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Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mAthoda. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 Z' ' : I :/:■/ ^ ■. ./ M \ \ I ^ ■% .^^%»ft^<^^^^^<^^ THE ATTACHE OR SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND ^/^■^«^t /J^ ^ /^//. ^-^ err X^ ^*^ y 7 (• 1 >.- mpym^mem iwii^wp ^i^^^p"^"^^^^"Pi""'ifipiiPm -L »"* •a- -\., « • PRIHTID BY CRAriLIT, 9, RUR DE VA06IRARD. THE ATTACHE OR SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND BV THE AUTHOR OF " Till CLOCKMAKBn; OR SAVINGS AND DOINGS OF SAM SUCK, RTC, ETC., ETC. V;>"*^ MtVW /AVq/UOVO. JU/ATCOTHJV. Greek Proverb. Tell you what, report my s|ieerlies if you like, but if you put my Uilk in, I'll give you the mitten, at sure as you arc born Slick viLLE TKAHstiTlON. « » PARIS PUBLISHED RY A. AND W. GALIGNANI AND C"., N" 18, RUE VIVIfiNNB 1843. ■ ■Ill I' <>< «,•! ■ .11 ji|i^iipiiB^«nnipmanMMqRp|pp«|||i "■ >■ W I Mi l V mf ' - '■ " 'i ) i 1 »' <>■ I WWi l M I I I 'A Hl3 al H ^^i^-^^ rw-^' 4^^-. CU.?.fif:>^^ \ LondoD, JKly ard, i843. My dear Hopkinson, I have spent so many agreeable hours at Edge- worth heretofore, that my first visit on leaving London, will be to your hospitable mansion. In the meantime, I beg leave to introduce to you my "Attache," who will precede me several days. His politics are similar to your own; I wish I could say as much in favour of his humour. His eccentricities will stand in need of your indul- gence ; but if you can overlook these, I am not ^vithout hopes that his originality, quaint sayings, and queer views of things in England, will afford &A36a i you some amusement. At all events, 1 feel assured you will receive him kindly; if not for his own merits, at least for the sake of Yours always, The Author. To Edmund Hopkinsom, Esq* Edgeworth, Gloucestcnhire. >♦ « //^ THE ATTACHE OR SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND. CHAPTER I. UiNCORKING A BOTTLE. We left New York in the afternoon of -~ day of May, 184 — , and embarked on board of the good Packet ship "Tyler" for England. Our party consisted of the Reverend Mr. Hopewell, Samuel Slick, Esq., myself, and Jube Japan, a black servant of the Attache. I love brevity— I am a man of few words, and, there- fore, constitutionally economical of them j but brevity is apt to degenerate into obscurity. Writing a book, however, and book-making, are two very diflferent things : "spinning a yarn'* is mechanical, and book-making sa- vours of trade, and is the employment of a manufacturer. I'he 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 4 THE ATTACH K. is made to reach lo three volumes, otherwise it will not pay, and a manufacture that does not requite the cost of production ) invariably and inevitably terminates in bank- ruptcy. A thought, therefore, like a pound of cotton, must be well spun out to bo valuable. It is very contemp- tuous to say of a man, that he has but one idea, but it is the highest meed of praise that can be bestowed on a book. A man, who writes thus, can write for ever. Now, it is not only not my intention to write for ever, or as Mr. Slick would say "for everlastinly j" but to make my bow and retire very soon from the press al- together. I might assign many reasons for this modest course, all of them plausible, and some of them indeed quite dignified. I like dignity : any man who has lived the greater part of his life in a colony is so accustomed to it, that he becomes quite enamoured of it, and wrap- ping himself up in it as a cloak, stalks abroad the ** observed of all observers. " I could undervalue this species of writing if I thought proper, affect a contempt for idiomatic humour, or hint at the employment being inconsistent with the grave discharge of important offi- cial duties, which are so distressingly onerous, as not tr leave me a moment for recreation \ but these airs, though dignified, will unfortunately not avail me. I shall put my dignity into my pocket, therefore, and disclose the real cause of this diffidence. In the year one thousand eight hundred and fourteen, I embarked at Halifax on board the Bufi^lo store-ship for England. She was a noble teak built ship of twelve or thirteen hundred tons burden, had excellent accom- modation, and carried over to merry old England, a very ■i t THE ATTACHE. 5 merry party of passengers, quorum parva pars fui, a youngster just emerged from college. On the banks of Ne>yfoundland wo were becalmed, and the passengers amused themselves by throwing over- board a bottle, and shooting at it with ball. The guns used for this occasion, were the King's muskets, taken from the arm-chest on the quarter-deck. The shooting was execrable. It was hard to say which were worse marksmen, the ufllcers of the ship, or the passengers. Not a bottle was hit : many reasons were offered for thia failure, but the two principal ones were, that the musketi were bad, and that i^ require*' great skill to overcome the difficulty occasioned by both the vessel and the bottle being in motion at tiie same time, and that motion diisi* milar. I lost my patience. I had never practised shooting with ball ', I had frightened a few snipe, and wounded a few partridges, but that was the extent of my experience. ' I knew, however, that I could not by any possibility shoot worse than every body else had done, and might by accident shoot better. ''Give me a gun. Captain,*' said I, '' and I will shew " you how to uncork that bottle." I took the musket, but its weight was beyond my strength ol arm. I was afraid that I could not hold it out steadily, even for a moment, it was so very heavy — I threw it up with a desperate effort and fired. The neck of the bottle flew up in the air a full yard, and then disap- peared. 1 was amazed myself at my success. Every body was surprised, but as every body attributed it to long practice, they were not so much astonished as I was, who m^psmmm&i^i^^^m wmimm^ mmmmmm 1 6 THE ATTACHE. knew it was wholly owing to chance. It was a lucky hit, and I made the most of it ; success made me arrogant, and boy-like, I became a boaster. '*Ah," said I coolly, "you must be born with a rifle in your hand, Captain, to shoot well. Every body shoots well in America. I do not call myself a good shot. I have not had the requisite experience •, but there are those who can take out the eye of a squirrel at a hundred yards. " "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 thousand times, never struck me so forci- bly. But I was not to be put down so easily. " See it ! " said I, " why not? Try it and you will fmd your sight improve with your shooting. Now, I can't boast of being a good marksman myself; my studies" (and here I looked big, for I doubted if he could even read, much less construe a chapter in the Greek Testa- ment) "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 indifference : " I never bet, and besides, that gun hap so injured my shoul- der, 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. \ I THE ATTACHE. 7 This is precisely my case now, genlle reader. I made an accidental hit with the Clockmaker : when he ceases to speak, I shall cease to write. The little reputation I then acquired, 1 do not intend to jeopardize by trying too many experiments. I know that it was chance— many people think it was skill. If they choose to think so, they have a right to their opinion, and that opinion is fame. I value this reputation too highly not to take care of it. As I do not intend then to write often, I shall not wire- draw my subjects, for the mere purpose of filling pages. Still a book should be perfect within itself, and intelli- gible without reference to other books. Authors are vain people, and vanity as well as dignity is indigenous to a colony. Like a pastry-cook's apprentice, I see so much of both their sweet things around me daily, that I have no appetite for either of them. I might perhaps be pardoned, if I took it for granted, that the dramatis persons of this work were sufliciently 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, there- fore, called if Notes for General Circulation." Even Colonists say, that this was too bad, and if they say so, it must be so. I shall, therefore, briefly state, who and what the persons are that composed our travelling party, as if they were wholly unknown to fame, and then leave them to speak for themselves. The Reverend Mr. Hopewell is a very aged clergyman of the Church of England, and was educated at Cam- bridge College, in Massachusetts. Previously to the re- volution, he was appointed rector of a small parish in ■I 8 THE ATTACH^. Connecticut. When the colonies obtained their indepen- dence, 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 Uni- tarians, gave him his dismissal. Affable in his manners and simple in his habits, with a mind well stored with human lore, and a heart full of kindness for his fellow- creatures, he was at once an agreeable and an instructive companion. Born and educated in the United States, when they were British dependencies, and possessed of a thorough knowledge of the causes which led to the rebel- lion, 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 while travelling in Nova Scotia. He was then a manufacturer and vendor of wooden clocks. My first impression of him was by no means favourable. He forced himself most unceremoniously into my com- pany and conversation. I was disposed to shake him off, but could not. Talk he would, and as his talk was of that kind, which did not require much reply on my part, he took my silence for acquiescence, and talked on. I soon found that he was a character ^ and, as he knew every part of the lower colonies, and every body in them, I employed him as my guide. I have made at different times three several tours with him, the results of which I have given in three several TUB ATTACHE. * 9 series of a work^ entitled the *^ Clockmaker, or the Sayings and Doings of Mr. Samuel Slick. " Our last tour terminated at JNew York, where, in consequence of the celebrity he obtained from these *' Sayings and Doings " he received the appointment of Attache to the American Legation at the Court of St. James's. The object of this work is to continue the record of his ob- servations and proceedings in England. The third person of the party, gentle reader, is your humble servant, Thomas Poker, Esquire, a native of Nova Scotia, and a retired member of the Provincial bar. My name will seldom appear in these pages, as I am uni" formily addressed by both my companions as ''Squire," nor shall I have to perform the disagreeable task of " reporting my own speeches," for naturally taciturn, I delight in listening rather than talking, and modestly prefer the duties of an amanuensis, to the responsibilities of original composition. The last personage is Jube Japan, a black servant of the Attach^. Such are the persons who composed the little party that embarked at New York, on board the Packet ship ** Ty^ ler," and sailed on the — of May, i84— , for England. The motto prefixed to this work suflTiciently explains its character. Glasses and not indi- viduals have been selected for observation. National traits are fair subjects for satire or for praise, but perso- nal peculiarities claim the privilege of exemption in right of that hospitality, through whoso medium they have been ■"■^f^lga^T:' PflllWU^W^P «I")i!i"u.»jni|»i|i|pi-« I 1 urn VHP ;i I iiiai . 