there to the Squire's with Deliverance Cook. They was well acquainted with the Squire, for they was neighbors of his, but they was awful afeerd of him, he was such a crotchical, snappish, odd, old feller. So, after they sot down in the room, old Peleg sais, ' You must excuse my talkin' to-day, friend Outhouse, for,' sais he, ' Pm so almighty busy a-writin' ; but the women-folks will be in bime bye ; the'r jist gone to meetin'.' ' Well, sais Slocum, ♦ we won't detain you a minit. Squire ; me and Deliverance come to make declaration of marriage, and have it registered.' ' Oh ! goin' to be married,' sais he ; ' eh ? that's right, marry in haste and repent at i 802 THE ATTACH^ ; OB, leisure. Very fond of each other now ; quarrel like the devil by and bye. Hem ! what cussed fools some folks is ;' and he never sais another word, but wrote and wrote on, and never looked up, and there they sot and sot, Slocum and poor Deliverance, a-lookin' like a pair of fools ; they know'd they couldn't move him to go one inch faster than he chose, and that he would have his own way at any rate ; so, they Iqpked at each other and shook their heads, and then looked down and played with their thumbs, and then they scratched their pates, and put one leg over t'other, and then shifted it back agin, and then they looked out o' the winder, and counted all the poles in the fence, and all the hens in the yard, and watched a man a-plougliin' in a field, goin' first up and 'then down the lidge; then Slocum coughed, and then Deliverance coughed, so as to attract old Squire's attention, and make him 'tend to their business ; but no, no- thing would do : he wrote, and he wrote, and he wrote, and he never stopped, nor looked up, nor looked round, nor said a word. Then Deliverance looked over at the Squire, made faces, and nodded and motioned to Outhouse to go to him, but he frowned and shook his head, as much as to say, '1 darsn't do it, dear, I wish you would.' " At last, she got narvous, and began to cry out of clear sheer spite, for she was good stuff, rael steel, put an edge on a knife a'most ; and that got Slocum's dander up, — so he ups off of his seat, and spunks up to the old Squire, and sais he, * Squire, tell you what, we came here to get married ; if you are a-goin' for to do the job well and good, if you ain't, say so, and we will go to some one else.' < What job,' sais old Pelcg, a-lookin' up as innocent as you please. * Why, niarry us,' sais Slocum. • Marry you !' sais he, * why d — ^n you, you was married an hour and a-half ago, man. What are you a-talkin' about? I thought you was a-goin' to spen^the night here, or else had repented of your bargain ;' and he sot back in his chair, and larfed ready to kill himself. ' What the devil have you been waitin' for all this time ?' sais he ; ' don't you know that makin' de- claration, as you did, is all that's required ? — but come, let's take a glass of grog. Here's to your good health, Mr. SlocMm, or Slow-go, as you ought to be called, and the same to you. Deliverance. What a nice 'name you've got, too, for a bride ;* and he larfed agin till they both joined in it, and larfed, too, like anythin' ; for larfin' is catchin', you can't help it sometimes, even suppose you are vexed. " ' Yes,' sais he, ' long life and as much happiness to you both as you can cleverly digest ;' and then he shook hands with the bride, and whispered to her, and she colored up, and looked horrid pleased, and sais, ' Now, Squire, positively, you ought to be ashamed, that's a fact' • « Now," said Mr. Slick, "a feller that ain't a fool, like Slocum, and don't know when he is married, can get the knot tied without fuss or loss of time with us, can't he ? — ^Yes, I don't like a show SAM 8LI0K IK ENGLAND. I «08 like that affair like this. To mj mind, a quiet, private marriage, Uncle Peleg's is jist about the right thing."/ " Sam," said Mr. Hopewell, " I am surprised to hear jou talk that way. As to the preference of a quiet marriage over one of these public displays, I quite agree with you. But you are under a great mistake in supposing that you dare not express that opinion in Eng- land, for every right-minded person here will agree with you. Any opinion that cannot be expressed here must be a wrong one, indeed ; me judgmenty the feeling, and the Xaste of society is so good I But Btill the ceremony should always be performed in the church, and as I was saying, I'm surprised to hear you approve of such an affair as that at Squire Peleg's office. Making marriage a mere contract, to be executed like any other secular obligation, before the civil magis- trate, is one of the most ingenious contrivances of the devil to loosen jioral obligations that I know of at all. « When I tell you the Whigs were great advocates for it here, I am sure I need not give you its character in stronger language. Their advent to office depended on all those opposed to the church ; everything, therefore, that weakened its influence or loosened its con- nection with the State, was sure to obtain their strenuous assistance. Transferring this ceremony from the church to the secular power was one of their popular kites ; and to show you how little it was re- quired by those who demanded it, or how little it was valued when obtained, except in a political point of view, I need only observe that the number of magisterial marriages is on the decrease in England, and not on the increase* "The women of England, much to theur honor, object to this mode of marriage. Intending to fulfil their own obligations, and feeling an awful responsibility, they desire to register them at the altar, and to implore the blessing of the Church, on the new career of life into which they are about to enter, and at the same time they indulge the rational and well-founded hope that the vows so solemnly and publicly made to them before God and man will be more strictly observed, in proportion as they are more deeply considered, and more solemnly proclaimed. There are not many things that suggest more important considerations than that connection which is so lightly talked of, so inconsiderately entered into, and so little ap- preciated as — ^Marriage." I 804 THB ATTACH^; OR, I I CHAPTER LV. PAYING AND RETURNING VISITS. " "Which way are you a-goin', Squire ?" said Mr. Slick, who saw me preparing to go out this morning. " I am going/' I said, " to call on an old schoolfellow that is now living in London. I have not seen him since we sat on the same benches at school, and have been unable to ascertain his address un- til this moment." " Could he have ascertained your address?" " Oh, yes, easily; all the Nova Scotians in town know it; most of the Canada merchants, and a very large circle of acquaintance. Many others who did not know so well where to inquire as he does, have found it." " Let me see," he replied, " how long have we been here ? — Four months. — Let him be, then ; he ain't worth knowin', that feller — he hante a heart as big as a pea. Oh ! Squire, you don't know 'cause you hante travelled none ; but I do, 'cause I've been everywhere a'most, and I'll tell you somethin' you hante experienced yet. Ain't there a good many folks to Hahfax, whose faces you know, but whose names you don't, and others whos^ mugs and names you know, but you don't parsonally know them ?— certainly. Well, then, s'pose you are in London, or^aris, or Canton, or Petersburg, and you suddenly come across one o' these critturs, that you pass every day without lookin' at or thinkin' of, nor knowin' or carin' to know when you are to home — What's the first thing both of you do, do as you suppose ? Why run right up to each other, out paws, and shake hands, till all is blue again. Both of you ax a bushel of ques- tions, and those questions all lead one way — to Nova Scotia, to Hali- fax, to the road to Windsor ; — then you try to stay together, or travel together; and if either of you get sick, tend each other; or get into scrapes, fight for each other. Why ? because you are country- men— countymen — ^townsmen — ^because you see home wrote in each other's face as plain as anything ; because each of you is in t'other's eyes a part of that home, a part that when you are in your own country you don't vally much ; because you have both nearer and dearer parts, but still you have a kind of nateral attraction to each other, as a piece of home ; and then that awakens all the kindly feel- SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 805 who saw lat is now the same Idress un- most of laintance. } he does, ! ? — Four isUer — he )w 'cause eiywhere et. Ain't enow, but lines you r. WeU, tersburg, you pass carin* to f you do, >aws, and of ques- toHali- Jther, or r; or get country- ! in each t'other's aur own irer and to each dly feel- in's of the heart, and makes it as sensitive and tender as a skinned eel. But, oh, dear me ! if this piece of home happens to be an old schoolfeller, don't it awaken idees, not only of home, but idces long since forgotten of old time ? ^Memory acts on thought like sudden heat on a dormant fly^ it wakes it from the dead, puts new life into tV, and it stretches out its wings and buzzes round as if it had never slept. When you see him, don't the old schoolmaster rise up before you as nateral as if it was only yesterday ? and the school-room, and the noisy, larkin', happy holidays, and you boys let out, racin, yelpin*, hoUerin', and whoopin', like mad, with pleasure ; and the play- ground, and the game at bass in the fields, or hurly on the long pond on the ice, or campin' out a-night at Chester lakes to fish^-catchin' no trout, gettin' wet thro' and thro' with rain like a drown'd rat — eat up body and bones by black flies and muschetoes, retumin' tired to death, and callin' it a party of pleasure ; or riggin' out in pumps for dancin' schools, and the little fust loves for the pretty little galls there, when the heart was romantic and looked away ahead into an avenue of years, and seed you and your little tiny partner at the head of it, driven in a tandem sleigh of your own, and a grand house to live iUj, and she your partner through life ; or else you in the grove back o' the school, away up in a beech tree, settin' straddle- legged on a limb with a jack-knife in your hand, cuttin' into it the two fust letters of her name — F. L., fust love ; never dreamin' the bark would grow over them in time on the tree, and the world, the flesh, and the devil, rub them out of the heart in arter years also. Then comes robbin' orchards and fetchin' home nasty puckery apples to eat, as sour as Greek, that stealin' made sweet ; or gettin' out o' winders at night, goin' down to old Ross's, orderin' a supper, and pocketin' your fust whole bottle of wine. Oh 1 that fust whole bottle christened the man, and you woke up sober next momin', and got the fuat; taste o' the world — sour in the mouth — sour in the stomach — sour in the temper, and sour all over ; — ^yes, that's the world. Oh, Lord I don't them and a thousand more things rush right into your mind, like a crowd into a theatre seein' which can get in fust. Don't it carry you back afore sad realities, blasted hopes, and false hearts had chilled your aflections. *^ " Oh, dear! you don't know, 'cause in ox)urse youhante travelled none, and can't know, but I do. Lord ! meetia' a crittur away from home that way, has^actilly made me pipe my eye afore now. Now a feller that don't feel this, that was to school with you, and don't yam towards you, that is a-sojoumin' here and knows you are here, and don't run full clip to you and say, * Oh, how glad I am to see you ! Come and see me as often as you can ;^-can't I do anything for you, as I know town better nor you do ? Is there anything I can ehow you ? Oh ! how glad I've been to see your name in the papers — ^to hear folks praise your books — to find you've got on in the 806 THE ATTACH^; OB, t I world. Well, Fm glad of it for your sake — for the sake of the school and old Nova Scotia, and then how's so and so ? Does A drink as hard as ever ; is B as busy a-skinnin' a sixpence ? and C as fond of horse racing ? They tell me D is the most distinguished man in New Brunswick, and so on^-eh ? What are you a-doin' to-day, come and dine with me ?— engaged ; tc-morrow ?— engaged ; next day ? — engaged. Well, name a day — engaged every day for a fort- night. The devil you are ; — at this rate I shan't see you at all. Well, mind you are engaged to me for your Sunday dinner every Sunday you are in town, and as much oflener as you can. I'll drop in every mornin' as I go to my office about breakfast time and give you a hiul — I have an appointment now. Good bye I old feller, dev- lish glad to see you ;' and then returnin' afore he gets to the door, and pattin' you on the shoulders, affectionate like, he'd say with a grave face — " Good heavens I how many sad recollections you call up 1 How many of our old schoolfellows are called to their long ac- count !— eh ? Well, I am right glad to see you agin safe and sound, wind and limb, at any rate — good bye !' ** Yes, Squire, every pleasure has its pain, for pain and pleasure are like the Siamese twins. They have a nateral cord of union, and are inseparable. Fain is a leetle, jist a leetle smaller than t'other, is more narvous, and, in course, twice as sen:'itive; you can't feel pleasure without feelin' pain, but that ain't the worst of it nother ; for git on t'other side of 'em, and you'll find you can often feel pain without as much as touching pleasure with the tip eend of your finger. Yes, the pleasure of seein' you brings up to that crit- tur that pang of pain that shoots through the heart. < How many of our old schoolfellers are called to their long accounts I' " How nateral that was ! for. Squire, of all that we knew when young, how few are really left to us ! the sea has swallowed some, and the grave has closed over others ; the battle-field has had its fihare, and disease has marked out them that is to follow. ^ Ah me ! we remember with pleasure, we think with pain. But this crittur — ^heavens and airth ! what's the sea, the grave, the battle- field, or disease, in comparison of him ? Them's nateral things ; but here's a feller without a heart ; it has been starved to death by the neglect of the affections. ^< Oh ! Squire, if you'd a-travelled alone in distant countries as I have, you'd a-knowed it's a great relief in a foreign land to meet one from home, and open the flood-gate, and let these thoughts and feel- in's out ; for when they are pent up they ain't healthy, and breed home-sickness, and that's an awful feelin' ; and the poorer a country is folks come from, the more they are subject to this complaint. How does he know you ain't home-sick, for that ain't confined to no age ? How does he know there never was a man in the world met with so much kindness in London as you have, and from entire strangers "• i|i|i J 111" immmr BAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 807 Ike of the Does A andC as shed man n' to-daj, ed; next or a fort- Du at all. er every I'll drop and give Her, dev- the door, y with a you call long ac- td sound, pleasure )f union, ler than ^ou can't ■St of it iaa often eend of ;hat crit- iw many !W when d some, had its But this battle- gs; but I by the ies as I leet one nd feel- 1 breed country How 10 age? with so rangers too, and that you dt n't need him or his attentions ? How does he know I am with you, that can talk a man dead ? He don't know, and he don't care. Now, as he hante been near you, and you here four months, he ain't worth a cuss ; he ain't nateral, and a crittur that ain't