11 m^r^^mmK^mrnK't^'^'Wl 10 THE ATTACHE. alone exhibited. Public topics are public property, every body has a right to use them without leave and without apology. U is only when we quit the limits of this *' common" and enter upon ** private grounds/' that we are guilty of ''a trespass." This distinction is alike obvious to good sense and right feeling. I have endea- voured to keep it constantly in view -, and if at any time I shall be supposed to have erred (I say "supposed," for I am unconscious of having done so) I must claim the indulgence always granted to involuntary offences. Now the patience of my reader may fairly be consider- ed a "private right." I shall, therefore, respect its bound- aries and proceed at once with my narrative, having been already quite long enough about " uncorking a bottle." ; CHAPTER II. A lUICY DAY IN THE COUNTRT. All our preparations for the voyage having been completed, we spent the last day at our disposal, in visit- ing Brooklyn. The weather was uncommonly fine, the sky being perfectly clear and unclouded \ and though the sun shone out brilliantly , the heat was tempered by a cool, bracing, westwardly wind. Its influence was perceptible on the spirits of every body on board the ferry-boat that transported us across the harbour. "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-lo|)per,and mmm THE ATTACHE. 11 it's the last weMl see of uie kind till we get back agin, I know. Take a fool's advice, for once, and stick to it, as long as there is any of it left, for you'll see the diffe- rence when you get to England. There never was so rainy a place in the univarse, as that, I don't think, unless it's Ireland, and the only dilTerence atween (hem two is that it rains every day amost in England, and in Ireland it rains every day and every night too. It's awfUl, and you must keep out of a country-house in such weather, or you'll go for it ; it will kill you, that's sartain. I shall ne- ver forget 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 by Washington, and had been there ever since our glorious revolution. Folks gave him a great name, they said he was a credit to us. Well, I met at his table one day an old country squire, that lived somewhere down in Shropshire, close on to Wales, and says he to me, arter cloth v/as off and cigars on, *Mr. Slick,' says he, ^I'll be very glad to see you to Norman Manor,' (that was the place where he staid, when he was to home). * If you will return with me I shall be glad i.iw you the country in my neighbourhood, whicii 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 5 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 cloarin' hardlv. i i j U i l i in VfVP 13 TlIB ATTACHE. '' 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 x hke looking building, that stuck out behind the house. It warn't the common company sleepin' room, I expect, but kinder make ihifta, 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 airnest. It warn't just a roarin', racin', sneezin' rain like a thunder shower, but it kept a steady travellin' gait, up hill and down dale, and no breathin' time nor batin' spell. It didn't look as if it would stop till it was done, that's a fact. But still as it was too late to go out agin that ar^ ternoon, I didn't think much about it then. I hadnt 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. ** A wet day is considerable tiresome, any where or any way you can fix it ^ but it's wus at an English country house than any where else, cause you are among strangers, formal, cold, gallus polite, and as thick in the THE ATTACHE. 13 head-piece as a puncheon. You hante nothin' to do your- self and they never have nothin' to do ; they don't know nothin* about America, and don't want to. Your talk don't interest them, and they can't talk to interest nobody but themselves ; all you've got to do, is to pull out your watch and see how time goes ■, how much of the day is left, and then go to the winder and see how the sky looks, and whether there is any chance of holdin' up or no. Well, that time I virent to bed a little airlier than common, for I felt considerable sleepy, and considerable strange too *, so as soon as I cleverly could, I off and turned in. " Well, 1 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 j so here goes for a second nap.' Well I was soon off agin in a most a beautiful of a snore, when all at once I heard thump— thump agin the shutter— and the most horrid noise I ever heerd since I was raised ^ it was suntbin' quite onairthly. " * Hallo !* says I to myself, what in natur is all this hubbub about ? Can this here confounded old house be harnted?Is them spirits that's jabbering gibberish there. Or is I wide awake of no ?' So I sets right up on my hind legs in bed, rubs my eyes, opens my ears and listens agin, when whop went every shutter agin, with a dead heavy sound, like somethin* or another thrown agin 'em, or ■"^"'^^WP^^ mm T^ w^ 14 THE ATTACHK. Tallin * agin 'cm, 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 ready loaded, pokes my way to the winder — shoves the sash up and outs with the shutter, ready to let slip among *em. And what do you think it was? — Hundreds and hundreds of them nasty, dirty, filthy, ugly, black devils of rooks, lo- cated in the trees at the back end 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, I know.' But they was pets, was them rooks, and of course like all pets, everlastin* nuisances to every body else. " Well, when a man 's in a feeze, there's no more sleep that hitch *, so I dresses and sits iq) -, but what was I to do? It was jist half past four, and as it was a rainin' like every thing, I know'd breakfast would 't be ready till eleven o'clock, for nobody wouldn't get up if they could help it—they wouldn 'the such fools *, so there was jail for six hours and a half. " Well, 1 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. *'* Ain't this a handsum' fix?' sais I, ' but it sarvesyou THE ATTACHE. Ij light, what busniss had you here at all? you always was a fool, and always will be (o the eend of the chapter. — * What in nalur are you a scoldin ' for?' sais I : 'that won't mend the matter ; how's time ? They must soon be a stirrin' now, I guess. ' Well, as I am a livin' sinner, it was only five o'clock ; ' oh dear, ' sais I, ' time is like women and pigs, the more you want it to go, the more it won't. What on airlh shall I do?— guess, I'll strap my rasor. ' '' Well, I strapped and strapped away, until it would cut a single hair pulled strait up on eend out o ' your head, without bendin ' It — take it ofT 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 needle-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 jistfix that, and when that was done, there was a hole to my yarn 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 a quarter to six. ' My I sakcs,' sais I, 'five hours and a quarter yet afore feedin' time ; well if that don 't pass. What shall I do next ? ' ' I'll tell you what to do,' sais I, 'smoke, that will take the edge of your appetite off, and if they don 't like it, they may lump it -, what business have they to keep them horrid screetchin' infarnal, sleepless rooks to disturb people that way?' Well, I lakes a lu- cifer, 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 flavour had that cigar. mm 16 THE ATTACHE. " ' 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 1 lights an- other, and puts my head in the flue again. " Well, smokin' makes a feller feel kinder good- natured, and I began to think it warn't quite so ba4 arter all, when whop vent 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, aud then seemed to empty a bushel of sut on me, and I looked like a chimbly sweep, and loltlike old Scratch him- self. My smoke had brought down a chimbly swaller, or a martin, or some such varmint, for it up and off agin' afore I could catch it, to wring its infarnal neck off, that's a fact. '* Well, here was somethin' to do, and no mistake : here was to clean and groom up agin' till all was in its right shape -, and a pretty job it was, I tell you. I thought I never should get the sut out of my hair, and then never get it out of my brush again, and my eyes smarted so, they did nothing but water, and wink, and make faces. But I did ; I worked on and worked on, till all was sot right once more. " * Now,' sais I, * how's time?' * half past seven,* sais I, ' and three hours and a half more yet to breakfast. L THE ATTACH K. 17 Well/ sais I, '1 can't stand this^andwiiat's morel wonH : I begin to get my £benczer 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 cow- ' Tbe word "savageroiu" is not of "Yankee" but of "Western ori- gin."— Us use in this place is best explained by tbe following extract from tbe Third Series of the Clockmaker. " In order that the sketch which I am now about to give may be l^lly understood, it may be necessary to request the reader to recollect that Mr. Slid; i$ 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, thcugh 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 popula- tion, who may well challenge a comparison with the iobabitanls of any other country in the world ; but it has only a local application. " The United States cover an immense extent of territory, and the inhabitants of different parts of the Union differ as widely in character, feelings, and even in appearance, as the people of different countries usually do. These sections differ also in dialect and in humour, as much as in other things, and to as great, if not a greater extent, that the natives of different parts of Great Britain vory 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. Through- out these works it will be observed, that Mr. Slick's pronunciation is that of the Yankee, or an inhabitant of the rural districts of New England. His conversation is generally purely so ; but in some instances he uses, as his countrymen frequently do from choice, phrases which, though Americanisms, are not of Eastern origin. Wholly to exclude these would be to violate the usages of American life ; to introduce tbem oflener would be to confound two dissimilar dialects , and to make an equal departure from the truth. Every section has its own characte- ristic dialect, a very small portion of which it has imparted to its neigh- bours. The dry, quaint humour of New England is occasionally found fn the west, and the rich gasconade and exaggerative language of the west migrates not unfrequently to the cast. 