nateral ain't worth nothin'. Cut him as dead as a skunk ; say as Crockett did, ' you may go to h — I, and I'll go to Texas.' If I was you I wouldn't tell that story, it tante no credit to Nova Sco- tia, and your countrymen won't thank you a bit for it, I can tell you. " Oh I Squire, I am 'most afraid sometimes there ain't no sich thing as reel friendship in the world. I am a good natered crittur, and always was, and would go to old Nick to sarve a friend. Father used to say I was like a saw horse, my arms was always open ; and I'd find in the eend I'de be sawed up myself for my pains. Faith I if I'm in trouble or keeled up with sickness, every feller has an ex- cuse ; one's goin' to marry a wife, another to buy a yoke of oxen, and a third sais it will cost him sixpence. Doin' a man a favor is no way to make a friend : the moment you lay him under an obliga- tion youS^e sold him. An obligation is a horrid heavy thing to carry. As soon as he buckles it on and walks a little way, he sais, * Well, this is a-most a devil of a heavy pack to cany ; I'm e'en a'most tired to death. I'll sit down and rest ;' so down he pops and * laments his hard fortin. Then he ups and tries it again, and arter joggin' on a space, sais, ' Plague take the strap, how it cuts into the shoulder, don't it ? I must stop agin and fix it.' Then he takes a fresh departur', and grumbles and growls as he goes on like a bear with a sore head, and sais, ' Oh ! my sakes, am I to carry this infar- nal bundle all my life long ? Why it will kill me, its so everlastin' almighty heavy, that's a fact. I must stop to drink, for I am 'nation thirsty.' Well, he slips it off, and lays down and takes a drink, and then gets up and stretches himself, and sais, ' Well, I feel a great deal better, and lighter too, without that 'tarnal knapsack. I'll be shot if I'll take it up agin, see if I do ; so there now !' and he jist gives it a kick into the brook and walks on without it, a free man, whistlin' as he goes that old psalm tune, < O ! be joyful, all ye lands I' ''Nothin' is so heavy to carry as gratitude. Few men have strength enough to bear the weight long, I can tell you. The only way that I know to make a feller your friend is to kick him. Jist wfdk into the street, look out a good countenanced crittur that you think you'd like, seize him by the scruff of'the neck, hold him out to arm's-length, and kick him into a jelly a'most, and when you've done, turn him round, stare him in the face, look puzzled like, and say, * I beg your pardon, I am very sorry, but I took you for so and so ; I'll make you any compensation in the world : I feel quite streaked, I do indeed.' * I'll tell you what it is, my friend^ he'll say — he'll call you friend at oncet — ' tell you what, my friend, another time, when you assault, a man, be sure that you get hold of the right one. A mistake "^^ JF^IHVWT'"!, * ^"f'r ^ ^ir "Tuw tip r^r 808 THE ATTACH^:; OB, of this kind is no joke, I assure you.' ' My dear friend* sais you— for you'll call him dear friend at oncet — ' you can't feel more ugly about it than I do ; I'm grieved to death." '' You and him will be sworn friends afterwards for ever and a day, see if you ain't ; he has been kicked into an intimacy ; an obli- gation sells one out of it. We may like those we have injured, or that have injured us, 'cause it is something we can forgive or forget. We can't like those chat have done us a favor, for it ia a thing we never forgive. Now, what are ceremonials but ice-houses that keep affections cold, when the blood is at a high temperature? Retumin' calls by leavin' cards ; what sense is there in that ? It consumes good card-board, and wastes valuable time. Doctors are the only people that understand payin' and retumin* visits. I shall never forget a story brother Josiah, the Doctor, told me oncet about the medical way of visitin'. I was a-goin' oncet from Charleston to Bal- timore, and sais Josiah, ' Sam,* sais he, ' when do you go ?' ' To-mor- row,' sais I, ' at eight.* ' I'll go with you,' he sais ; ' I want to make a mornin' call there.* * A momin' call,' sais I ; * it's a plaguy long way to go for that, and considerable costly, too, unless it's a gal you want to see, and that alters the case. Are you so soft in the horn as to go all that distance jist to leave a card ?* * Sam,* he sais, do you recollect when we was to night-school to old Minister, his ex- plainin* what ellipsis was ?' ' No, I never heerd of it afore, is it a medicine?' 'Medicine! what a fool you be.' 'Well, what the plague is it then,' sais I, ' is it French ?' ' Why, Sam, do you recol- lect one single blessed thing you ever lamt to school ?' ' Yes, I do,* sais I, * I larnt that a man who calls his brother a fool is apt to git knocked down, in the first place, and is in danger of somethin' worse hereafter, a plaguy sight stronger nor your doctor's stuff.' * Don't you recollect ellipsis ?' sais he ; ' it's somethin' to be onderstood but not expressed.* ' Well, I think I do mind it, now you mention it,' sais I. ' Well,* sais he, ' doctors' visits are ellipsis visits, there is a good deal onderstood but not expressed. I'll tell you how it is : I've got business at the bank at Baltimore. Well, I go there, do my business up all tight and snug, and then go call op Doctor Flagg. Flagg sais, ' How are you, Slick ? when did you come, eh ? ghd to see you, old fellow. Come with me, I have a most interestin' case ; it's a lady ; she gobbles her food like a hen-turkey, and has got the dispepsy. I don't like to talk to her about chawin* her food fine, and boltin*, for I'm afeerd of offendin' her ; so I give her medicine to do the work of her teeth.' ' Oh !' sais I, ' I take' — and I goes with him to see her ; he tells me her treatment afore her, jist as if he had never mentioned it, and as grave as if he was in airnest * Excellent,' I say, — ' nothin' could be better ; that infusion of quas- sia chips is somethin' new in practice, that I take to be a discovery of your own.* He sais, ♦ Yesj I rather pride myself on it.* 'You SAM SLICE m ENOLAND. 809 d* saia you— eel more ugly or ever and a acy ; an obli- ge injured, or ;ive or forget. is a thing we uses that keep ? Retumin' It consumes are the only [ shall never et about the lesten to Bal- 3?"To-mor- rsLiit to make plaguy long t's a gal you in the horn ,' he sais, do ister, his ex- afore, is it a 1, what the o you recol- ; Yes, I do/ is apt to git ethin' worse ff.' 'Don't erstood but mention it,' there is a ^ it is : I've lere, do my Jtor Flagg. h ? g?Hd to estin' case ; has got the r food fine, r medicine and I goes r, jist as if in airnest. m of quas- discovery it.' «You have reason,' I say. — * I think, madam,' sais I, ' there is some ple- thora here. I would recommend you to comminuate your food into a more attenuated shape, for the peristallic action is weak.' — We re- turn, and he slips a twenty-dollar bill into my hands ; as we go out the front door, he winks and sais, ' Do you stay to-morrow, SUck, I have another case.' — * No, thank you, I'm off at daylight.* " When he comes to Charleston I return the visit, my patients fee AVm, and travellin' costs neither of us a cent. Its done by ellipses, it ain't all put down in writin', or expressed in words, but its onder- stood. " No, Squire, friendship is selfishness half the time. If your skunk of a blue-nose friend could a-made anythin' out o' you, he'd a-called on you the day arter you arrived. Depend upon it that crittur on- derstands ellipses, and its the principle he acts on in making and returning visits." CHAPTER LVI. THE CANADIAN EXILE.— PART I. Yesterday we visited the Polytechnic, and on our return through Regent Street I met a person whose face, although I did not recog- nize it, reminded me so strongly of some one I had seen before, that my attention was strongly attracted towards him by the resemblance. The moment he saw me he paused, and taking a second look at me, advanced and offered me his hand. " It is many years since we met, Mr. Poker," he said. " I observe you do not recollect me, few of my old friends do, I am so altered. I am Major Furlong." " My dear Major," I said, " how do you do ? I am delighted to see you again ; pray how is all your family, and especially my dear young friend. Miss Furlong ?" A dark shadow passed suddenly across his face, he evaded the question, and said he was glad to see me looking so well ; and then inquiring my address, said he would take an early opportunity of calling to see me. I am a blunderer, and always have been. Every man knows, or ought to know, that after a long interval of absence he should be cau- tious in asking questions about particular individuals of a family, lest death should have invaded the circle in the meantime, and made a victim of the object of his inquiry. It was evident that I had opened a wound not yet healed, and instead of giving pleasure, had inflicted pain. A stumbling horse is incurable, a blundering man, I 810 THE ATTACH^; OR, fear is equally so. One thing is certain, I will never hereafter in- quire for any one's health in particular, b\it after the family gener- ally. I now understand the delicate circumspection of Mr. Slick's phraseology, who invariably either asks, " How is all to home to- day ?" or '' How is all to home in a gineral way, and yourself in par- ticular, to day ?" I will be cautious for the future. But to return to my narrative, for as I grow older I find my episodes grow longer. I said we should dine at home that day, at our lodgings, 202, Picca- dilly (I insert the number, gentle reader, because I recommend Mr. Weeks, of 202, to your particular patronage), and that Mr. Hope- well and myself would be most happy to see him at seven, if he would favor us with his company. " Weeks," I said, " is a capital purveyor. I can promise you an excellent bottle of wine, and you will meet ' Mr. Slick.' " Neither the good wine, of which I knew him to be an excellent judge, nor the humor of " the €lockmaker," which, eight years before, he so fully appreciated and so loudly ap- plauded, appeared to have any attractions for him ; he said he should be most happy to come, and took his leave. Happy ! — how mechan- ically we use words ! how little we feel what we say when we use phrases which fashion has prescribed, instead of uttering our thoughts in our own way, or clothing them in their natural apparel ! Happy I Poor man, he will never again know happiness, until he reaches that place " Where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest." " Who the plague is that horrid solemncoly man ?" said Mr. Slick when I rejoined him ; " he looks as if he had lost his last shillin', and as it was the only survivin' one out of twenty, which made tho round sum of the family, he was afeered he should not g.>t another. Who the plague is he ? London ain't no place for a man to be in who is out of the tin, I can tell you." " He is Major Furlong, of the regiment," I said. " When I first became acquainted with him, eight years ago, he was stationed at Halifax, Nova Scotia ; he was one of the most agreeable men I ever met, and was a general favorite with his brother officers and the people of the west end of the town. He was a married man, and had two daughters grown up, and two sons at school." " He was married, was he ?" said Mr. Slick. " Well, we find, in our sarvice when a feller is fool enough to accommodate himself with a wife, it is time for the country to disaccommodate itself of him. I don't know how it is in your sarvice, seein' that when I was to Nova Scotia I was only a clockmaker, and, in course, didn't dine at mess; but I know how 'tis in our'n. We find now and then the wives of offi- cers of marchin' regiments, the very delightful critturs, not always the most charmin' women in the world arter all. A little money and no beauty, or a little beauty and no money, or a little interest and no- thin' else, are the usual attractions to idle or speculatin' men who SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 811 want to drive a tandem or to sport a belle. Nor is every maiTied man by any means either the most seu»ible or the most agreeable of his corps neither. Sensible, he cannot be, or he would not have married. The gaudy tinsel of military life soon tarnishes, and when poverty shows thro' it like a pictur'-frame when the gildin' is worn off, it sours the temper too much to let 'em be agreeable. Young subalterns should never be sent on detachments to country quarters in or.r great Republic. This duty should be done either by sargints or old field officers. A sargint cannot marry without obtainin' per- mission, and is therefore safe ; and if an old officer takes to drinkin' at their out-o'-the-way posts, in Maine or Florida, as he probably will, and kill himself in his attempts to kill time, the regiment will be more efficient, by bein' commanded by younger and smarter men. To die in the sarvice of one's country is a glorious thing, l^ut to die of a wife and ten children, don't excite no pity, and don't aim no praise, I'll be shot if it does. To expose a young man to the snares and spring-traps of match-makin' mothers, and the charms of idle uneducated young gals in country quarters, is as bad as erectin* barracks on marshy grounds that are subject to fever and ague. It renders the corps unfit for duty. To be idle is to be in danger, and to be idle in danger is sure and certain ruin. Officers stationed at these outposts have nothing to do but to admire and be admired — to sport and to flirt. They fish every day, and are fished for every evenin', and are, in course, as we say in the mackarel line, too often * hook'd in.' If the fish is more valuable than the bait, what must the bait be, where so little value is placed on the fish ? This is the reason that we hear of so many solemncoly instances of blasted pros- pects, of unhappy homes, of discontented, or dissipated husbands, and reckless or broken-hearte,' vives. Indeed, marriage in the army should be aginst the regulations of the service. A man can't serve two mistresses — his country and his wife. It- sp'iles a good soldier to make a bad husband ; but it changes a woman wuss, for it convarts her, by changing Holton ice and snows for Alabama's heats and fevers, into a sort of Egyptian mummy. She dries as much, but she don't keep so well. Lord ! how I pity an officer's wife, that's been dragged about from pillar to post that way. In a few years, her skin is as yaller as an orange, or as brown as mahogany. She looks all eyes and mouth, as if she could take her food whold, and as thin and light in the body as a night-hawk. She gets mannish^ too, from bein' among men so much, and her talk gets a sportin' turn, instead of talk of the feminine gender. She tells stories of bosses, and dog.s, and huntin', and camps, and our young fellers, as she calls the boy offi- cers, and their sprees. She sees what she hadn't ought to see, and hears what she hadn't ought to hear, and knows what she oughtn't to know, and sometimes talks what she hadn't ought to talk. It e'en a jist sp'iles her in the long run. And the children — poor little ^wn^iip^»i'ini"iii).ipw"» 1 1' ■ ' ■ 'I- 1 t 312 THE ATTACH^; OR, wretches ! — what a school a barracks is for them ! — What beautiful new oaths the boys larn, and splendid leetle bits and scraps of wick- edness they pick up from the sodgers and sodger boys ; and the leetle galls, what nice leetle stories they hear ; and what pretty leetle tricks they larn from camp women, and their leetle galls ! And if there ain't nothin' but the pay, what an everlastin' job it is to alter frocks, and razee coats, and coax down stockin's for them. A gold epau- lette on the shoulder, and a few coppers in the pocket, makes poverty farment till it gets awful sour; and silk gowns and lace collars, and muslin dresses and feathers, for parties abroad, and short allowance for the table to home, makes gentility not very gentle sometimes. When the galls grows up, its wuss. There is nobody to walk with, or ride with, or drive with, or sing with, or dance with, but young officers. "Well, it ain't jist easy for poor marm, who is up to snut^ to work it so that they jist do enough of all this to marry; and yet not enough talkin' to get talked of themselves — to get a new name afore they have sp'ilt their old one, and jist walk the chalks exactly. And then, what's wuss than all, its a roost here, and a roost there, and a wanderin' about everywhere ; but there ain't no home — no leetle flower-garden — no leetle orchard — no leetle brook — no leetle lambs — no leetle birds — no pretty leetle re s — with pretty leetle nick-knackery on 'em ; but an empty barrack-room ; cold, cheerless lodgin's, that ain't in a nice street ; or an awful door, and awful bad inn. Here, to-day, and gone to-morrow — to know folks, but to forget 'em — to love folks, but to part from 'em — to come without pleasure, to leave without pain ; and, at last — for a last will come to every story — still no home. Yes ! there is a home, too, and I hadn't ought to forget it, tho' it is a small one. " Jist outside the ramparts, in a nice little quiet nook, there is a little grass mound, the matter of five or six feet long, and two feet wide or so, with a little slab at one eend, and a round stone at t'other eend ; and wild roses gi'ow on it, and some little birds build there and sing, and there ain't no more trouble then. Father's house was the fust home — but that was a gay, cheerful, noisy one ; this is a quiet, silent, but very safe and secure one. It is the last home ! ! No, Sir ! matrimony in the army should be made a capital offence, and a soldier that marries, like a man who desarts his post, should be brought to a court-martial, and made an immediate example of, for the benefit of the sarvice. Is that the case in your regiments ?" " I should think not," I said ; " but I do not know enough of the army to say whether the effects are similar or not ; but, as far as my little experience goes, I should say the picture is overdrawn, even as regards your own. If it be true, however, Mrs. Furlong was a deligiitful exception ; she was as amiable as she was beautiful, and liad a highly cultivated and a remarkably well regulated mind. I had not the good fortune to make their acquaintance when they first -^ SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 313 arrived, and in a few months after we became known to each other, the regiment was ordered to Canada, where I lost sight of them. I had heard, indeed, that he had sold out of the army, purchased an estate near Prescott, and settled on it with his family. Soon after that, the rebellion broke out, and I was informed that his buildings had been destroyed by the reformers, but I never learned the parti- culars. This was all that I could recall to my mind, and to this I attributed his great alteration of manner and appearance." Punc- tually at seven, the Major arrived for dinner. The conversation never rose into cheerfulness by a reference to indifferent subjects, nor sunk into melancholy by allusion to his private affairs, but it was impossible not to see that this even tenor was upheld by a great exertion of moral courage. During the evening, Mr. Hopewell, who only knew that he was a half-pay officer that had settled in Canada, unfortunately interrogated him as to the rebellion, and the share he had taken, if any, in suppressing it, when he told us the melancholy story related in the following chapter. CHAPTER LVII. THE CANADIAN EXILE.— PART II. " You are aware, Mr. Poker," said Major Furlong, " that shortly after I had the pleasure of making your acquaintance at Halifax, my regiment was ordered to Canada ; I was stationed in the upper province, the fertility and beauty of which far exceeded any accounts I had ever heard of it. Our next tour of duty was to be in the West Indies. My poor Amelia shuddered at the thought of the climate, and suggv^sted to me, a. our family was getting to be too expensive to removal so often, to terminate our erratic life by settling in Cana- da. A very favorable opportunity occurring soon after, I sold out of the army, purchased a large tract of land, erected a very pretty cottage, and all necessary farm buildings, and provided myself with as many cattle of the best description as the meadow-land would war- rant me in keeping. In a short tune I was very comfortably settled, and my wife and daughters were contented and happy. We had not only all the necessaries and comforts of life about us, but many of the luxuries, and I congratulated myself upon having turned my sword into a ploughshare. I'his state of things, however, was not doomed to last long. So many unwise concessions had been recently made by the Colonial Office to local demagogues, that they became emboldened in theii* demands, and the speeches of Roebuck and 14 iiftn^.ii»>H«igii,<<;im,iiwi>wj ,ll«"wJi W'WHf^^llujjmilw^^P*!^!!^^!!^,,^^! i S14 THE ATTACHE; OR, Hume, in Parliament, and a treasonable letter of the latter, which had been widely circulated through the country, fanned the flame of discontent until it broke out into open rebellion. They gave them- selves the very appropriate title of ' Patriots,' ' Reformers,' and * Lib- erals' — names that are always assumed when the deception and de- lusion of the lower orders is to be attempted. They were desperate men, as such people generally are, destitute of property, of charac- ter, or of principle, and as such found a warm sympathy in the scum of the American population, the refuse of the other colonies, and the agitators in England. A redress of grievances was their watchword, but fire and murder were their weapons, and plunder their real ob- ject. The feeble Government of the Whigs had left us to our own resources — we had to arm in our own defence, and a body of my neighbors, forming themselves into a volunteer corps, requested me to take the command. The euties we had to perform were of the most harassing nature, and the hardships we endured in that inclem- ent season of the year baffle all description and exceed all belief. I feoon became a marked man — my life was threatened, my cattle were destroyed, and my family frequently shot at. At last the Reformers seized the opportunity of my absence from home with the volunteers, to set fire to my house, and as the family escaped from the flames, to shoot at them as they severally appeared in the light of the fire. My eldest daughter was killed in attempting to escape, the rest reached the woods, with the slight covering they could hastily put on in their flight, where they spent the night in the deep snow, and were rescued in the morning, nearly exhausted with fatigue and ter- ror, and severely frostbitten. " During all this trying period, my first care was to provide for my houseless, helpless family ; I removed them to another and more tranquil part of the country, and then resumed my command. By the exertior 3 and firmness of M'Nab, and the bravery and loyalty of the British part of the population, the rebellion was at last put down, and I returned to my desolate home. But, alas ! my means were exhausted — I had to mortgage my property to raise '^^ i neces- sary funds to rebuild my house and re-stock my farm, and, from a of affluence, I found myself suddenly reduced to the condition ji . I -''li.- man. I felt that my services and my losses, in my coun- tiv':- . .iir-c, gave me a claim upon the Government, and I sohcited >} . ii' '"untry office, then vacant, to recruit my finances. ' J 'iuc of my surprise, when I was told that I was of different politics from the local administration, which had recently been formed fi'om the disaffected party ; that I was a loyalist ; that the rebels must be pacified — that the well understood wishes of the peo- ple must be considered, a large portion of whom were opposed to Tories, Chur.ihmen, and Loyalists; that the rebels were to be par- doned, conciliated, and promoted ; and that I had not the necessary SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. ^ 815 T, which flame of ve them- Dd ' Lib- 1 and de- esperate f charac- ^he scum , and the tchword, real ob- our own Jy of my ested me re of the t inclem- telief. I ttle were eformers ilunteers, 3 flames, ' the fire. the rest istily put Qow, and and ter- ovide for »nd more ,nd. By d loyalty : last put y means neces- i, from a condition ny coun- solicited different tly been that the ■ the peo- iposed to be par- lecessary qualifications for office, inasmuch as I was a gentleman, had been in arms against the people, upheid British connection, and was a mon- archist. This I could have borne. It was a sad reverse of fortune, it is true ; my means were greatly reduced, my feelings deeply wounded, and my pride as a man and an Englishman severely mor- tified. I knew, however, I was in no way the cause of this calamity, and that I still had the fortitude of a soldier and the hope of a Chris- tian. But, alas ! the sufferings my poor wife endured, when driven, at the dead of night, to seek shelter in the snowdrifts from her mer- ciless pursuers, had thrown her into a decline, and day by day I had the sad and melancholy spectacle before my eyes of this dear and amiable woman, sinking into the grave with a ruined constitution and a broken heart. Nor was I suffered to remain unmolested my- self, even when the rebellion had ceased. Murder, arson, and ruin had not yet glutted the vengeance of these remorseless Reformers. I constantly received threatening letters ; men in disguise were still occasionally seen lurking about my premises, and three several times I was shot at by these assassins. Death at last put an end to the terrors and sufferings of poor Amelia, and I laid her beside her murdered daughter. Having sold my property, I left the country with the little remnant of my fortune, and sought refuge in my na- tive land with my remaining daughter and two sons. Good heavens ! had I taken your advice, which still rings in my ears, I should have escaped this misery. * Don't settle in Canada,* you said, ' it is a border country ; you are exposed to sympathisers without, and to patriots within — below you is treason, and above you is Durhamism. Years and Whigs must pass away, and Toryism and British feeling return, before tranquillity will be restored in that unhappy country.' Remarkable prophecy! wonderfully fulfilled! Oh! had I taken your advice, and gone among Turks and infidels, obedience to the laws would have, at all events, insured protection ; and defending the government, if it had not been followed by reward, would at least not have incurred displeasure and disgrace. But, alas ! I had been bred a soldier, and been taught to respect the British flag, and, unhappily, sought a home in a colony too distant for a British army to protect or British honor to reach. My poor dear sainted wife — my poor murdered daughter may " Here, overcome by his feelings, he covered his face with his hands, and was dreadfully and feai'fully agitated. At last, springing sud- denly up in a manner that brought us all to our feet, he exhibited that wildness of eye peculiar to insanity, and seizing me with won- derful muscular energy by the arm, he pointed to the corner of the room, and screamed out "There! there! do you see it? — ^look, look ! — it is all on fire ! — do you hear those cursed rifles ? — that's Mary in the light there !" and then raising his voice to a feai'ful pitch, called out, " Run ! tor Gad's sake ; run, Mary, to the shade, ' 316 THE ATTACHE ; OK, or they'll shoot you ! — make for the woods ! — don't stop to look be- hind ! — run, dear, run !" — and then suddenly lowering his tone to a harsh whisper, wliieh still grati-s in my ears as I write, he contin- ued, " There ! look at the corner of that harn — do you see that Re- former standing in the edge of the light ? — look at him ! — see him ! — good Heavens ! he is taking aim with his rifle ! — she's lost, by G— -d !" and then shou ng out again " Run, Mary ! — run to the shade ;" and again whispering " Do you hear that? He has fired— that's only the scream of fright — he missed her — run I run 1" Ho shouted again. " One minute more, and you are safe — keep to the right ;" and then pressing my arm with his hand like a vice, he said, " They have given him another rifle — he is aiming again — he has shot her ! — by Heavens, she's killed !" and springing forward, he fell on the floor at full length in a violent convulsion fit, the blood gush- ing from his nose and mouth in a dreadful manner. " This is an awful scene !" said Mr. Hopewell, after the Major had been undressed, and put to bed, and tranquillity in some mea- sure restored again. " This is a fearful scene. I wonder how much of this poor man's story is correct, or how much is owing to the in- sanity under which he is evidently laboring. — I fear the tale is too true. I have heard, much that confirms it. What a fearful load of responsibility rests on the English Government of that day, that ex- posed the loyal colonists to all these hoi'rors ; and then regarded their fidelity and valor, their losses and their sufferings, with indif- ference — almost bordering on contempt. It was not always thus. After the American Revolution, the British gave pensions to the provincial officers, and compensation to those who had suffered for their I'^yalty. Fidelity was then appreciated, and honored. But times have sadly changed. When I heard of the wild theories Lord Durham propounded, and the strange mixture of absolutism and de- mocracy prescribed by the quackery of Thompson, 1 felt that noth- ing but tlie advent of the Tories would ever remedy the evils they were entailing on the colonies. Removed they never can be, but they can be greatly palliated : and a favorable change has already come over the face of things. A man is no longer ashamed to avow himself loyal ; nor will his attacl-iaent to his Queen and country be any longer, I hope, a disqualification for office. I trust the time has now arrived, when we shall never again hear of — A Canadian Mxiler SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 817 '. . ' . ■ I CHAPTER LVIII. WATERING PLACES. Mr. Hopewell having gone into the country for a few weeks, to visit some American families, the Attache and myself went to Brighton, Leamington, Cheltenham, and some minor watering- places, for the purpose of comparing them with each other ; as also with Saratoga and other American towns of a similar kind. " As a stranger, Mr. Slick, and a man of small means," I said, " I rather like a place like Cheltenham. The country around is very beauti- ful, the air good ; living very cheap, amusement enough provided, especially for one so easily amused as myself. And then there is less of that chilly and repulsive English reserve than you find else- where." " Well," said Mr. Slick, « I like 'em, and I don't like 'em ; kinder sort o' so, and kinder sort of not so, but more not so nor so. For a lark, such as you and me has had, why, it's well enough ; and it ain't bad as a place for seein' character ; but I wouldn't like to live here, somehow, all the year round. They have but four objects in view here, and them they are for everlastin' a-chasin' arter — health or wealth — life or a wife. It would be fun enough in studyin' the folks, as I have amused myself many a day in doing, only them horrid solemncoly-lookin' people that are struck with death, and yet not dead — totterin', shakin', tremblin', crawlin', and wheelin' about, with their legs and feet gone, wheezin', coffin', puffin' and blowin', with their bellowses gone — feelin', leadin,' stumblin', and tumblin', with their eyes gone— or trumpet-eared, roarin', borein, callin', and bawlin', with their hearin' gone, — don't let you think of nothin' else. These, and a thousand more tricks, death plays here, in givin' notice to quit, makes me feel as if I might be drafted myself some fine day into the everlastin' corps of veteran invalids, and have to put on the uniform, and go the rounds with the awkward squad. Oh, dear I for a feller like me, that's always travelled all my life as hard as ever I could lick, or a horse like old Clay could carry me, for to come at the eend of the journey to wind up the last stage, with a leetle four-wheeled waggon, and a man to drag me on the side-path ! What a skary kind of thought it is, ain't it ? Oh, dear ! it's sot one o' my feet asleep already, only a-thinkin' of it — it has, upon my soul 1 Let's SB 818 THE ATTACH^; OR, ( 5 walk to the seat over there, where I can sit and kick my heel, for posi/evcly, my legs is gittin* numb. I wonder whether palsy is ketchin' ? The sick and the yvall liere ouglit to have a great caucus meetin', and come to an onderstandin'. Them that's healthy should eay to t'others, ' Come i >w, old fellows, let's make a fair division of these places. If you a sick, choose your ground, and you shall have it. Do you want ^ i air ? Well, there is Brighton, you shall have it ; it's a horrid stupid place, and just fit for you, and will do your business for you in a month. Do you want inland air ? Well, there is Leamington or Cheltenham — take your choice. Leaming- ton, is it ? Well then, you shall have it ; and you may take Ilerne Bay and Bath into the bargain ; tor we want to be liberal, and act kindly to you, seein' you aint well. Now there's four placvs for you — mind you stick to 'em. If you go anywhere else, you shall be transported for life, as sure as rates. Birds of a feather flock together. All you sick folks go there, and tell your aches and pains, and receipts, and quack medicines to each other. It's a great com- fort to a sick man to have some feller to tell his nasty, dirty, shockin* stories about his stomach to ; and no one will listen to you but another sick man, 'cause when you are done, he's a-goin' to up and let you have his interestin' history. Folks that's well, in gineral al- ways vote it a bore, and absquotolate-^they won't listen, that's a fact. They jist look up to the sky, as soon as you begin, — I sufier dreadfully with bile, — and say, — Oh ! it's goin' to rain, do go in, as you have been takin' calomel ; and they open a door, shove you into the entry, and race right off as hard as they can clip. Who the devil wants to hear about bile ? Well, then, as you must have some- body to amuse you, we will give you into the bargain a parcel of old East Indgy olhcers, that ain't ill and ain't well ; ripe enough to begin to decay, and most likely are a little too far gone in places. They won't keep good long ; its likely old Scratch will take 'em sud- den some night ; so you shall have these fellers. They lie so like the devil they'll make you stare, that's a fact. If you only promise to let them get on an elephant hunt arter dinner, they'll let you tell about your rumatics, what you're rubbed in, and took in, how 'cute the pain is, and you may grin and make faces to 'em till you are tired : and tell 'em how you didn't sleep ; and how shockin' active you was once upon a time when you was young ; and describe all about your pills, plaisters, and blisters, and every thin'. Well, then, pay 'em for listenin', for it desarves it, by mountin' them for a tiger hunt, and they'll beguile away pain. I know, they will tell such horrid thumpers. Or you can have a boar hunt, or a great sarpent hunt, or Suttees, or any thin'. Three lines for a fact, and three vol- umes for the romance. Airth and seas ! how they lie ! There are two things every feller leaves in the East, his liver and his truth. Few horses can trot as fast as they can invent; yes, you may have SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 819 these old 'coons, and then when you are tied by the leg and can't stir, it will amuse you to see them old sinners lookin' opder gals* bonnets, chuckin' chambermaids onder the chin, and winkin' impe> dent to the shop-woman, not 'cause it pleases women, for it don't — young heifers can't abide old fellers — but 'cause it pleases themselves to fancy they are young. Never play cards with them, for if they lose they are horrid cross and everlastin' sarsy, and you have to swaller it all, for it's cowardly to kick a feller that's got the gout ; and if they win, they make too much noise a-larfin, they are so pleased.' " ' Now there is your four waterin' places for you ; stick to 'em, don't go ramblin' about to every place in the kingdom, a'most, and sp'ile 'em all. We well folks will stick to our own, and let you be ; and you ill folks must stick to your'n, and you may get well, or hop the twig, or do what you like ; and we'll keep well, or hop the broom- stick, or do anythin' we like. But let's dissolve partnership, and di- vide the stock at any rate. Let January be January, and let May be May. But let's get a divorce, for we don't agree over and above well.' " Strange ! Squire, but extremes meet. When society gets too stiff and starch, as it is in England, it has to onbind, slack up, and get back to natur.' Now these waterin' places are the relaxin' pla- ces. They are damp enough to take the starch all out. Resarve is thrown off. It's bazaar day here all the time ; pretty little articles to be sold at high prices- Fashion keeps the stalls, and fools are the purchasers. You may suit yourself with a wife here if you are in want of such a piece of furniture ; or if you can't suit yourself, you may get one, at any rate. You can be paired, if you don't get matched, and some folks think if critturs have the same action, that's all that's wanted in matin* beasts. Suitin' is difficult. Matrimony is either heaven or hell. It's happiness or misery ; so be careful. But there is plenty of critturs, such as they be, in market here. If you are rich, and want a poor gal to spend your cash, here she is, ready and willin' — flash edicated, clap-trap accomplishments — ex- travagant as old Nick — idees above her station — won't stand haglin* long about your looks, she don't care for 'em ; she wants the car- riage, the , the town-house, the park, and the tin. If you are poor, or got an estate that's dipt up to the chin, and want the one thing needful, there's an heiress- She is of age now — don't care a snap of her finger for her guardian — would like a title, but must be married, and so will take you, if you get yourself up well. She likes a handsum man. " Everythin' here is managed to bring folks together. The shop must be made attractive now, or there is no custom. Look at that chap a-comin' along, he is a popular preacher. The turf, club, and ball-managers have bribed him ; for he preaches agin horse- SEE 820 THE ATTACH^:; OR, \ \ racin', and dancin', and dress, and music, and parties, and gaieties, ^ith all liis might and main ; calls the course the Devil's common, and the Assembly-room Old Nick's levee. Well, he preaches so violent, and raves so like mad ngin 'em, it sets all the young folks crazy to go arter this forbidden fruit, right oflF the reel, and induces old folks to fetch their gals where such good doctrine is taught. There ia no trick of modem times equal to it. It's actilly the makin' of the town. Then it jist suits all old gals that have given up the flash lino and gay line, as their lines got no bites to their hooks all the time they fished with them, and have taken the serious line, and are ang- lin' arter good men, pious men, and stupid men, that fancy bein' stu- pid is bein' righteous. So all these vinegar cruits get on the side- board together, cut out red flannel for the poor, and caps for old women, and baby-clothes for little children ; and who go with the good man in their angel visits to the needy, till they praise each other's goodness so they think two such lumps of goodness, if j'ined, would make a'most a beautiful large almighty lump of it, and they marry. Ah ! here comes t'other feller. There is the popular doc- tor. What a dear man he is ! — the old like him, and the young like him ; the good like him, and the not so gooder like him ; the well like him, and the ill like him, and everybody likes him. He never lost a patient yet. Lots of 'em have died, but then they came there on purpose to die ; they were done for in London, and sent to him to put out of pain ; but he never lost one since he was knee-high to a goose. He onderstands delicate young gals' complaints most beautiful that aint well, and are brought here for the waters. He knows nothin' is the matter of 'em but the visitin fever ;* but he don't let on to no- body, and don't pretend to know; so he tells Ma' she must not thwart her dear gal : she is narvous, and won't bear contradiction- she must be amused, and have her own way. He prescribes a dose every other night of two pills, made of one grain of flour, two grains of sugar, and five drops of water, a-goin to bed ; and — that its so prepared she can't take cold arter it, for there ain't one bit of horrid mercury in it. Then he whispers to Miss 'dancin' is good exercise; spirits must be kept up by company. All natur is cheerful; why shouldn't young gals be ? Canary birds and young ladies were never made for cages ; tho' fools make cages for them sometimes.' The gal is delighted and better, and the mother is contented and happy. They both recommend the doctor, who charges cussed high, and so he ought : he made a cure, and he is paid with great pleasure. There is another lady, a widder, ill, that sends for him. He sees what she wants with half an eye, he is so used to symptoms. She wants gossip. ' AVho is Mr. Adam ?' sais she. ' Is he of the family of old Adam, or of the new family of Adam, that lives to Manchester?* * Qh, yes ! the family is older than sin, and as rich too," sais he. 'Who is that lady he walked with yesterday?' 'Oh I sAe is mar- SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 321 rled,' sais doctor. Widder is better directly. ' The sight of you, dear doctor, has done me good ; it haa revived my spirita : do coll agin.' ♦ It's all on the narvcs, my I'lur widder,' eais he. ' Take two of these bread and sugar pills, you will be all right in a day or two; and, before goin' into company, take a table spoonful of this mixture. It's a new exilaratin' sedative' (which means it's a dram of parfumcd spirits). ' Oh ! you will feel as charmin' as you look.* Widder takes the mixture that even in', and is so brilliant in her talk, and so sparklin' in her eyes, old Adam is in love with her, and is in a fair way to have his flint fixed by this innocent Eve of a widder. No sooner out of widder's house than a good lady sends for him. He laments the gaiety of the town — it's useless for him to contend against the current : he can only lament. How can invalids stand constant excitement ? Tells a dreadful tale of distress of a poor or- phan family, (not foundlin's, and he groans to think there should be such a word as a foundlin' ; for doctors ain't sent for to announce their arrival to town, but only ugly old nurses,) but children of pious Christian parents. He will introduce the Rev. Mr. Abel, of the next parish, a worthy young man (capital living, and great expecta- tions) : he will show you where the family is. ' Is his wife with him ?* ' Oh, Lord love you I he is not married, or engaged either !' The good lady is better already. ' Good bye ! dear doctor ; pray come soon agin and see me.' " He is a cautious man — a prudent man — a 'cute man, he always writes the rich man's London Physician, and approves of all he has done. That doctor sends him more dyin' men, next train, to give the last bleedin' to. It don't do to send your patients to a crittur tha* ondervalues you, it tante sale. It might hurt you to have a feller goin' out of the world thinkin' you had killed him, and a-roarin' at you like mad, and callin' you every name he could lay his tongue to, it's enough to ruin practice. Doctor, therefore, is punctilious and gentleman-like, he ain't parsonal, he praises every London doctor individually and separately, and only d — ns 'em all in a lump. There is a pic-nic, if you like. That will give you a chance to see the gals, and to flirt. There's an old ruin to visit and to sketch, and there's that big castle ; there's the library and the fruit-shop, and I don't know what all : there's everything a'most all the time, and what's better, new-comers every day. I can't say all this jist exactly comes up to the notch for me. It may suit you, Squire, all this, but it don't altogether suit my taste, for, in the fust place, it tante always fust chop society there. I don't see the people of high life here jist as much as I'm used .o in my circles, unless they 're sick, and then they don't want to see me, and I don't want to see them. And in the next place, I can't shake hands along with death all the time without gettin' the cold shivers. I don't mind old fellers goin' oif the hook a bit, 'cause it's in the course of natur'. Arter a critter 14* 322 THE ATTACHE; OR, i ■J I f can't enjoy his money, it's time he took himself off, and left it to some one that can ; and I don't mind your dissipated chaps, who have brought it on 'emselves, for it sarves 'em right, and I don't pity 'em one mossel. That old sodger officer, now, with claret-colored cheeks, who the plague cares about him ? he ain't no good for war, he is so short-winded and gouty ; and ain't no good for peace, he quarrels so all day. Now if he'd step off, some young feller would jist step in, that's all. And there's that old nabob there. Look at the curry powder and mullgatony soup a-peepin' through his skin. That feller exchanged his liver for gold. WeJl, it's no consarn of mine. I wish him joy of his bargain, that's ali, and that I had his rupees when he is done with 'em. The worms will have a tough job of him, I guess, he's so dried with spices and cayenne. It tante that I am afeerd to face death, though, for I ain't, but I don't like it, that's all. I don't like assyfittety, but I ain't afeerd on it — Fear ! Lord I a man that goes to Missarsippi like me, and can run an Alligator steamer right head on to a Sawyer, high pressure engine, valve sawdered down, three hundred passengers on board, and every soul in danger, ain't a coward. It takes a man, Squire, I tell you. No, I ain't afeerd, and I ain't spooney nother ; and though I don't like to see 'em, it don't sp'ile my sleep none, that's a fact. But there is folks here, that a feller wouldn't be the sixteenth part of z ra^n if he didn't feel for with all his heart and soul. Look over there, now, on that bench. Do you see that most beautiful gal there ? — ain't she lovely ? How lily fair she is, and what a delicate color she has on her cheek ; that ain't too healthy and coarse, but interestin'-like, and in good taste, not strong contrasts of red and white, like a milk- maid, but jist touched by nature's own artist's brush, blended, runnin' onie into the other so, you can't