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 a ■■' ■ ""•'"■"■''•"■IJf^ppIP' 18 THE ATTACHE. ardly/ sais I, * call the footman, pick a quarrel with him and kick him down stairs, speak hut 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 / 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 ail of a sudden, the sun broke out o' prison, and I thought I never seed any thing look so green and so beautiful as the country did. ' Come,' sais I, ' now for a walk down the avenue, and a comfortable smoke, and if the man at the gate is up and stirrin', I will just pop in and breakfast with him and his wife. There is some natur there, but here it's all cussed rooks and chimbly swallers, ^nd 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,' 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 bedroom— it was tlie likely chamber- maid's. ** * Softly, Sir,' sais she, a puttin' of her finger on her lip, * don't make 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. engrafted on the general stock of the language of Uie country."— ard Series, If. 142. THE ATTACHE. 10 "' What next?' aais I^ 'why you fool, you,' saisi, ' why didn't you ux the sarvant maid, which door it was?* Why I was so condastrigated,* 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 lier 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, I'd lick him out of spite ; I hope I may be shot if I don't, and I doubled up my fist, for I didn't like it a spec, and opened another door — it was the house- keeper'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 natur'd people, it appears to me, do look so. " ' Will you be so good as to tell me, which door leads to the staircase, Marm?' sais I. " ' Oh, is that all?' sais she, (I suppose, she thorti wanted her to get up and get breakfast for me,) ' it's the first on the right, and she fixed her cap agin' and laid down, and I took the first on the right and off like a blowed out candle. There was the staircase. I walked down, took my hat, onbolted the outer door, and what a beautiful day was there. I lit my cigar 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 •wr 20 THE ATTACHK. had Ihe old folks, so I chatted away with them for a con- siderable of a spell about matters and things in general, and then turned towards the house agin\ * Hallo T sais I, ' what's this! warn't that a drop of rain ?' I looks up, it was another shower by Gosh. I pulls foot for dear life : it was tall walking you may depend, but the shower wins, (comprehensive as my legs be), and down it comes, as hard as all possest. * Take it easy, Sam,' sais I, ' your flint is fixed; you are wet thro'— runnin* won't di7 you,' and I settled down to a careless walk, quite desperate. '' * Nothin' in natur', unless it is an Ingin, is so trea- cherous as the climate here. It jist clears up on purpose I do believe, to tempt you out without your umbreller, and jist as sure as you trust it and leave it to home, it clouds right up, and sarvesyou out for it— itdoes indeed. What a sight of new clothes I've spilte here, for the rain has a sort of dye in it. It stains so, it alters the colour of the cloth, for the smoke is filled with gas and all sorts of chemicals. Well, back I goes to my room agin' to the rooks, chimbly swallers, and all, leavin' a great endurin' streak of wetarter me all the way, like a cracked pitcher that leaks ; onriggs, and puts on dry clothes from head to foot. **,By this time breakfast is ready; but the English don't do nothin' like other folks; I don't know whether it's af- fectation, or bein* wrong in the head— a little of both I guess. Now where do you suppose the solid part of breakfast is, Squire? Why, it's on the side-board— I hope I may be shot if it ain't— well, the tea and coffee are on the table, to make it as onconvenient as pos- sible. THE ATTACHE. 21 "Says I, to the lady of tlie house, as I got up to help myself, for 1 was hungry enough to make beef ache I know. 'Aunty,' sais I, 'you'll excuse me, but why don't you put the eatables on the table, or else put the tea on the sideboard? They're like man and wife, they don't ought to be separated, them two.' " She looked at me, oh what a look of pity it was , as much as to say, 'Where have you been all your born days, not to know better ncr that?— but I guess you don't know better in the States— how could you know any thing there?' But she only said it was the custom here, for she was a very purlite old woman, was Aunty. " Well sense is sense, let it grow where it will, and I guess we raise about the best kind, which is common sense, and I warn't to be put down with short metre, arter that fashion. So I tried the old man*, sais I, 'Uncle,' sais I, 'if you will divorce the eatables from the drink- ables that way, why not let the servants come and tend. It's monstrous onconvenient and ridikilous to be a jum- -pin' up for everlastinly that way; you can't sit still one blessed minit.'' " 'We think it pleasant,' said he, 'sometimes to dis- pense with their attendance.' " ' Exactly,' sais I, 'then dispense with sarvants at dinner, for %Yhen the wine is in, the wit is out.' (I said that to compliment him, for the critter had no wit in at no time,) 'and they hear all the talk. But at breakfast every one is only half awake, (especially when you rise so airly as you do in this country,' sais I, but the old critter couldn't see a joke, even if he Telt it, and he didn't know I was u funnin'.) 'Folks are considerably sharp set at ■w^.!HW))room, agin'. Ladies don't mind the rain here ; they are used to it. It's like the musk plant, arter you put it to your nose once, you can't smell it a second time. Oh what beautiful galls they be ! What a shame it is to bar a feller out such a day as this. One on 'em blushes like a red cabbage, when she speaks to me, that's the one, I reckon, I disturbed this mornin*. Cuss the rooks ! ru pyson them, and that won't make no noise. *' She shows me the consarvilery. ' Take care. Sir, your coat has caught this geranium,' and she onhit- ches it. * Stop, Sir, you'll break this jilly flower,' and she lifts off the coat tail agin ; in fact, it's so crowded, you can't squeeze along, scarcely, without a doin' of mischief somewhere or another. ''Next time, she goes first, and then it's my turn. *Stop, Miss,' sais I, 'your frock has this rose tree over,' and I loosens it ; once more, ' Miss, this rose has got tangled,' and I ontangles it from her furbeloes. " I wonder what makes my hand shake so, and my heart it bumps so, it has bust a button off. If I stay in this consarvitery, I shan't consarve myself long, that's a fact, for this gall has put her whole team on, and is a runnin' me off the road. 'Hullo! what's that? Bell for dressin' for dinner.* Thank Heavens ! I shall escape from myself, and from this beautiful critter, too, for I'm gettin' spoony, and shall talk silly presently. 28 THE ATTACHE. " I don't like to be left alone with a gall, it's pla- guy apt to set me a soft sawderin' and a courtin*. There's a sort of nateral attraction like in this world. Two ships in a calm, are sure to get up alongside of each other, if there is no wind, and they have nothin' to do, but look at each other ; natur' does it. Well, even the tongs and the shovel, won't stand alone long ; they're sure to get on the same side of the fire, and be sociable -, one on 'em has a loadstone and draws 'tolher, that's sarlain. If that's the case with hard- hearted things, like oak and iron, what is it with tender hearted things like humans? Shut me up in a 'sarvatory with a hansum gall of a rainy day, and see if I don't think she is the sweetest flower in it. Yes, I am glad it is the dinner-bell, for I ain't ready to mar- ry yet, and when I am, I guess I must get a gall where I got my boss, in Old Connecticut, and that slate takes the shine off of 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 : there it is agin the same old tune, the whole blessed day, rain, rain, rain. It's rained all day and don't talk of stoppin' nother. How I hate the sound, and how streaked I feel. I don't mind its 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 bo- dy's spirits, and squenched 'em out j 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 candle — hea- ■■ THE ATTACHK. 29 vens and airtli how glad I am this 'juicy day' is over!" CHAFfER 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 dulness of a country house, as nearly as possible in his own words. It struck me at the time that they were exstggerated views •, but if the weather were unpropitious, and the company not well selected, I can easily conceive, that the impression on his mind would be as strong and as unfavourable, as he has described it to have been. ' 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 ; J)ut its great humidity is very sensibly felt by Americans and other foreigners accustomed to a dry atmosphere and clear sky. That Mr. Slick should find a rainy day in the country dull, is not to be wondered at ^ it is pro- bable it would be so any where, to a man who had so few resources, wilhin himself, as the Attache. Much of course depends on the inmates •, and the company at the Shropshire house, to which he alludes, do not appear to have been the best calculated to make the state of the weather a matter of indifference to him. I cannot say, but that I have at limes suffered a depres- 30 THE ATTACHE. sion 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 extraor- dinary verdure and grealbeauty of the English landscape. With respect to my own visits at country houses, I have generally been fortunate in the weather, and always in the company; but I can easily conceive, that a man situated as Mr. Slick appears to have been with respect to both, would find the combination intolerably dull. But to return to my narrative. Early on the following day we accompanied our lug- gage to the wharf, where a small steamer lay to convey us to the usual anchorage ground of the packets, in the bay. We were attended by a large concourse of people. The piety, learning, unaffected simplicity, and kind dis- position 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 persecu- tion, by a personal escort and a cordial farewell. '' Are all those people going with us, Sam ?" said hej *' how pleasant it will be to have so many old friends on board, won't it?" " No, Sir," said the Attach^, " 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 sup- pose they thought I would feel kinder dull and melan- choly like, on leaving my native land this way 5 and I THE ATTACHE. 