tell where one eends and t'other begins ! And then her hair, how full and rich, and graceful them auburn locks be ! ain't they? That smile too ! it's kinder melancholy sweet, and plays round the mouth, sort of subdued like moonlight. But the eye, how mild and brilliant, and intelligent and good it is ! Now, that's what I call an angel, that. Well, as sure as you and I are a-talkin', she is goin' to heaven afore long. I know that gal, and I dctilly love her — 1 do, indeed. I don't mean as to courtin' of her, for she wouldn't have the like of me on no account. She is too good for me or any other feller that's knocked about the world as I have. Angels didn't visit the airth arter sin got in, and one o' my spicy stoiies, or flash oaths, would kill her dead. She is more fitter to worship p'raps than love ; but I love her, for she is so lovely, so good, so mild, so innocent, so clever. Oh ! what a dear she is. " Now, that gal is a-goin' to die as sure as the world ; she is in a consumption, and that does flatter so soft, and tantalizes so cruel, it's dreadful. It pulls down to-night, and sots up to-morrow. It comes with smiles and hopes, and graces, but all the time it's insinuatiu SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 823 itself, and it feeds on the inside till it's all holler like, and then to hide its murder, it paints, and rouges, and sets off the outside so handsum, no soul would believe it was at work. * Vice imitates vartue,' Minister sais, but consumption imitates health, I tell you, and no mistake. Oh ! when death comes that way, it comes in its worst disguise, to my eye, of all its masks, and veils, and hoods, and concealments, it has. Yes, she'll die I And then look at the lady alongside of her. Handsum woman, too, that, even now, tho' she is considerable older. Weil, that's her mother — ain't she to be pitied, poor crittur ? Oh ! how anxious she watches that leetle pet of her heart. One day, she is sure she is better, and tells her so, and the gal thinks so, too, and they are both happy. Next day, mother sees somethin' that knocks away all her hope, but she don't breathe it to no one livin' ; keeps up all day before sick one, cheerful-like, but goes to bed at night, and cries her soul out a'most, hopin' and fearin', submittin* and rebellin', prayin' and despairin', weepin' and rejoicin', and goin* from one extreme to t'other till natur' gets wearied, and falls asleep. Oh ! what a life is the poor mother's, what a death is the poor darter's ! I don't know whether I pity that gal or not ; sometimes I think I do, and then I think I pity myself, selfish like, that such a pure spirit should leave the airth, for it's sartin she is goin' to a better world ; a world better fitted for her, too, and havin* bein's in it more like herself than we be. But, poor mother ! there is no mistake about her ; I do pity her from the bottom of my heart. What hopes cut off! what aftections torn down ! fruit, branch, and all, bone of her bone, flesh of her flesh, all her care gone, all her wishes closed for ever, all her fears come true and sartin (and it's a great matter to lose anythin' we have had trouble with, or anxiety about, for we get accustomed to trouble and anxiety, and-miss it when it's gone). Then, there's the world to come, for the mind to go a-wanderin', and spekilatin' in a great sea without shores or stars ; we have a compass — that we have faith in ! but still it's a fearful voyage. And then there is the world we live in, and objects we know to think of; there is the crawlin' worm and the horrid toad, and the shockin' earwig, and vile corruption ; and every storm that comes we think that those we loved and lost, are exposed to its fury. Oh ! it's dreadful. I guess them wounds ain't never quite cured. Limbs that are cut off' still leave their feelivH behind — the foot fains arter the leg is gone. Dreams come, too, and dreams are al- ways with the dead, au if they were Uvin\ It tante often we dream of the dead as dead, but as livin' bein's, for we can't realize death. Then, mornin' dawns, and we start up in bed, and find it is only a dream, and lam that death is a fact, and not fancy. Few men know what woman suffers, but it's only God above that knows the sufferin's of a mother. " It tante every one sees all this, but I see it all as plain as preach- ^^^ 324 THE ATTACHE; OB, in'; I most wish sometimes I didn't. I know the human heart full better than is good for me, I'm a-thinkin'. Let a man or wo- man come and talk to me, or let me watch their sayin's and dcin's a few minutes, and I'll tell you all about 'em right off as easy as big print. I can read 'em like a book, and mind, I tell you, there's many a shockin' bad book in very elegant gold biudm', full of what aint fit to be read ; and there's many a i-ael good work in very mean sheepskin covers. The most beautiful ones is women's. In a gineral way, mind, I tell you, the paper is pure white, and what's wrote in it is good penmanship and good dictionary. I love 'em — no man ever loved dear innocent gals as I do, 'cause I know how dear and innocent they be — ^but man— oh ! there is many a black, dirty, nasty horrid sheet in his'n. Yes, I know human natur' too much for my own good, I am afeerd sometimes. Such is life in a Waterin* Placej Squire. Idon^t like it. The ill make me ill, and the gay dorSt make me gay — that^s a fact. 1 like a place that is pleasant of itself, but not a place where pleasure is a business, and where that pleasure is to be looked for among the dyirC and tJie dead. No^ JdonH like a WcUerin' Place/" CHAPTER LIX. THE EARL OF TUNBRIDGE. " Squire," said Mr, Slick, " I am afeerd father is a little wrong in the head. He goes away by himself and stays all the momin', and when he returns refuses to tell me where he has been, and if I go for to press him, he gets as mad as a hatter. He has spent a shocking sight of money here. But that aint the worst of it nother, he seems to have lost his onderst^ndin' too. He xnutters to himself by the hour, and then suddenly springs up and struts about the room as proud as a peacock, and sings out — * Clear the way for the Lord !* Sometimes I've thought the Irvinites had got hold of him, and some- times that he is mesmerized, and then I'm afeerd some woman or another has got an eye on him to marry him. He aint quite him- self, that's sartin. The devil take the legation, I say I I wish in my soul I had stayed to Nova Scotia a-vendin' of clocks, and then this poor, dear old man wouldn't have gone mad as he has. He came to me this momin', lookin' quite wild, and lockin' the door arter him, sot down and stared me in the face for the matter of five min- utes without speakin' a blessed word, and then bust out a-lai'fiu like ^Hiythin'. Sam,' sais he, * I wish you'd marry.' _ (((: SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 825 " * Many,' sais I, * why what on airth do I want of a wife, father?* " * I have my reasons, Sir,' sais he, ' and that's enough.' *' ' Well,' sais I, * I have my reasons, Sir, agin it, and that's enough. I won't.' "'You won't. Sir?' "'No, Sir, I won't.' " ' Then I discard you, Sam. You are no longer a son of mine. Begone, Sir 1' " ' Father,' sais I, and I bust out a cryin', for I couldn't hold in no longer — ' Father,' sais I, ' dear father, what ails you, — what makes you act so like a ravin' distracted bed bug ?' I do believe in my soul you are possess't. Now do tell me, that's a dear, what makes you want me to marry ?' " ' Sam,' sais he, ' what brought me here, now jist tell me that, will you?' " ' Ay, father,' sais I, ' what did bring you here, for that's what I want to know ?' " ' Guess, Sam,' sais he. " ' Well, sais I, * to see me I s'pose a-movin' in high life.' «'No.' " ' Well, to establish a trade in beef onder the new tariff.* « ' No.' " ' Well, in lard-ile, for that's a great business now.* " ' No, it's none o' these things, so guess agin.' " ' Well,' sais I, ' Father, I'm most afeerd, tho' I don't like to hint it ; but I'm most afeerd you are a-goin' to spekilate in matrimony, seein* that you are a widower now these five years past.' " ' Sam,' sais he, * you are a born fool,' and then risin* up quite dignified, ' do you think. Sir, I have taken leave of my senses ?' " ' Well,' sais I, ' dear father, I'm most thinkiu' you have, and that's a fact.' " ' So you think I'm mad, do you. Sir ?' " * Well, not 'xactly,' sais I, ' but raelly, now, I don't think you are quite right in your mind.* " ' You scoundrel you,' sais he, * do you know who I am ?* " ' Yes, Sir,' sais I, ' you are father, at least mother told me so.' " * Well, Sir, she told you right, 1 am your father, and a pretty ondutiful son I have, too ; but I don't mean that, do you know who lam?' "'Yes, Sir, Lieut-Col. Slick, of SlickviUe, the Bunker Hill hero.* " ' I am. Sir,' sais he, a-drawin' himself up, ' and most the only one now livin' that seed that great and glorious battle ; but do you know what I am ?' " ' Yes, Sir ; dear old father gone as mad as a March hare.' " ' You almighty villain/ sais he, * who are you j do you know tha^?* 826 THE ATTACHE ; OB, • " * Your son,' sais I. ' "* Yes, but who are youT *^^1 am Sam Slick, the Clockmaker,' sais I, *at least what is left of me.' " * You are no such a thing,' sais he ; * I'll tell you who I am, and what you are. Get up you, miserable skunk, and take off your hat, clear the way for the Lord. I am the Earl of Tunbridge, and you are Lord Van Shleek, my eldest son. Go down on your knees. Sir, and do homage to your father, the Right Honorable the Earl of Tunbridge.' " ' Oh, father, father,' sais I, * my heart is broke, I wish I was dead, only to think that you should carry on this way, and so far from home, too, and before entire strangers. What on airth put that are crotchet into your head ?' " ' Providence, Sam, and the instinct of our Sal. In lookin' over our family papers, of father and his father, she found we are de- scendants of General Van Shleek, that came over with King William the Dutchman, when he conquered England, and was created Airl of Tunbridge, as a reward for his heroic deeds. Well, in course, the Van Shleeks came over from Holland and settled near him, and my grandfather was a son of the first Lord's third brother, and bein' poor, emigrated to America. Well, in time the Peerage got dormant for want of an heir, and we bein' in America, and our name gettin' iltered into Slick, that everlastin' tyrant George the Third, gave away the estate to a favorite. This, Sir, is as clear as preachin', and I have come over to claim my rights. Do you onderstand that. Sir ? you degenerate son of a race of heroes ! What made my veins b'ile over at Bunker Hill ? — The blood of the Van Shleeks ! What made me charge the British at Peach Orchard, and Mud Creek ? — The blood of the Van Shleeks ! What made me a hero and a gentle- man ? — The nobility that was in me ! I feel it. Sir, I feel it here,* puttin' his hand on his side, * I feel it here, beatin' at my heart now, old as I am, like a tattoo on a drum. — I am the rael Airl of Tun- bridge.' " ' Oh, dear, dear,' sais I, ' was the like of this ever heerd tell of afore ?' " ' Heerd of afore ?' sais he, ' to be sure it has been. America was settled by younger sons, and in time all the great estates have come to 'em, but they have been passed over — forgotten — unknown — or cheated. Webster, Sir, owns Battle Abbey, and is intarmined to have it, and he is a man that knows the law, and can plead his own case. Tliere can't be no manner of doubt our great author Cooper is the rael Airl of Shaftesbury. A friend of mine here, who knows all about estates and titles, told me so himself, and says for five pounds he could put liim on the right track ; and he is a man can be depended on, for he has helped many a feller to his rights. Yog'd SAM SLICK m ENGLAND. 827 be astonished if you know'd how many of our folks are noblemen, or related to 'em very near. How can it be otherwise in natur' ? How did they come by the same name if they wam't ? The matter of five pounds, my friend says, will do a good deal, sometimes, provided it's done secret. In all these things, mum's the word ; — no blartin' — no cacklin' afore layin' the egg, but as silent as the grave. Airl of Tunbridge ? it don't sound bad, does it ?' " ' Well,' sais I, ' father,' for I found opposite wouldn't do no long- er ; — ^ well,' sais I, ' father, it might be so in your case arter all.* " ' Might be so !' sais he ; ' I tell you it is so.* *' ' Well, I hope so,' sais I, ' but I feel overcome with the news ; s'posin' we go to bed now, and we will talk it over to-morrow.* " ' Well,' sais he, ' if you can sleep arter this, go to bed, but Sam, for Heaven's sake, sleep with General Wellington, and talk him over ; I don't care a d — n for the Airl of Tunbridge, I want to change it. I want the title to be Bunker Hill, as he is of Waterloo. We are two old veteran heroes, and ought to be two great nobs to- gether. Sleep with him, Sam, for Heaven's sake. And now,* sais he, risin', and takin' the candle, * open the door, Sir, and clear the way for the Lord .' "Oh, dear! dear; I am almost crazed myself, Squire — aint it shockin' ?" He was evidently very much distressed, I had never seen him so much moved before, and therefore endeavored to soothe him as well as I could. " Stranger things than that have happened," I said, " Mr. Slick. It is possible your father may be right, after all, although the proof to substantiate his claim may be unattainable. It is not probable, certainly, but it is by no means impossible." " Then you think there may be something in it, do you ?" " Unquestionably there may be, but 1 do not think there is." " But you think there may be — eh ?" " Certainly, there may be." After a long pause, he said : " I don't think so either. Squire : I believe it's only his ravin' ; but if there was," striking his fist on the table with great energy, " by the 'tarnal, I'd spend every cent I have in the world, to have my rights. No, there is nothin* in it, but if there was, I'd have it if I died for it. Airl of Tunbridge 1 well, it ain't so coarse, is it ? I wonder if the estate would come back too, for to my mind, a title without the rael grit, aint worth much, — is it ? Airl of Tunbridge ! — heavens and airth 1 if I had it, wouldn't I make your fortin, that's all ; I hope I may be shot if I'd forget old friends. Lord 1 I'd make you Governor-Gineral to Canady, for you are jist the boy that's fit for it — or Lord Nova Scotia ; for why shouldn't colonists come in for their share of good things as well as these d — ned monopolists here ; or any thin' you pleased a'most. Airl of Ti^bridge ! — Oh, it's all nonsense, it can't be true 1 The old man "H#^< IPI i^ll^lllfni) 828 THE ATTACHE; OR, was always mad upon somethin' or another, and now he is mad on this p'int. , I must try to drive it out of his head, that is, if it hante no bottom ; but if it has, I'm jist the boy to hang on to it, till I get it, that's a fact. Well, there may be somethin' in it, as you say, arter all. I'll tell you what, there's no harm in inquirin', at any rate. I'll look into the story of the ' Airl of Tunbridge.' " (/ PTER LX. ENGLISH GENTLEMEN. As we were sitting on tiie ox tee benches in the park, at Rich- mond, to-day, a livery servant passod us, with an air of self-posses- sion and importance that indicated the easy dependence of his con- dition, and the rank or affluence of his master. " That," said Mr. Slick, " is what I call ' a rael English gentleman,' now. He lives in a grand house, is well clad, well fed; lots* of lush to drink, devilish little to do, and no care about corn laws, free- trade, blowed-up bankers, run-away lawyers, smashed-down tenants, nor nothin'. The mistress is kind to him, 'cause he is the son of her old nurse ; and the master is kind to him 'cause his father and grandfather lived with his father and grand-father ; and the boys are kind to him, 'cause he always takes their part ; and the maids are kind to him, 'cause he is a plaguy handsome, free and easy feller (and women always like handsum men, and impedent men, though they vow they don't) ; and the butler likes him, 'cause he can drink like a gentleman and never get drunk. His master has to attend certain hours in the House of Lords : he has to attend certain hours in his master's house. There ain't much difference, is there? His master loses his place if the Ministry goes out ; but he holds on to his'n all the same. Which has the best of that ? His master takes the tour of Europe, so does he. His master makes all the arrange- ments and pays all the expenses; he don't do either. Which is master or servant here ? His young master falls in love with an Italian opera gal, who expects enormous presents from him ; he falls in love with the bar-maid, who expects a kiss from him. One is loved for his money, the other for his good looks. Who is the best off? When his master returns, he has lai'ned where the Alps is, and which side of them Rome is ; so has he. Who is the most im- proved ? Whenever it rains, his master sighs for the sunny sky of Italy, and quotes Rogers and Byron. He d — ns the climate of England in the vernacular tongue, relies on his own authority, a^d TF^oWt^M' '"■M-^"'*' .!,M"ifi** mw.wiviiwjiiMi i^ipwrnvip free- SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 829 at all events is original. The only difference is, his master calls the castle, ' My house,' he calls it, ' Our castle ;' his master says, * My park,* and he says, * Our park.* It is more dignified to use the plural : kings always do ; it's a royal phrase, and he has the advant- age here. He is the fust commoner of England, too. The sarvants' hall is the House of Commons. It has its rights and privileges, and is plaguy jealous of them, too. Let his master give any of them an order out of his line, and see how soon he votes it a breach of privilege. Let him order the coachman, as the horses are seldom used, to put them to the roller, and roll the lawn. * I can't do it, Sir ; I couldn*t stand it, I should never hear the last of it ; I should be called the rolim' coachman.' The master laughs ; he knows prerogative is dangerous ground, that an Englishman values Magna Charta, and says, ' Very well, tell Farmer Hodge to do it.* If a vine that hides part of the gable of a coach-house, busts its bondage, and falls trailin* on the ground, he sais, ' John, you have nothin' to do, it wouldn't hurt you, when you see such a thing as this loose, to nail it up. You see, I often do such things myself; I am not above it.' * Ah I it may do for you, Sir ; you can do it if you like, but / can't ; I should lose caste ; I should be called the gardener's coach- man.' ' Well, well ! you are a blockhead ; never mind.' " Look at the lady's-maid ; she is twice as handsum as her mis- tress, because she worked when she was young, had plenty of exer- cise and simple diet, and kept early hours, and is full of health and spirits ; she dresses twice as fine, has twice as many airs, uses twice as hard words, and is twice as proud, too. And what has she to do? Her mistress is one of the maids in waitin' on the Queen ; she is maid in waitin' on her mistress. Who has to mind her p's and q's most, I wonder ? Her mistress don't often speak till she is spoken to in the palace ; she speaks when she pleases. Her mistress flatters delicately ; she does the same if she chooses, and if not she don't take the trouble. Her mistress is expected to be affable to her equals, considerate and kind to her inferiors, and humane and chari- table to the poor. All sorts of things are expected of and from her. But she can skrimage with her equals, be sarsy to her inferiors, and scorney to the poor if she likes. It is not her duty to do all these things, tho' it is her mistress's, and she stands on her rights. Her mistress's interest, at court, is solicited where she can do but little at last ; the world overvalys it amazin'ly. Her interest with her mis- tress is axed for, where she can do a gread deal. There is no mis- take about that. Her mistress, when on duty, sais yes or no, as a matter of course. She can't go wrong if she follows the fugleman. There must be but one opinion at the palace. The decision of a Queen, like that of a Pope, don't admit of no nonconcurrin'. But she can do as she pleases, and is equally sartin of success. She cri^ up her mistress's new dress, her looks, her enti«.in' appearance, 830 THE ATTACH^; OB, her perfect elegance. She is agreeable, and a present rewards the honest thouglits of her simple heart. She disapproves the color, the texture, the becomin'ness of the last new dress. It don't suit her complexion, it don't set well, it don't show off the figure, it's not fit for her lady. She says she raelly thinks so, and she is seldom mis- taken. The dress is condemned and given to her : she is safe, any way. — Happy gal ! remain as you be, till the butt eend of time : it's better to have a mistress than a master. Take a fool's advice for oncet, and never marry ; whoever gits you will have his hands full in the halter-breakin', I know; who the devil could give you a mouth, keep you from shyin', or kickin', or rearin', or boltin' ? A mistress has a light bridle-hand, don't curb up too short, and can manage you easy : but a man — Lord a massy ! you'd throw him the fust spring and kick you give, and break his neck, I know. — Oh, these are the gentlemen and ladies of England ; these are the people for whom the upper and lower orders were born — one to find money and the other to work for 'em. Next to bein' the duke, I'd sooner be coachman to a gentleman that sports a four-in-hand than anythin* I know of to England : four spankin', sneezin' bosses that knows how to pick up miles and throw 'em behind 'em in style — g'long you skunks, and turn out your toes pretty — whist — that's the ticket ;— streak it off like 'iled lightning, my fox-tails : skrew it up tight, lock down the safety-valvQ, and clap all steam on, my busters ; don't touch the ground, jist skim it like hawks, and leave no trail ; go a-head handsum, my old clays : yes ! the sarvants are the ' Gentlemen of England,' they live like fightin' cocks, and yet you hear them infar- nal rascals, the Radicals, callin' these indulgent masters tyrants, endeavorin' to make these happy critturs hate the hand that feeds them, telling these pampered gentlemen they are robbed of their rights, and how happy they'd all be if they lost their places, and only had vote by ballot and univarsal suffrage. What everlastin* d— -d rascals they must be !" " Sam," said Mr. Hopewell, " I am surprised at you. I am shock- ed to hear you talk that way ; how often must 1 reprove you for swearing ?" " Well, it's enough to make a feller swear, to find critturs fools enough, rogues enough, and wicked enough, to cut apart nateral ties, to preach family treason, ill-will and hatred among men." " Nothing is so bad, Sam," he replied, " as to justify swearing. Before we attempt to reform others, we had better reform ourselves; a profane man is a poor preacher of morality." " I know it is a foolish practice. Minister," said Mr. Slick, "and I've ginn it over this good while. I've never swore scarcely since I heard that story of the Governor to Nova Scotia. One of their Governors was a military man, a fine, kind-hearted, generous old veteran as ever was, but he swore, every few words he said, ^e SAM SLICK IX ENGLAND. 881 Is the r, the t her ot fit mis- I anythin' ; not profane-like or cross, but jist a handy sort of good- humored oath. He kinder couldn't help it. " One day, on board the steam-boat a-crossing the harbor to Dartmouth, I heerd the Squire here say to him, ' We ought to have another church to Halifax, Sir Thomas,' sais he, ' somewhere in the neighborhood of Government House. St. Paul's is not half large enough for the congregation.' ' So I think,' sais the Governor, ' and I told the Bishop so ; but the Bishop sais to me, — I know that d — d well, Sir Thomas, but where the devil is the money to come from ? If I could find the means, by G — d ! you should soon have a church.' " He never could tell a story without puttin' an oath into every one's mouth, whether it was a bishop or any one else. But oath or no oath, he was a good old man that, and he was liked by every man in the province, except by them it's no great credit to be praised by." " Your apologies, Sam," he said " seldom mend the matter. Re- proving you makes you offend more ; it is like interrupting a man in speaking who wanders from his point, or who is arguing wrong ; you only lose time ; for he speaks longer than he otherwise would. I won't reprove, therefore, but I ask your forbearance as a favor. Yes, I agree with you as to servants here, — I like the relative con- dition of master and servant in this country. There is something to an American or a colonist quite touching in it— it is a sort of patri- archal tie. But alas ! I fear it is not what it was ; as you say, the » poison diffused through the country by reformers and radicals has done its work ; it has weakened the attachment of the servant to his master; it has created mutual distrust, and dissolved in a great mea- sure what I may call the family tie between them. Enfeebled and diluted, however, as the feeling is in general, it is still so different from what exists among us, that there is no one thing whatever that has come under my observation that has given me so much gratifica- tion as the relation of master and servant — the kindness and pater- nal regard of the one, and the affectionate and respectful attachment of the other. I do not say in all cases, because it is going out ; it is not to be found among the mushroom rich — the cotton lords, the novi homines, et hoc genus omne ; — ^but among the nobility and the old gentry, and some families of the middle classes, it is still to be found in a form that cannot be contemplated by a philanthropist without great satisfaction. In many cases the servants have been born on the estates, and their forefathers have held the same situa- tion in the family of their master's ancestors as they do. " Their interests, their traditions, their feelings, and sympathies are identified with those of the ' house.' They participate in their master's honors, they are jealous in supporting his rank, as if it was in part their own, and they feel that their advancement is connected wiih his promotion. They form a class — from that class they do 832 THE ATTACIiK; OR, h not expect or desire to be removed. Their hopes and afiections, iherctbre, are blended with those of their employers. With us it is always a temporary engagement — hope looks beyond it, and economy furnishes the means of extrication. It is like a builder's contract; he furnishes you with certain work — you pay a certain stipulated price ; when the engagement is fuliilled, you have noth- ing further to say to each other. There is no favor conferred on either side. " Punctuality, and not thanks are expected. It is a cold and mer- cenary bargain, in which there is a constant struggle ; on one side to repress the advance of familiarity, and on the other to resist the en- croachments of pride. The market price only is given by the mas- ter, and of course the least service returned, that is compatible with the terms of the bargain. The supply does not equal the demand, and the quality of the article does not correspond with the price. Those who have been servants seldom look back with complacency on their former masters. They feel no gratitude to them for having furnished them with the means of succeeding in the world, but they regard them with dislike, because they are possessed of a secret which they would have to be forgotten by all, — that they once were household servants. " As our population becomes more dense, this peculiarity will dis- appear, and the relation will naturally more nearly resemble that .which exists in Europe. There has already been a decided improve- ment within the last twenty years from this cause. Yes 1 I like the relative condition of master and servant here amazingly — the kind- ness, mildness, indulgence and exactness of the master, — the cheer- fulness, respectfulness, punctuality and regard of the servant, — the strength, the durability, and the nature of the connection. As I said before, there is a patriarchal feeling about it that touches me. I love them both." " Well, so do I too,'* said Mr. Slick, " it's a great comfort is a good help that onderstands his work and does it, and ain't above it. I must say I don't like to see a crittur sit down when I'm at dinner, and read the paper, like a Varmonter we had oncet. When father asked him to change a plate — *■ Squire,' sais he, ' I came as a help, not as a sarvant; if you want one o' them, get a Britisher, or a nigger. I reckon I am a free and enlightened citizen, as good as you be. Sarvants are critturs that don't grow in our backwoods, and if you take me for one you are mistaken in this child, that's all. If you want me to work, I'll work ; if you want me to wait on you, you'll wait for me a long time fust, I calkelate.' No, Squire, we hante got no sarvants, we've only got helps. The British have got sarvants, and then they are a 'nation sight better than helps, tho' they are a little proud and sarsy sometimes, but I don't wonder, for they are actUlj the Gentlemen of Englandy that's a fact." i^ 1 '''wi"»'""«n*'^e of life ob- literated, the society as by nc means so b£ i as they had heard, but possessing no attractions for a gentleman, the day of departure is regarded as release from prison, and the hope expressed that this * Foreign Service' will be rewarded as it deserves. All that they feel and express on this subject is unhappily too tr le. Jt is no place for a gentleman. The pestilential blasts of democracy, and the cold and chilly winds from Downing Street, have engendered an atmos- phere so uncongenial to a gentleman, that he feels he caauot live here. Yes ! it is too true, the race will soon become extmct. " Why, then, is the door of promotion not open to me also," ho inquires, " as it is the only hope left to me. Talk not to me of light taxes, I despise your money ; or of the favor of defending me, I can defend myself. I, too, have the ambition to command, as well as the forbearance to obey. Talk of free trade to traders, but of honorable competition in the departments of state to gentlemen. Open your Senate to us, and receive our representatives. Select some of our ablest men for governors of other colonies, and not condemn us to be always governed. It can be no honor to a people to be a part of your empire, if they are excluded from all honor ; even bondsmen sometimes merit and receive their manumission. May not a colonist receive that advancement to which he is entitled by his t^ents, his ti2 THE attach£; or, public services, or his devotion to your cause ? No one doubts your justice — the name of an Englishman is a guarantee for that : but we have not the same confidence in your information as to our con- dition. Read history and learn ! In the late rebellion, Sir John Colboume commanded two or three regiments of British troops. Wherever they were detached they behaved as British soldiers do upon all occasions, with great gallantry and with great skill. His arrangements were judicious, and upon two or three occasions where he attacked some small bodies of rebels he repulsed or dispersed them. He was acting in the line of his profession, and he peribrmed a duty for which he was paid by his country. He was rewarded with the thanks of Parliament, a peerage, a pension, and a govern- ment. A colonist at the same time raised a body of volunteers from an irregular and undisciplined militia, by the weight of his personal character and infiuence, and with prodigious exertion and fatigue, traversed the upper province, awakened the energies of the people, and drove out of the country both native rebels and foreign sympa- thizers. Ik saved the colony. He was not acting in the line of his profession, nor discharging a duty for which he was paid by his country. He was rewarded by a reluctant and barren grant of knighthood. Don't misunderstand me : I have no intention what- ever of undervaluing the services of that excellent man and distin- guished officer. Sir John Colboume ; he earned and deserved his re- ward ; but what I mean to say is, the colonist has not had the re- ward that he earned and deserved — ' Bx uno disce omnes." " The American Revolution has shown you that colonists can fur- nish both generals and statesmen ; take care and encourage theii- most anxious desire to furnish them to you, and do not drive them to uct against you. Yet then, as now, you thought them incapable of any command; we have had and still have men of the same stamp; our cemeteries suggest the same reflections as your own. The moralist often says : — ' Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid, Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed, Or wak'd to ecstasy the living lyre. * The applause of listening senates to command ; The threats of pain and ruin to despise ; To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their history in a nation's eyes. • Their lot forbad.