31 it must say i don't feel jist altogether right neither. Ever 80 many things rise right up in my mind, not one arter another, but all together like, so that I can't take 'cm one by one and reason 'em down, but they jist overpower me by numbers. 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 !" said he, " to be sure I do. I have been that way often and often. That was the case when I was to Lowel factories, with the galls a taking of them off in the paintin' line. The dear little critters kept up such an everlastin' almighty clatter, clatte.*, clatter ; jabber, jabber, jabber, all talkin* and chatterin' at once, you couldn't hear no blessed one of them*, and they jist fairly stunned a feller. For nothin' in natur', unless it be perpetual motion, can equal a woman's tongue. It's most a pity we hadn't some of the angeli^rous little dears with us too, for they do make the time pass quick, that's a fact. I want some on 'em to tie a night-cap for me to-night \ I don't commonly wear one, but I somehow kinder guess, I intend to have one this time, and no mistake." '* A night-cap, Sam ! " said he ; '' why what on airth 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 a 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 u^ -"W" 32 THE ATTACH K. glass of whiskey loddy, as I ever sce'd in all my travels was sister Sail, and I used to call that tipple, when I took it late, a night-cap; apple jack and white nose ain't the smallest part of a circumstance to it. On such an occa- sion as this, minister, when a body is leavin' the greatest nation atweon the poles, to goamong benighted, ignorant, insolent foreigners, you wouldn't object to a night-cap, now would you ?" ** Well, I don't know as I would, Sam," said he; *' part- ing from friends whether temporally or for ever, is a sad thing, and the former is typical of the latter. No, I do not know as I would. We may use these things, but not abuse them. Be temperate, be moderate, but it is a sorry heart that knows no pleasure. Take your night- cap, Sam, and then commend yourself to His safe 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 tassel, ain't it? 0|i! you must put a tassel on it, and (hat is another glass. Well then, what'is the use of a night-cap, if it has a tassel on it, but has no siring : it will slip off your head the very first turn you lake ; 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 lied, that's sartain, and that is another go ; and then, minister, what an everlastin* miserable stingy, ongenteel critter a feller must be, that won't drink to the health of the Female Brewer. Well, that's another glass to sweethearts and wives, and then THE ATTACHE 33 turn in for sleep, and that's what I intend to do to-night. I guess ril tie the night-cap this hitch, if I never doagin, and that 's a fact." *' Oh Sam, Sam,'' said Mr. Hopewell, " for a man thdt is wide awake and duly sober, I never saw one yet that talked such nonsense as you do. You said, you un- derstood me, but you don't, one mile or morsel ', but men are made differently : some people's narves operate on the brain sensitively and give them exquisite pain or excessive pleasure j other folks seem as if they had no narves at all. You understand my words, but you don't enter into my feelings. Distressing images rise up in my mind in such rapid succession, I can't master them, but they master me. They come slower to you, and the mo- ment 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 suc- cession 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. Na- ture 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 farewell. I am an old man now, I am well stricken in years; shall I ever live to see my native l^nd again ? I know not, the Lord's will be done I If I had a wish, I should desire to return to be !IJ,' iJUifffllJI^i 34 THE ATTACHE. laid with my kindred, to repose in death with those that were the companions of my earthly pilgrimage ; but if it be ordered otherwise, I am ready to say with truth and meekness, ' Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace.' " When this excellent old man said that, Mr. Slick did not enter into his feelings — he did not do him justice. His attachment to and veneration for his aged pastor and friend were quite filial, and such as to do honour to his head and heart. Those persons who have made cha- racter a study, will all agree, that the cold exterior of the New England man arises from other causes than a cold- ness of feeling ,• much of the rhodomontade of the atta- chd, 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 Mc Kensie 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 alongside of the great " Liner." The day was now spent, and Mr. Hopewell having taken leave of his escort, retired to his cabin, very much overpowered by his feelings. THE ATTACHE. 35 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 ttie nation abroad ; to take care th^^ he returned as he went — a true American *, to insist upon the possession of the Oregon Territory *, to demand and enforce his right posi- tion in society *, to negotiate the national loan *, and ahove all never to accede to the right of search of slave-vessels ; all which having been duly promised, they took an affec- tionate leave of each other, and we remained on hoard, intending to depart in the course of the following mofr ning. As soon as they had gone, Mr. Slick ordered materials for brewing, namely : whisky, hot water, sugar and lemon; and having duly prepared in regular suocesaion the cap, the tassel, and the two strings, filled his tumbler again, and said, ** Come now, Squire, before we turn in, let U8 lie the night-cap.'* CHAPTER IV. HOMB AMD THE SEA. At eleven o'clock the next day the Tyler having shakMi out her pinions, and ^^iread them to the breeze, com* menced at a rapid rate ner long and solitary voyage aoroflf the Atlantic. Object after object rose in rapid ^ucoesskMi into distinct view, was approached and passed, until, leaving the cahn and sheltered waters of the bay, we WI.I!HHJII«, ' f* I 36 THE ATTACHE. emerged into the ocean, and involuntarily turned to look back upon the land we had left. Long after the lesser hills and low country had disappeared, a few ambitious peaks of the highlands still met the eye, appearing as if they had advanced to the very edge of the water, to pro- long the 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 born in a British province in this hemisphere. I therefore sympathised with the feelings of my two companions, whose straining eyes were still fixed on those dim and distant specks in the horizon. ^* There," said Mr. Slick, rising from his seat, " I be- lieve we have seen the last of home till next time^ and this I will say, it is the most glorious country onder the sun j travel where you will, you won't ditto it no where. It is the toploftiest place in all creation, ain't it, minister ?" There was no response to all this bombast. It was evident he had not been heard ^ and turning to Mr. Hope- well, I observed his eyes were flxed intently on the dis- tance, and his mind pre-occupied by painful reflexions, for tears were coursing after each other down his fur- rowed 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 every thing depends on keeping up his spirits. An old plant must be shaded, well watered, and tended, or you can't transplant it no how, you can fix it, that's a fact. _ ^ THE ATTACHE. 37 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 you, and I assure you I take great pleasure in doing so. I cannot always talk to Sam : he is excited now ', h^ i: anticipating great pleasure from his visit to Engiland; aiui quite boisterous in the exuberance of his ^ spirits. 1 ov.n 1 am depressed at limes; it is natural I should be, but I shall endeavour not to be the cause of sadness in others. I not only like cheerfulness myself, but I like to promote it *, it is a sign of an innocent mind, and a heart in peace \,Tith God and in charity with man. All nature is cheerful, its voice is harmonious, and its countenance smiling ; the very garb in which it is clothed is gay ; why then should man be an exception to every thing around him? Sour sectarians, who address our fears, rather than our .'tfections, may say what they please. Sir, but m rth i«> not inconsistent with religion, but rather an evidence 'bat our religion is right. If I ap- pear dull, therefore, du uU suppose it is because I think it necessary to be so, but because certain reflections are natural to me as a clergyman, as a man far advanced in years, and as a pilgrim who leaves his home at a period of life, when the probabilities are, ho may not be spared to revisit it. ** I am like your ^ 'f , a colonist by birth. At the revolu- tion I took no part m the struggle •, my profession and my ! abits both exempted me. Whether the separation was / 'X^^ • ^v yiiFpiii".i|l 'mwmmmrmmw'••mm^rm•^^mlt^ i^ THB ATTACHlfi. 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 considera- tion, 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 huve known so long and loved so well, is doubtless a trial i > vhose heart is still warm, while his nerves are weak, . *i whose af- fections are greater than his firmness. 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, " to say so. I will explain these sensations to you, and then en- deavour 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 genera- tions 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 wo 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 pen- sive 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 mnPRWiP' ■HMR^ THE ATTACHE. 