—' " Whether the lot of the present generation will also forbid it, you must decide — or circumstances may decide it for you. Yes, Squire, this is an important subject, and one that I have often mentioned to SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 343 yon. Instead of fostering men of talent, and endeavoring to raise an order of superior men in the country, so that in them the aristo- cratic feeling which is so peculiarly monarchical may t^ke root and flourish ; Government has repressed them, sacrificed them to dema- gogues, and reduced the salaries of all official men to that degree, that but suited the ravenous envy of democracy. Instead of build- ing up the second branch, and the order that is to furnish and sup- port it, everything has been done to lower and to break it. In pro- portion as they are diminished, the demagogue rises, when he in his turn will find the field too limited, and the reward too small ; and, unrestrained by moral or religious feeling, having no principles to guide, and no honor to influence him, he will draw the sword as he has done, and always will do, when it suits his views, knowing how great the plunder will be if he succeeds, and how certain his pardon will be if he fails. He has literally everything to gain and nothing to lose in his struggle for ' Independence.' " CHAPTER LXIII. THE EBB TIDE. To-DAT Mr, Slick visited me as usual, but I was struck with astonishment at the great alteration in Lis dress and manner — I scarcely knew him at first, the metamorphosis was so great. He had shaved off his moustache and imperial, and from having worn those military appendages so long, the skin they had covered not being equally exposed to the influence of the sun as other parts of his face, looked as white as if it had been painted. His hair was out of curl, the diamond brooch had disappeared from his bosom, the gold chain from his neck, and the brilliant from his finger. His attire was like that of other people, and, with the exception of being better made, not unlike what he had worn in Nova Scotia. In short, he looked like himself once more. " Squire," said he, " do you know who I am ?" " Certainly ; who does not know you ? for you may well say, ' not to know me, argues thyself unknown. " " Aye, but do you know what I am ?" " An Attache," I said. "Well, I ain't, I've gi\ m that up — I've resigned — I ain't no longer an Attache ; I'm Sam Slick, the clockmaker, agin — at least what's left of me. I've recovered my eyesight — I can see without glasses now. You and minister have opened my eyes, and what you 844 THE ATTACH^!; OB, eouldn't do, father has done. Father was madder nor me by a lotig chalk. I've been a fool, that's a fact. I've had my head turned ; but, thank, fortin', I've got it straight agin. I should like to see the man now that would pull the wool over my eyes. I've been made a tiger and " " Lion you mean, a tiger is a term applied to ** ' * " Exactly, so it is ; I meant a lion. Tve been made a lion of, and makin' a lion of a man is plaguy apt to make a fool of a feller. I can tell you. To be asked here, and asked there, and introduced to this one, and introduced to that one, and petted and flattered, and made much of, and have all eyes on you, and wherever you go, hear a whisperin' click with the last letters of your name — ick — lick — Slick — accordin' as you catch a part or a whole of the word ; to hare fellers listen to you to hear you talk, to see the papers full of your name, and whenever you go, or stay, or return, to have your motions printed. The celebrated Sam Slick — the popular Mr. Slick — ^the immortal Clockmaker — that dis- tinguished moralist and humorist — ^that great judge of human natur^ Mr. Slick ; or to see your phiz in a winder of a print-shop, or in a wood-cut in a picturesque paper, or an engine on a railroad called arter you ; or a yacht, or vessel, or racehorse called Sam Slick. Well, it's enough to make one a little grain consaited, or to carry his head high, as a feller I oncet knew to Slickville, who was so ev- erlastin' consaited, and cocked his chin up so, he walked right off the eend of a wharf without seein' the water, and was near about drowned, and sp'iled all his bran new clothes. Yes, Tve had my head turned a bit, and no mistake, but it hante been long. I know human natur', and read the human heart too easy, to bark long up a wrong tree. I soon twigged the secret. One wanted to see me, whether I was black or white ; another wanted to brag that I dined with 'em ; a third wanted me as a decoy bird to their table, to entice others to come ; a fourth, 'cause they made a p'int of havin' distin- guished people at their house ; a fifth, 'cause they sot up for patrons of literary men ; a sixth, 'cause they wanted colony politics ; a sev- enth, 'cause it give 'em something to talk of. But who wanted me for Jnyself ? Sam Slick, a mechanic, a retail travellin* trader, a wooden clockmaker. 'Aye,* sais I, to myself sais I, 'who wants you for yourself, Sam,' sais I ; ' books, and fame, and name out of the question, but jist ' Old Slick, the Yankee Pedlar ?* D — n the one o* them,' sais I.-* I couldn't help a-thinkin' of Hotspur Outhouse, son of the clerk to Minister's church to Slickville. He was sure to git in the wind wherever he went, and was rather touchy when he was that way, and a stupid feller too. "Well, he was axed everywhere a'most, jist because he had a'most a beautiful voice, and sung Uke a canary bird. Folks thought it was no party without Hotspur — ^they made everything of him. Well, his voice changed, as it does some- SAM SLIO«; IN ENQLAND. &^ times in men, and there was an eend of all his everlastin' splendid singin*. No sooner said than done — there was an eend to his invita- tions too. All at oncet folks found out that he was a'most a horrid stupid crittur ; wondered what anybody ever could have seed in him to ax him to their houses — such a nasty, cross, quarrelsome, good- for-nothin' feller. Poor Hotspur I it nearly broke his heart. Well, like Hotspur, who was axed for his singin', I reckon I was axed for the books ; but as for me, myself, Sam Slick, why nobody cared a pinch of snuff. The film dropt right off my eyes at oncet — my mind took it all in at a draft, like a glass of lignum-vity. Tell you where the mistake was, Squire, and I only claim a half of it — t'other half belongs to the nobility. It was this : I felt as a free and enlight- ened citizen of our great nation, on a footin of equality with any man here, and so I was. Every noble here looks on a republican as on a footin' with the devil. We didn't start fair ; if we was, I ain't afeerd of the race, I tell you. I guess they're got some good sto- ries about me to larf at, 'for in course fashions alters in different places. I've dressed like them, and tried to talk like them, on the principle that when a feller is in Turkey, he must do as the Turkeys do ; or when they go from Canady to Buffalo, do as the Buffaloes do. I have the style of a man of fashion, of the upper crust circles, and can do the thing now as genteel as any on 'em ; but in course, in larnin', I put my foot in it sometimes, and splashed a little of the nastiest. It stands to reason it couldn't be otherwise. I'll tell you what fust sot me a considerin' — I saw Lady , plague take her name, I forgit it now, but you know who I mean, it's the one that pretends to be so fond of foreigners, and tries to talk languages- Gibberish ! oh ! that's her name. Well, I saw Lady Gibberish go up to one of my countrywomen, as sweet as sugar-candy, and set her a-talkin', jist to git out of her a few Yankee words, and for no other airthly purpose, (for you know we use some words different from what they do here), and then go off, and tell the story, and larf ready to kill herself. ' Thinks,' sais I, ' I'll take the change out of you, marm, for that, see if I don't ; I'll give you a story about yourself you'll have to let others tell for you, for you won't like to retail it out yourself, I know.' — ^Well, Lady Gibberish, you know, wam't a noble born ; she was a rich citizen's daughter, and, in course, horrid proud of nobility, 'cause it's new to her, and not nateral ; for in a gineral way, nobles, if they have pride, lock it up safe in their jewel case ; — they don't carry it about with them, on their persons ; it's only bran new made ones do that. " Well, then, she is dreadful fond of bein' thought to know lan- guages, and hooks on to rich foreigners like grim death. So, thinks I, I'll play you off, I know. Well, my moustache (and he put up his hand involuntarily, to twist the end of it, as he was wont to do, forgetting that it was a ' tale that was told'), my moustache," said 15* 55E 846 THE ATTAOnii; OB, I i : he, " that was jist suited my purpose, so I goes to Gineral Bigelow Bangs, of Maine, that was here at the time, and, sais I, ' Gineral,' sais I, ' I want to take a rise out of Lady Gibberish ; do you know her?' 'Well, I won't say I don't,' sais he. 'Well,' sais I (and I told him the whole story), 'jist introduce me, that's a good feller, will you, to her, as Baron Von Phunjoker, the everlastin' almighty rich German that has estates all over Germany, and everywhere else a'most.' So up he goes at a great swoira party at ' the Duke's,* and introduces me in great form, and leaves me. Well, you know I've heerd a great deal Of Dutch to Albany, where the Germans are as thick as huckleberries, and to Lunenburg, Nova Scotia, which is German all thro' the piece, and I can speak it as easy as kiss my hand ; and I've been enough in Germany, too, to know what to talk about. So, she began to jabber Jarman gibberish to me, and me to her ; and when she axed me about big bugs to the continent, I said I had been roamin' about the world for years, and had lost sight of 'em of late ; and I told her about South Sea, where I had been, and America, and led her on to larf at the Yankees, and so on. Then, she took my arm, and led me round to several of her friends, and introduced me as the Baron Von Phunjoker, begged me to call and see her, to make her house my home, and the devil knows what all; and when she seed Gineral Bangs arterwards, she said I was the most deligl*ful man she ever seed in her life, — full of anecdote, and been everywhere, and seen everythin', and that she liked me of all things — the dearest and handsomest man that ever was. The story got wind that the trick had been played, but the Gineral was off to Eastport, and nobody know'd it was me that was Baron Phunjoker. When she sees me, she stares hard, as if she had her misgivin's, and was doubty ; but I look as innocent as a child, and pass on. Oh ! it cut her wp awful. When I leave town, I shall call and leave a card at her house, 'the Baron Von Phunjoker.' Oh! how the little Yankee woman larfed at the story ; she fairly larfed till she wet herself a-cryin', " Yes, Squire, in course, I have sometimes put my foot in it. I s'pose they may have a larf at my expense arter I am gone, but they are welcome to it. I shall have many a larf at them, 1 know, and a fair exchange ain't no robbery. Yes, I guess I am out of place as an Attach^, but it has enabled me to see the world, has given me new wrinkles on my horn, and sharpened my eye-teeth a few. I shall return home with poor old father, and, dear old soul, old Minister, and take up the trade of clockmakin' agin. There is a considerable smart chance of doin' business to advantage to China. I have contracted with a house here for thirty thousand wooden clocks, to be delivered at Macao. I shall make a good spec' of it, and no mistake. And well for me it is so, too, for you have sp'iled the trade everywhere a'most. Your books have gone everywhere, ] / •«9 SAH SLICK IN ENGLAND. 847 and been translated everywhere ; and who would buy clocks now, iivhen the secret of the trade is out ? If you know, I don't. China is the only place open now, and that won't be long, for Mr. Chew- chew will take to readin' bime-by, and then I'm in a basket there, too. Another thing has entarmined me to go. Poor dear father ^ has been regularly took in by some sharper or another. What fetched him here was a letter from a swindler (marked private), tellin' him to send five pounds, and he'd give him tidin's of a fortin and a title. Well, as soon as he got that, he writes agin, and tells him of his title and estates, so plausible, it actilly took me in when I fust heard of it. Then, he got him over here, and bled him till he couldn't bleed no longer, and then he absquotilated. The story has got wind, and it makes me so dandry, I shall have to walk into some o' them folks here afore I've done, if I stay. Father is most crazy ; sometimes he is for settin* the police to find the feller out, that he may shoot him ; and then he says it's every word true, and the man is only absent in s'archin' out record. I'm actilly afraid he'll go mad, he acts, and talks, and frets, and raves, and carries on «o. I hope they won't get the story to home to Slickville ; I shall never hear the last of it if they do. " Minister, too, is gettin* oneasy ; he sais he is too far away from home, for an old man like him ; that his heart yearns arter Slick- ville ; that here he is a-doin' o' nothin', and that although he couldn't do much there, yet he could try to, and the very attempt would be acceptable to his Heavenly Master. What a brick he is ! ain't he ? it will be one while afore they see his like here agin, in these clearin's, I know. " Yes, all things have their flood and their ebb. It's ebb tide here now. I have floated up steam smooth and grand ; now it's a turn of the tide ; if I stay too long, I shall ground on the flats, and I'm for up killock and off, while there is water enough to clear the bars and the shoals. " Takin' the earliest tide, helps you to go furdest up the river ; takin' the earliest ebb makes you return safe. A safe voyage shows a good navigator and a good pilot. I hope on the voyage of life I shall prove myself both ; but to do so, it is necessary to keep about the sharpest look-out for * the Ebb Tide.