39 with the force and eloquence of love. The country again contains all these things, the sphere is widened; new objects are included, and this extension of the circle is love of country. It is thus that the nation is said in an enlarged s^se, 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 ac- tion, it forms the hero and the patriot. How impressive, how beautiful, how dignified was the answer of the Shu- namite 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 kihg, or to the captain of the host?'— What an offer was that, to gratify her ambition or flatter her pride! — *I dwell,' said she, 'among mine own people.* What a characteristic answer ! all history furnishes no parallel to it. " I too dwell * among my own people :' my afl'ections are there, and there also is the sphere of my duties ; and if I am depressed by the thoughts of parting from * my people,' I will do you the justice to believe, that you would rather bear with its efTects, than witness the absence of such natural affection. " But this is not the sole cause : independently of some afflictions of a clerical nature in my late parish, to which it is not necessary to allude, the contemplation of this vast and fathomless ocean, both from its novelty and its grandeur, overwhelms me. At home I am fond of tra- cing the Creator in his works. From the erratic comet in 40 THE ATTACHE. the firmament, to the flower that blossoms in the field ^ in all animate, and inanimate matter ; in all that is animal, vegetable or mineral,! see His infinite wisdom, almighty power, and everlasting glory. *' But that Home is inland j 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 ehangeless— ever varying, yet always the same. How weak and powerless is nian ! how short his span of life, when he is viewed in connexion with the sea! He has left no trace upon it— it will not leceive the im- press 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 pa^'sed away for ever *, and their nation, their language, their temples and theii lombs have perished with them. But there is the Undying one. When man was formed, the voice of the ocean was heard, as it now is, speaking of its mysteries, and proclaiming His glory, who alone lifteth its waves or stilleth the rage thereof. " 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 ov?upy their business in great waters? The sordid trader,* and the armed and mercenary sailor : gold or blood is their object, and the fear of God is not always in them. Yet the sea shiall give up its dead, as well as the grave •, and ail shall jmwmmmrw' "TPfMOI^PfHnPP 'mmmm ^ THE ATTACHE. 4l ** But it is not my intention to preach to you. To in- trude serious topics upon our friends at ail times, has a tendency to make both ourselves and our topics distaste- ful. I mention these things to you, not that they are not obvious to you and every other right-minded man, or that I think I can clothe them in more attractive language, or utter them with more effect than others ; but merely to account for my absence of mind and evident air of ab- straction. 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 re- turn to it. I feel deeply and sensibly your kindness in soliciting my company on this tour, and will endeavour so to regulate my feelings as not to make you regret your invitation. I shall not again recur to these topics, or trouble you with any further reflections 'on Home ahd the Sea.'" CHAPTER V. t'other eend of tub GU.1. "Squire," said Mr. Hopewell, one morning when we were alone on the quarter-deck, "sit down by me^ if you please. I wish to have a little private conversation with you. I am a good deal concerned about Sam. I never liked this appointment he has received : neither his edu- cation, his habits, nor his manners have qualified him for 42 THE ATTACH^. it. He is fitted for a trader and for nothing else. He looks upon politics as he does upon his traffic in clocks, ra- ther as profitable to himself than beneficial to others. Self is predominant with him. He overrates the impor- tance of his office, as he will find when he arrives in Lon- don \ but what is still worse, he overrates the impor- tance of the opinions of others regarding the States. *' He has been reading that foolish book of Cooper*^, * Gleanings in Europe,' and intends to shew fight, he says. He called my attention, yesterday, to this absurd passage, which he maintains is the most manly and sen- sible thing that Cooper ever wrote : ' This indifference to the feelings of others, is a dark spot on the national man- ners of Enf^land. The only way to put it down, is to be- come 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 ofl'ensive, as a disregard of one's national character, is a disrespect to his principles ; but as personal quarrels on such grounds are to be avoided, I have uniformly retorted in kind, if there was the small- est 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 favour of you, to per- suade 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 / THE ATTACHE. 4ft justify those aspersions, by his intemperate behaviour. But here he comes j I shall >vithdraw and leave you to- gether. " Forlunntely, Mr. Slick commenced talking upon a topic, which naturally led to that to which Mr. Hopewell had wished me to direct his attention. " Well, Squire, " said he, ** I am glad, too, you are a goin' to England along with me : we will take a rise out of John Bull, won't we?— We've hit Blue-nose and Bro- ther Jonathan both pretty considerable tarnation hard, and John has split his sides with larfler. Let's tickle him now, by feeling his own short ribs, and see how he will like it ; we'll soon see whose hide is the thickest, hisn or ourn, won't we? Let's see whether he will say chee, chee, chee, when he gets to the t'other eend of the gun. " *' What is the meaning of that saying?" I asked. ** I never heard it before. " ''Why," said he, ''When I was a considerable of a grown up saplin of a boy to Slickville, 1 used to be a gunnin' for everlastinly a'most in our hickory woods, a shootin' of squirrels with a rifle, and I got amazin' ex- part at it. I could take the head off of them chatterin' little imps, when I got a fair shot at 'em with a ball, at any reasonable distance, a'most in nine cases out of ten. " Well, one day I was out as usual, and our Irish help Paddy Burke was along with me, and every time he see'd me a dravin' of the bead One on 'em, he used to say, * Well, you've an excellent gun entirely, Master Sam. Oh byJakers! the squirrel has no chance with that gun, it's an excellent one entirely. ' 44 THE ATTACHE. ''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 thero 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 'lis, try it now, and see what sort of a fist you'll make of it. ' " So Paddy takes the ritle, lookin' as knowin* all the time as if he had ever seed one afore. Well, there was a great red squirrel, on the tip-top of a limb, chatterin' away like any thing, chee, chec,chee, proper frightened ; he know'd it warn't me, that was a parsecutin' of him, and he expected he'd be hurt. They know'd me, did the little critters, when they seed me, and they knowd I ne- ver had hurt one on 'em, my balls never givin' *em a chance to feel what was the matter of them ; but Pat they didn't know, and they see'd he warn't the mon 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 astarn, like askuUin' oar, and then bent forrards like a hoop, and fetched the rifle slowly lip to the line, and shot to the right eye. Chee, chee, chee, went the squirrel. He see'd it was wrong. ' By the powers ! ' sais Pat, ' this is a left-handed boot, ' and he brought the gun to the other shoulder, and Chen shot to his left eye. ' Fegs ! ' sais Pat, ' this gun was made for a squint eye, for I can't get a right strait Sight of the critter, either side. ' So I fixt it for him and told him which eye to sight by. ' An excellent gun entirely,' sais Pat, ' but it tante made like the rifles we have.' THE ATTACHE. 46 " Ain't they strange critters, them Irish, Squire ? That feller never handled a ritle afore in all his born days ; but unless it was to a priest, he wouldn't confess that much for the world. They are as bad as the English that way \ they always pretend they know every thing. " ' Come, Pat,' sais I,' blaze away now.' Back goes the hind leg agin, up bends the back, and Bull-Dog rises slowly to his shoulder^ and then he stared, and stared, until his arm shook like>palsy. Chee, chee, chee, went the squirrel agin, louder than ever, as much as to say, *■ Why the plague don't you fire? I'm nota goin' to stand here ail 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! ' sais Pat, *ril stop your chee, chee, cheein* for you, you chat- terin' 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, andfiret -, 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 tiad one left, and the squirrel ran about the tree hoppin' mad, hollertn' out as loud as it could scream, chee , chee , chee. '* ^ Oh bad lucK (o 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, ch"o, chee, that way, I know.' '' Now when your gun, Squire, was a knockin' over 46 THE ATTACHE. Jonathan, and a spilin' of his bran-new clothes, the En- glish sang out chee, chee, chee, till all was blue agin. You had an excellent gun entirely then : let's see if they will sing out chee, chee, chee, now, when we take a shot at 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." ** Pardon me, Mr. Slick,*' I said, *' this is not the tem- per 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 native that has a claim on us; not a colonist, who, though English by name, is still an American by birth, six of one and half a dozen of t'other, and therefore a kind of half-breed brother. No ! he was a cussed Britisher; and whatiswus, a British author ; and yet, because he was a man of genius, because ge- nius has the 'tarnal globe for its theme, and the world for its home, and mankind for its readers, and bean't a ci- tizen of this stale or that state, but a native 6f the uni- varse, why we welcomed him, and feasted him, and .-Vi THE ATTACHK. 47 leveed him, and escorted him, and cheered him, and honoured him, did he honour us? What did he say of us w^f^n he returned? Read his book. ** , don't read his book, for it tante worth readin*. Has he said one word of all that reception in his book ? that book that will be read^ translated, and read agin all over Europe — has he said one word of all that recep- tion? 