* " ^j WKmm MS THE attache; ok, CHAPTER LXIV. EXPERIMENTAL PHILOSOPHY. OuB arrangements having been all finished, we set ont from London, and proceeded to Liverpool, at which place my friends were to embark for America. For many miles after we left Lon- don, but little was said by any of the party. Leaving a town that contained so many objects of attraction as London, was a great trial to Mr. Slick ; and the separation of our party, and the termination of our tour, pressed heavily on the spirits of us all, except the Co- lonel. He became impatient at last at the continued silence, and, turning to me, asked me if ever I had been at a Quaker meeting, " because if you haven't," he said, " you had better go there, and you will know what it is to lose the use of your tongue, and that's what I call experimental philosophy. Strange country this. Minister, ain't it ! How shockin' full of people, and bosses, and carriages, and what not, it is. It ought to be an amazin' rich country, but I doubt that." " It's not only a gi*eat country, but a good country. Colonel," he replied. " It is as good as it is great, and its greatness, in my opi- nion, is founded on its goodness. ' Thy prayers and thy alms have come up as a memorial for thee before God.' " " And do you raelly think, now. Minister," he replied, " that that's the cause they have gone a-head so ?" " I do," he said ; " it's with nations as with individuals : soonr later they are overtaken in their iniquity, or their righteous meets its reward." " That's your experimental philo'?phy, then, is it?** " Call it what name you will, that is my fixed belief." " The British, then, must have taken to prayin' and alms-givin' only quite lately, or the Lord wouldn't a-suffered them to get such an almighty everlastin* whippin' as we give *em to Bunkers Hill, or as old Hickory give *em to New Orleans. Heavens and airth ! how we laid it into 'em there : we waited till we seed the whites of their eyes, and then we let *em have it right and left. They lamt experitnental philosophy (as the immortal Franklin caUed it) that time, I know." SAM 8LI0K IN KNOLAND. 849 ** Colonel," said Mr. Hopewell, ** for an old man, on the verge of the grave, exulting over a sad and stem necessity like that battley-^ for that is the mildest name such a dreadful effusion of human blood can claim, — appears to me but little becoming either your age, your station, or eren your profession." ** Well, Minister," he said, " you are right there, too^ it is foolish, I know, but it was a great deed, and I do feel kinder proud of it, that's a fact ; not that I haven't got my own misgivin's sometimes, when I wake up in the night, about its lawfulness ; not that I am afraid of ghosts, for, d — a me I if I am afraid of anythin' livin' or dead ; I don't know fear — I don't know what it is." " I should think not. Colonel, not even the fear of the Lord." " Oh I as for that," he said, " that's a boss of another color ; it's no disgrace to be cowardly there ; but as for the lawfulness of that battle, I won't deny I hante got my own experimaUal philosophy about it sometimes. I'd like to argue that over a Bottle of cider, some day, with you, and hear all the pros and cons, and debtors and creditors, and ins and outs, that I might clear my mind on that score. On the day of that battle, I had white breeches and black gaiters on, and my hands got bloody liftin' up Lieutenant Weather- spoon, a tailor from our town, arter he got a clip on the shoulder from a musket-ball. Well, he left the print of one bloody hand on my legs — and sometimes I see it there now ; not that I am afeerd on it, for I'd face man or devil. A Bunker Hill boy is afeerd of nothin'. He knows what experimental philosophy is. Did you ever kill a man. Minister ?" " How can you ask such a questicm. Colonel Slick ?" ^ Well, I don't mean no offence, for I don't suppose you did ; but I jist want you to answer, to show you the eT^erimental philosophy of the thing." « Well, Sir, I never did." " Did you ever steal ?" "Never." " Did you ever bear false witness agm your neighbor ?" ** Oh I Colonel Slick, don't go on that way." " Well, oncet more ; did you ever covet your neighbor's wife ? tell me that now ; nor his servant, nor his maid ? — As to maidens, I sup- pose it's so long ago, you are like myself that way — ^you don't recol- lect ?— Nor his boss, nor his ox, nor his rifle, nor anythin' that's his ? — Jim Brown, the biack preacher, says there aint no asses to Slick- viUe." " He was under a mistake, Colonel," said Mr. HopewelL " He was one himself, and if he had searched he would have found other " " And therefore he leaves 'em out, and puts in the only thing he ever did envy a man, and that's a good rifle." > ■^SW" < 850 THE attache; OB, i " Colonel Slick," said Mr. Hopewell, " when I say this style of conversation is distasteful to me, I hope you will see the propriety of not pursuing it any further." " You don't onderstand me Sir, that's the very thing I'm goin' to explain to you by experimental philosophy. Who the devil would go to offend you, Sir, intentionally ? I'm sure I wouldn't, and you know that as well as I do ; and if I seed the man that dare do it, I'd call him out, and shoot him as dead as a herrin'. I'll be cussed if I wouldn't. Don't kick afore yoit're spurred, that way. Well, as I was a-sayin', you never broke »ay of the commandments in all your life—" " I didn't say that, Sir I fax be such presumption from me. I never — " " Well, you may a-bent some o' them consideraK/le, when you was young ; but you never fairly broke one, I know." " Sam," said Mr. Hopewell, with an imploring look, " this is very disagreeable — very." " Let him be," said his '^oii, " he don't mean no harm — it's only his way. Now, to my liiind, a man ought to kno '' by experimental philosophy them things ; and then when he talkt i about stings o* conscience, and remorse, and so on, he'd talk about somethin' he knowed. — You've no more stings o' conscience than a baby has — you don't know what it is. You can preach up the pleasure of bein* good better nor any man I ever seed, because you know that, and nothin' else — it's all flowers, and green fields, and purlin' streams, and shady groves, and singin' birds, and sunny spots, and so on with you. You beat all when you git off on that key ; but you can't frighten folks out of their seventeen sinses, about scorpion whips, and vultur's tearin' hearts open, and torments of the wicked here, and the damned hereafter. You can't do it to save your soul alive, 'cause you hante got nothin' to repent of; you don't see the bloody hand on your white breeches — ^you hante got experimental philosophy** " Sam," said Mr. Hopewell, who availed himself of a slight pause in the Colonel's " experimental philosophy," to change the conversa- tion ; " Sam, these cars run smoother than ours ; the fittings, too, are more complete." " I think them the perfection of travellin'. " Now, there was Balph Maxwell, the pirate," cont!xiued the Col- onel, " that was tried for forty-two murders, one hundred high sea robberies, and forty ship bumin's, at New Orleans, condemned and sentenced to be hanged — his hide was bought, on sptkilation of the hangman, for two thousand dollars, for razor-straps, bank-note books, ladies' needle-cases, and so on. Well he was pardoned jist at the last, and people said he paid a good round sum for it : but the hang- man kept the money ; he said he was ready to deliver his hide, ac- cordm' to barg'in, when he was hanged, and so he was, I do sup- ^m SAM SLICE IN ENGLAND. 861 pose, when he was hanged. Well, Balph was shunned by all fash- ionable society, in course ; no respectable man would let him into his house, unless it was to please the ladies as a sight, and what does Ralph do— why he went about howlin', and yellin', and scream- in,' like mad, and foamin' at the mouth for three days, and then said he was convarted, and took up preachin'. Well, folks said, the greater the sinner, the greater the saint, and they foUered him in crowds— every door was open to him, and so was every puss, and the women all went mad arter him, for he was a horrid handsum man, and he took the rag off quite. That man had experimental philoso- phy — that is, arter a fashion. He come down as far as our State, and I went to hear him. Oh ! he told such beautiful anecdotes of pirates and stam chases, and sea-fights, and runnin' off with splen- deriferous women, and of barrels of gold, and hogsheads of silver, and boxes of diamonds, and bags of pearls, that he most turned the young men's heads — they called him the handsum young convarted p* <.. When a man talks about what he knows, 1 call it experi- mental philosophy. " Now, Minister, he wam't a right man you know — ^he was a vil- lain, and only took to preachin' to make money, and, therefore, instead of frightenin' folks out of their wits, as he would a-done if he'd been frightened himself, and experienced repentance, he allured 'em a'most ; he didn't paint the sin of it, he painted the excitement. I seed at once, with half an eye, where the screw was loose, and it proved right — for as soon as he raised fifty thousand dollars by preachin'. he fitted out another pirate vessel, and was sunk fightin' a British man-o'-war ; but he might have been a great preacher, if his heart had raelly been in the right place, 'cause his experimental philosophy was great ; and, by the bye, talkin' of experimental puts me in mind of practical philosophy. Lord ! I shall never forget old Captain Polly, of Nantucket : did you ever hear of him. Squire ? In course he was a captain of a whaler. He was what he called a prac- tical man ; he left the science to his officers, and only sailed her, and managed things, and so on. He was a mighty droll man, and p'raps as great a pilot as ever you see a'most ; but navigation he didn't know at all ; so when the officers had their glasses up at twelve o'clock to take the sun, he'd say, * Boy,' — * Yes, Sir.' * Hand up my quadranc,' and the boy'd hand up a large square black bottle full of gin. * Bear a-hand you young rascal,' he'd say, ' or I shall lose the obsarvation,' and he'd take the bottle with both hands, throw his head back, and turn it butt eend up and t'other eend to his mouth, and pretend to be f -lookin' at the sun ; and then, arter his breath give out, he'd take it down and say to officer, ' Have you had a good ob- sarvation to-day ?' ' Yes, Sir.' ' So have I,' he'd say, a-smackin* of his lips — ' a capital one, too.' ' Its twelve o'clock, Sir.' * Veiy mm •^SF^^m^^m^ 862 THE ATTACHi:; OB, well, make it so.' Lord ! no soul could help a-larfin', he did it all 80 grave ^nd serious ; he called it practical philosophy." " Hullo ! what large place is this, Sam ?'* " Birmingham, Sir." " How long do we stop ?" •" Long enough for refreshment, Sir." " Come, then, let's take an observation out of the black bottle, like Captain Polly. Let's have a turn at Practical Philosophy ; I think we've had enough to-day of ExperimerUal Philosophy" While Mr. Slick and his father were *' taking observations," I walked up and down in front of the saloon with Mr. Hopewell. ** What a singular character the Colonel is 1" he said ; " he is one of the oddest compounds I ever knew. He is as brave and as hon- orable a man as ever lived, and one of the kindest-hearted creatures I ever knew. Unfortunately, he is very weak ; and having acci- dentally been at Bunker Hill, has had his head turned, as being an Attache has affected Sam's, only the latter's good sense has enabled him to recover from his folly sooner. I have never been able to make the least impression on that old man. Whenever I speak se- riously to him, he swears at me, and says he'll not talk through his nose for me or any Preacher that ever trod shoe-leather. He is very profane, and imagines, foolish old man as he is, that it gives him a military air. That he has ever had any compunctious visitations, I never knew before to-day, and am glad he has given me that advan- tage. I think the bloody hand will assist me in reclaiming him yet. He has never known a day's confinement in his life, and has never been humbled by sickness. He is, of course, quite impenetrable. I shall not forget the bloody hand — it may, with the blessing of God, be sanctified to his use yet. That is an awful story of the pirate, is it not ? What can better exemplify the necessity of an Established Church than the entrance of such wicked men into the Temple of the Lord ? Alas ! my friend, religion in our country, bereft of the care and protection of the state, and left to the charge of uneducated and often unprincipled men, is, I fear, fast descending into little more than what the poor old Colonel would call, in his thoughtless way, ^Experimental Philosophy.*" SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. 868 ■ t »■ I ) CHAPTER LXV. PARTING SCENE. acci- Haying accompanied Mr. Slick on board of the * Great Western/ and seen every preparation made for the reception and comfort of Mr. Hopewell, we returned to the " Liner's Hotel," and ordered an early dinner. It was a sad and melancholy meal. It was not only the last I should partake of with my American party in England,, but in all human probability the last at which we should ever be assembled. After dinner Mr. Slick said : '< Squire, you have often given me a good deal of advice, free gratis. Did ever I flare up when you was walkin' it into me ? Did you ever see me get mad now, when you spoke to me ?" . " Never," I said. " Guess not," he replied. " I reckon I've seed too much of the world for that. Now don't you go for to git your back up, if I say a word to you at partin'. You won't be offended, will you ?" *^ Certainly not," I said ; " I shall be glad to hear whatever you have to say." " Well then," said be, ** I don't jist altogether like the way you throw away your chances. It ain't every colonist has a chance, I can tell you, for you are all out of sight and out of mind, and looked down upon from every suckin' subaltern in a marchin' regiment, that hante got but two idees, one for eatin' and drinkin', and t'other for dressin' and smokin', up to a Parliament man, that sais, * Nova Sco- tia — ^what's that ? is it a town in Canady or in Botany Bay ?' Yes, it ain't oflen a colonist gits a chance, I can tell you, and, especially such a smart one as you have. Now jist see what you do. When the Whigs was in office, you jist turned to and said you didn't like them nor their principles — that they wam't fit to govern this great nation, and so on. That was by the way of cunyin' favor, I guess. Well, when the Conservatives come in, sais you, they are neither chalk nor cheese, I don't like their changing their name; they are leetle better nor the Whigs, but not half so good as the Tories. Capital way of makin' friends this, of them that's able and willin' to sarve you, ain't it? Well then, if some out-and-out old Tory boys like yourself were to come in, I'll bet you a goose and trimmin's that you'd take the same crctchical course agin. ' Oh I' you'd say, * I like thes ^affwiwqii**ii»