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, md the chap the rats cat in jail, and the rough man from Kentucky, and the entire raft of galls emprisoned in one night, and the spittin* boxes 1 all that stufT, warn't trusted to memory, it was I 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 j90-sitioi| in society, as Attach^ to our Legation, and, as Cooper says, I'll become belligerent, too; I will, I snore. I can snuff a candle with a pistol as fast as you can light itj hang up an orange, and I'll first peel it with ball and then quarter it. Heavens ! I'll let daylight dawn through some o' their jackets, I know. ** 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- bold steady, or you might stand a smart chance to have your wool carded, that's all." Tbea taking a pistol out of the side-pocket of his mack- (1 lUBPiWWIP 48 THE ATTACHK. intosh , he deliberately walked over to the other side of the deck, and examined 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 time with equal sternness, *' to bore a hole through that apple, 'Sir." • ■ *' For shame! Sir," I said. " How can you think of such a thing ? Suppose you were to miss your shot, and kill that unfortunate boy? " " I won't suppose no such thing, Sir; I can't miss it. I couldnH miss it if I was to try. Hold your head steady. Tube — and if I did, it's no great matter. The onsarcum- cised Amalikite ain*t worth over three hundred dollars at the furthest, that's a fact ; and the way he'd pyson a shark ain't no matter. Are you ready, Jube?" " 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 you. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Sir." " Ky ! massa," said Jube, " let him fire; Sar-, he no foozle de hair. I isn't one mossel afeerd. He often do it, jist to keep him hand in, Sar. Massa most a grand shot, Sar. He take off de ear oh de squirrel so slick, he neber miss it, till .he go scratchin' his hedd. Let him appel hah it, massa." " Oh, yes," said Mr. Slick, " he is a Christian is Jube, lie is as good as a white Britisher : same flesh , only a leetle, jist a leetle darker; same blood, only not quite so Qld, ain't quite so much tarter on the bottle as a lord's THE ATTACHE. 49 has ; oh him and a Britisher is all one brother—oh by all means— Him fader's hope -him mudder's joy. Him darlin little nigger boy. You'd tetter 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 hiqi a saint's darter with a good fortin, and we'll goon see whether her father was a talkin' cant or no, about niggers. Cuss 'em, let any o' these Britishers give roe slack, and III 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 conduct has evinced a kind heart, and cheerful disposil on, could have entertained such a revengeful spirit, or given utterance to such unchristian 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 back. I won't deny Fve got some grit, but I ain't ugly. Pat me on the back and I soon cool down, drop in a soft word and I won't bile over ; but don't talk big, don't threaten, or I curl directly." " Mr. Slick," said I, " neither my countrymen, the Nova Scotians, nor your friends, the Americans, took any mmmmmmm 50 THE ATTACHE. thing amiss, in our previous remarks, because thougli satirical, they were good natured. There was nothing malicious in them. They were not made for the mere purpose of shewing them up, but were incidental to the topic we were discussing, and their whole tenor shewed that while we were alive to the ludicrous, we fully ap- preciated, and properly valued their many excellent and sterling qualities. My countrymen, for whose good I published them, had the most reason to complain, for I took the liberty to apply ridicule to them with no spa- ring hand. They understood the motive, and joined in the laugh, which was raised at their expense. Let us treat the English in the same style ^ let us keep our tem- per. John Bull is a good-natured fellow, and has no ob- jection to a joke, provided it is not made the vehicle of conveying an insult. Don't adopt Cooper's maxims; nobody approves of them, on either side of the water ; don't be too thin-skinned. If the English have been amused by the sketches their tourists have drawn of the Yankees, perhaps the Americans may laugh over our sketches of the English. Let us make both of them smile, if we can, and endeavour to offend neither. If Dickens omitled to mention the festivals that were given in honour of his arrival in the States, he was doubtless actuated by a desire to avoid the appearance of personal vanity. A man cannot well make himself the hero of his own book." *' 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- THE ATTACHE. 51 natured critter, tho' I never see'4, any of it yet ^ and he may be fond of a joke, and p'raps is, seein* that he haw- haws considerable loud a* his own. Let's try him at all events. We'll soon see how he. likes other folks' jokes; I have my scruple about him, I must say. I am duber- some whether he will say'chee, chee, chee' when he gets ^ T'other eend of the gun.' " CHAPTER VI. SMALL FOTATOBS AND FEW IN A HILL. " Pray, Sir," said one of my fellow passengers, " can you tell me why the Nova Scotians are called * Blue- noses?'" *^ It is the name of a potatoe," said I, *' which they pro- duce in great perfection, and boast to be the best in the world. The Americans have, in consequence, given them the nick-name of ' Blue-noses."* " And now," said Mr. Slick, ** as you have told the entire stranger, who a Blue-nose is, I'll jist up and tell him i4^hae he :•;. " One day, Stranger, I v^as a joggin' along into Windsor on Old Clay, on a sort of butter and eggs' gait (for a fast walk on a journey tires a horse considerable), and who should I see a settin' straddle legs on the fence, but Squire Gabriel Soogit, with his coat off, a holdin' of a hoe in one hand, and his hat in t'other, and a blowin 'like a por- pus proper tired. Why, Squire Gabe,' sais I, ' what is the matter of t« ( ft8 THE ATTACHE. you? you look as if you couldn't help yourself^ who is dead and what is to pay now, eh?' " *• Fairly beat out,* said he, ' I am shockin' tired. I've been hard at work all the mornin' -, a body has to stir about considerable smart in this country, tomake alivin', I tell you.' **I looked over the fence, and I seed he had hoed jist ten hills of potatoes, and that's all. Fact I assure you. " Sais he, ' Mr. Slick, tell you what, of all the work J ever did in my life I like hoein' potatoes the best, and I'd rather die than do that, it makes my back ache so." '** Good alrth and seas,' sais I to myself, *what a parfect pictur of a lazy man that is ! How far is it to Windsor?' ^ " ' Three miles,' sais he. I took out my pocket-book purtendin' to write down the distance, but I booked his sayin' in my way-bill. *' Yes, that is a Blue-nose ; is it any wonder. Stran- ger, he is small potatoes and few in a hill ? " '\ THE ATTACHE. 53 CHAPTER VII. A GBMTLBMAM AT LAIGB. It is not my intention to record any of the ordinary incidents of a sea voyage: the subject is too hackneyed and too trite; and besides, when the topic is seasickness* it is infectious and the description nauseates. Hominem pagina nostra sapit. The proper study of mankind is man ; human nature is what I delight in contemplating; I love to trace out and delineate the springs of human action. Mr. Slick and Mr. Hopewell are both studies. The former is a perfect master of certain chords*, he has practised upon them, not for philosophical , but for mer- cenary purposes. Hb knows the depth, and strength, and tone of vanity, curiosity, pride, envy, avarice, super- stition, nationality, and local and general prejudice. He has learned the effect of these, not because they contri- bute to make him wiser, but because they make him richer*, not to enable him to regulate his conduct in life, but to promote and secure the increase of his trade. Mr. Hopewell, on the contrary, has studied the human heart as a philanthropist, as a man whose business it was to minister to it, to cultivate and improve it. His views are more sound and more comprehensive than those of the other's, and his objects are more noble. They are both extraordinary men. They differed, however, materially in their opinion of 94 THE ATTACH^. England and its institutions. Mr. Slick evidently viewed them with prejudice. Whether this arose from the super- cilious manner of English tourists in America, or from the ridicule they have thrown upon Republican society, in the books of travels they have published, after their return to Europe, I could not discover ; but it soon be- came manifest to me, that Great Britain did not stand so high \r >>*« estimation, as the colonies did. Mr. Hopewell, on the contrary, from early associations, cherished a feeling of regard and respect for England ; and when his opinion was asked, he always gave it with great frankness and impartiality. When there was any thing he could not approve of, it appeared to be a subject of regret to him ; whereas, the other seized upon it at once as a matter of great exultation. The first sight we had of land naturally called out their respective opinions. As we were pacing the deck speculating upon the pro- bable termination of our voyage, Cape Clear w^as descried by the look-out on the mast-head. ^' Hallo ! what's that? why if it ain't land ahead, as I'm alive !" said Mr. Slick. " Well, come this is pleasant too, we have made amost an everlastin' short voyage of it , hante we ; and I must say I like land quite as well as sea, in a giniral way, arter all •, but, Squire, here is the first Britisher. That critter that's a clawin* up the side of the vessel like a cat, is the pilot : now do for goodness gra- cious sake, jist look at him, and hear him." " What port?" ** Liverpool." ** Keeper her up a point." Do you hear that, Squire ? that's English, or what we (( THE ATTACHE. 55 used to call to singing school short metre. The critter don't say a word, even as much as ' by your leave' ; but jist goes and takes his post, and don't ask the name of the vessel, or pass the time o' day with the Captin. That ain't in the bill, it tanto paid for that -, if it was, he'd off cap, touch the deck three times with his forehead, and ^ Slam' like a Turk to his Honour the Skipper. " There's plenty of civility here to England if you pay for it : you can buy as much in five minits, as will make you sick for a week \ but if you don't pay for it, you not only won't get it, but you get sarce instead of it, that is if you are fool enough to stand and have it rubbed in. They are as cold as Presbyterian charity, and mean enough to put the sun in eclipse, are the English. They hante set up the brazen image here to worship, but they've got a gold one, and that they do adore and no mistake ; it's all pay, pay, pay j parquisite, parquisite, par- quisite \ extortion, extortion, extortion. There is a whole pack of yelpin' devils to your heels here, for everlastinly a cringin', fawnin' and coaxin', or snarlin', grumblin' or bullyin' you out of your money. There's the boatman, and tide-waiter, and porter, and custom-er, and truck man as soon as you land j 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 boggar-man, and a critter that opens the coach door, that they calls a waterman, cause he isinfar- 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 56 THE ATTACHE. smoke, the rumatiz, and scorny airs. If you could buy an Englishman at what he was worth, and sell him at his •own vallation, he would realise as much as a nigger, and would be worth tradin' in, that's a fact ^ but as it is he ain't worth nothin', there is no market for such critters, no one would buy him at no price. A Scotchman is wus, for he is prouder and meaner. Pat ain't no better nother *, he ain't proud, cause he has a hole in his breeches and another in his elbow, and he thinks pride won't patch 'em, and he ain't mean cause he hante got nothin' to be mean with. Whether it takes nine tailors to make a man, I can't jist exactly say, but this I will say, and take my davy of it too, that it would take three such goneys as these to make a pattern for one of our rael senuwine 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 con< ciliation, than my instruction. The pilot was immoveable*, he let the cause against his country go " by default," and left us to our process of *' inquiry;" but when Mr. Slick was in the act of descending to the cabin, he turned and gave him a look of admeasurement, very similar to that which a grazier gives an ox j a look which estimates the weight and value of the animal, and I am bound to admit, that the result of thaf sizing or laying" as it is technically called, was by no means favourable to the Attache. Mr. Hopewell had evidently not attended to it; his eye was fixed on the bold and precipitous shore of Wales, / THE ATTACHE. 57 and the lofty summits of the everlasting hills, that in the distance, aspired to a companionship with the clouds. I took my seat at a little distance from him and surveyed the scene with mingled feelings of curiosity and admira- tion, 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 contem- plate this country, that now lies before us, without strong emotion. It is our fatherland. I recollect when i was a colonist, as you are, we were in the habit of applying to it, in common with Englishmen, that endearing appella- tion '' Home," and I believe you still continue to do so m the provinces. Our nursery tales, taught our infant lips to lisp in English, and the ballads, that first exercised our memories, stored the mind with the traditions of our forefathers ; their literature was our literature, their reli- gion our religion, their history our history. The battle of Hastings, the murder of Becket, the signature of Runy- mede, 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, for mine eyes shall see it no more, I cannot describe to you the feelings that agitate my heart. I go to visit the tombs of my ancestors; I go to my home, and my home knoweth me no more. Great and good, and brave and free are the English ; and may God grant that they may ever continue so!" *'I cordially join in that prayer. Sir," said I; **you have a country of your own. The old colonies having 68 THE ATTACHE. ripened into maturity, formed a distinct and separate fa- mily, in (he great community of mankind. You are now a nation of yourselves, and your attachment to England, is of course subordinate to that of your own country; you view it as the place that was in days of yore the home of your forefathers; we regard it as the paternal estate, continuing to call it ' Home ' as you have just now ob- served. We owe it a debt of gratitude that not only cannot be repaid, but is too great for expression. Their armies protect us within, and their fleets defend us, and our commerce without. Their government is not only paternal and indulgent, but is whcUy gratuitous. We neither pay these forces, nor feed them, nor clothe them. We not only raise no (axes, 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 esta- blishment at Windsor, supported by BriHsb fi-I-< But I is an alligator, a floatin' down stream, And I'll chaiv both the bullies up, as I would an ice-cream : Wee my zippy vho 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 chil- dren 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 tloor was of 'tone, and from long and constant use, very uneven in places. The pews were much higher on the sides than ours, and were unpainted and roughly put together ; while the pulpit was a rude square box, and was placed in the corner. Near the door stood an ancient stone font, of rough workman- ship, 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 Virgin, with a hoop and yellow petticoat, crimson vest, a fly cap, and very thick shoes. The light of this window was still further subdued by a fine old yew-tree, which stood in the yard close behind it. * There was another window of beautifully stained glass, the light of which fell on a large monument, many feet square, of while 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 altitude of prayer. They were in- tended to represent some of the ancestors of the Merlon 8 A 114 THE ATTACHE. 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 lime. The roof was of a construction now never seen in America ; and the old oak rafters, which were more nu- merous than was requisite, either for strength or orna- ment, were massive and curiously put together, giving this part of the building a heavy and gloomy appearance. As we entered the church, Mr. Hopewell said he had selected a text suitable to the times, and that he would endeavour to save the poor people in the neighbourhood from ihe delusions of the chartist demagogues, who, it appeared, were endeavouring to undermine the throne aqd 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 offi- ciate till this day *, but if I was struck with his veA^ablp 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 Absalom stole Ihehearts'of the men of Israel." He depicted, in a very striking manner, the arts of this intriguing and un- grateful man to ingratiate himself with the people, and render the government unpopular. He traced his whole course, from his standing at the crowded thoroughfare, and lamenting that the king had deputed no one to hear and decide upon the controversies of the people, to his untimely end, and the destruction of his ignorant fol- THE ATTACHE." 115 lowers. 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 fol- lowers, who in the holy record of this unnatural rebellion are described 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 j and that these professions of disin- terested patriotism were the common pretences by which wicked men availed themselves of the animal force of those *' who assemble in their simplicity, and know not any thing," to achieve their own personal aggrandise- ment, and warned them to give no heed to such dishonest; people. He then drew a picture of the real blessings they enjoyed in this happy country, which, though not with- out an admixture of evil, were as many and as great as the in\pih^fect and unequal condition of man was capaMe either of imparting or receiving. Among the first of these, he placed the proYision made by the state for the instruction of the poor, by means of an established Church. He said they would doubtless hear this wise and pious deed of their forefathers attacked also by unprincipled men ; and falsehood and ridicule would be irvoked to aid in the assault *, but that he was a witness on its behalf, from the distant wilderness of ]\ orth America, where the voice of gratitude was raised to England, whose missionaries bad planted a church there similar to their own, and bad proclaimed the glad tidings fol- i I i 116 THE ATTACHE. of salvation to those who would otherwise liave still con- tinued to live without i(s pale. He then pourtrayed in a rapid and most masterly man- ner the sin and the disastrous consequences of rebellion ; pointed out the necessity that existed for vigilance, and defined their respective duties to God, and to those who, by his permission, were set in authority over them; and concluded with the usual benediction, which, though I had heard it on similar occasions all my life, seemed now more efficacious, more paternal, and more touching than ever, when uttered by him, in his peculiarly patriarchal manner. 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 in- terest 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 j but, unfortunately, he had neither the talent, nor the natural eloquence of our friend, and, al- though it satisfied the judgment, it did not affect the heart like that of the " Old Minister." At the door we met, on our return, Mrs. Hodgins. " Ah ! my dear," said Mr. Hopewell, " how do you do? 1 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 honouring this poor woman, avoided the appearance of condescension, and received her arm as a favour to himself. She commenced thanking him for his sermon in the THE ATTACHK. 117 morning. She said it had convinced her William of the sin of the Chartist agitation, and that he had firmly re- solved 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 pleasantest place he can find any where, and he won't want to seek amuse- ment elsewhere, or excitement either ; for these sedi- tious 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 Hodgins 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 arbour here awhile, and enjoy the fresh breeze, and the perfume of your honey- suckles and flowers." " Wouldn't a pipe be better. Minister ? " said Mr. Slick. " For my part , I don't think any thing equal to the fla- vour of rael good genewine first chop tobacco." " Well, it is a great refreshment, is tobacco," said Mr. Hopewell. " I don't care if I do take a pipe. Bring me one, Mr. Hodgins, and one for yourself also, and I will smoke and talk with you a while, for they seem as natural to each other, as eating and drinking do." As soon as these were produced, Mr. Slick and I re- tired, and requested Mrs. Hodgins to leave the Minister and her husband together for a while, for as Mr. Slick 118 THE ATTACHE. observed, ''The old man will talk it into him like a book-," for *• if h(j was possessed of the spirit of a devil, instead of a Chartist," he is jist the boy to drive it out of him. Let him be awhile, and he'll tame old uncle there, like a cossit sheep 5 jist see if he don't, that's all." We then walked up and down the shady lane, smok- ing 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 nobody ; for your folks will say I mean the states, and our citizens will say I mean the colonies ; but you and I know who the cap fits, one or t'other, or both, don't we ? " Now here, this old-fashioned church, ain't quite up to the notch, and is a leelle behind the enlightment of the age like, with its queer old fixin's and what not; but still it looks solemcoly' don't it ? and the dim light seems as if we warn't expected to be a lookin' about, and as if outer world was shot out, from sight and thort, and it warn't 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 l»im together ; but somehow, or somehow else, I feel more serious to-day than com- mon, that's a fact. The people too are all so plain dress- ed, so decent, so devout and no show, it looks like airnest. "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 THE ATTACHE. 119 too. I thought it was ^ome noble, or airl's, or big bug's family, but Mrs. Hodgins says they are the people of the Squires about here, the butlers and ladies' maids ; and superfine uppercrust lookin' folks they be too. " Then every body walks here,even Squire Merton and his splendiriferous galls walked like the poorest of the poor ; there was no carriage to the door, nor no bosses hitched to the gate, or tied to the back of waggons, or people gossipin' outside ; but all come in and minded their business, as if it was worth altendin' to ^ and then arter church was finished off, I liked the way the big folks talked to the little folks, and enquired arter their families. It may be actin', but if it is, it's plaguy good actin', I tell you. '* I'm a thinkin* it tante a rael gentleman that's proud, but only a hop. You've seen a hop grow, hante you? It shoots up in a night, the matter of several inches right out of the ground, as stiff as a poker, straight up and down, with a spick and span new green coat and a red nose, as proud as Lucifer. Well, I call all upstarts * hops/ and I believe it's only " hops" arter all that's scorny. " 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 Bri- tisher. Perhaps that's the cause of my prejudice, 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 leetotalJy different they be ! bean't (hey ? 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 120 THE ATTACHK. inside seems all out-doors, and no tree nor bush, nor nothin' near it but the road fence, with a man to preach in it, that is so strict and straight-laced he will do any thimj of a week day, and nothin' of a Sunday. Congre- gations are rigged out in their spic and span bran new clothes, silks, satins, ribbins, leghorns, palmetters, kiss- me-quicks, and all sorts of rigs, and the men in their long-tail-blues, pig-skin pads, calf-skin boots and sheep- skin saddle-cloths. Here they publish a book of fashions, there they publish 'em in meetin'-, and instead of a pictur, have the rael naked truth. ^* 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 hitched there •, poor devils of bosses that have ploughed, or hauled, or harrowed, or logged, or snaked, or somethin' or an- other all the week, and rest of a Sunday by alterin' their gait, as a man rests on a journey by a alterin' of his sturup, a hole higher or a hole lower. Women that has all their flnery on can't walk, and some things is on- decent. It's as ondecent for a woman to be seen walkin' to meetin', as it is to be caught at — what shall I say ? — why caught at attendin' to her business to home. " Th;; men are the fust and the last to meetin'^ fine clolhr. -^ I .'unthin', and if they ain't showed, what's the Ur ci UK Oi? The men folk remind me of the bosses to Sable Island, it's a long low sand-bank on Nova THE ATTACHK. 121 Scotia coast, thirty miles long and better is Sable Island, and not much higher than the Water. It has awful breakers round it, and picks upashockin' 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-inlender 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,' lugs him off to the stable-yafd, and breaks him in, in no time. A smart little boss he is too, but he always has an eye to natur' arlerwards •, the cliange is too sudden, and he'll off, if he gets a chance. " Now that's the case with these country congrega- tions, 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, era leadin' off of two bosses on the sly of the old deacon's, lakin' 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 Sail Dowdie's.' " ' Shift it on to the deacon's beast, and put bis on to her'n and tie the two critters together by the tail. This is old Mother Pitcher's waggon j her boss kicks like a 122 THE ATTACHE. grasshopper. Lengthen the breechin', and when aunty starts, heMl make all fly agin into shavin's, like a plane. Who is (hat a comin' along full split there a horseback?* " ' It's old Booby's son, Tom. Well, it's the old man's shaft boss j call out whoh ! and he'll stop short, and pitch Tom right over his head on the broad of his back, tvhap. " Tim Fish, and Ned Pike, come scale up here with us boys on the fence.' The weight is too great; away goes the fence, and away goes the boys, all flyin'; legs, arms, hats, poles, stakes, withes, and all, with an awful crash and an awful shout; and away goes two or three bosses that have broke their bridles, and off home like wink. " Out comes Elder Sourcrout. * Them as won't come in had belter stay to home,' sais he. And when he hears that them as are in hr«d better stay in when they be there, he takes the hint and goes back agin. " Come, boys, let's go to Black Stump Swamp and sarch for honey. We shall be back in time to walk home with the galls from night meetin', by airly candle-light. Lei's go.' "Well, when they want to recruit the stock of tame ones inside meetin', they sarcumvent some o' these wild ones outside-, make a dash on 'em, catch 'em, dip 'em, and give 'em a name ; for all sects don't always baptise 'em as we do, when children, but let 'em grow up wild in the herd till they are wanted. They have hard work to break 'em in, for they are smart ones, that's a fact, but, like the bosses of Sable Island, they have always an eye to naliif arterwards-, the change is too sudden, you can't trust 'em, at least I never see one as / could, that's all. BB THE ATTACHE. 123 " Well, when they come out o' meetin*, look at the dignity and sanctity, and pride o' humility o' the tame old ones. Read tlu'ir faces. ' How does the print go?' Why this way, 'I am a sinnor, at least I was once, but thank fortin' I ain't like you, you onconverted, benighted, good- for-nolhln' critter you.' Read the ontamed one's face, what's the print there? Why it's this. As soon as he sees over-righteous stalk by arler that fashion, it says, * How good we are, ain't we? Who wet his hay to the lake tother day, on his way to market, and made two tons weigh two tons and a half? You'd better look as if butter wouldn't melt in your mouth, hadn't you, old Sugar- cane?' " Now jist foller them two rulin* elders, Sourcrout and Coldslaugh ^ they are plaguy jealous of their neighbour, elder Josh Chisel, that exhorted to-day. ' How did you like Brother Josh, to-day?' says Sourcrout, a utterin'of it through his nose. Good men always speak through the nose. It's what comes out o' the mouth that defiles a man ; but there is no mistake in the nose *, it's the porch of the temple that. ' How did you like Brother Josh ?' " ' Well, he wasn't very peeowerful.' *' ' Was he ever peeowerful?' ** ' Well, when a boy, they say he was considerable sum as a wrastler.' " Sourcrout won't larf, because it's agin rules •, but he gig goggles like a turkey-cock, and says he, ' It's forever and ever the same thing with Brother Josh. He is like an over-shot mill, one everlastin* wishy-washy stream.' '" When the water ain't quite enough to turn the wheel, and only spatters, spatters, spatters,' says Coldslaugh. 124 THE ATTACHK. *' Sourcrout gig goggles again, as if he was swallerin* shelled corn whole. ' That trick of wettin' the hay/ says he, * to make it weigh heavy, warn't cleverly done •, it ain't pretty to be cauglit *, it's only bunglers do that.' " ' He is so fond of temperance,' says Goldslaugh, * he wanted to make his hay jine society, and drink cold wa- ter, too.' *' Sourcrout gig goggles ag'in, till he takes a fit of the asmy, sets down on a stump, claps both hands on his sides, and coughs, and coughs till he fmds coughing no joke no more. Oh dear, dear con varied men, though they won't larf themselves, make others larf the worst kind, sometimes 5 don't they? " I do believe, on my soul, if religion was altogether left to the voluntary in this world, it would die a nale- ral death ; not that nmn wouldn't support [it, but be- cause it would be supported under false pretences. Truth can't be long upheld by falsehood. Hypocrisy would change its features, and intolerance its name ; and religion would soon degenerate |into a cold, intriguing, onprincipled, marciless superstition, that's a fact. '* Yes, on the whole. I rather like these plain, decent, onpretendin,' country churches here, although t'other ones remind me of old limes, when I was an ontameil one too. Yes, I liUc an English church ] but as for Mi- nister pretendin' for to come for to go preach agin that beautiful long-haired young rebel, Squire Absalom, for ' stealin' the hearts of the people,' why it's rather takin' the rag ofl* the bush, ain't it? "Tell you what, Squire^ there ain't a man in their whole church here, from Lord Canter Berry that prea- TIIK AlTAClHIi, 125 * ches afore the Queen, to Parson Homily that preuclied afore us, nor never was, nor never will bo equal to Old Minister hisself for ' stealin' liie hearts of the people." CHAPTER XHI. matuh'. In the course of our journey , the conversation turned upon the several scries of the " Clockmaker"' I had pub- lished, and their relative merits. Mr. Slick appeared to think they all owed their popularity mainly to the fresli- ness 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 to sketch the En- glish in a way any one will stop to look at, you have missed a figur', that's all. You can't do it nohow ; you can't fix it. There is no contrasts here, no variation of colours, no light and shade, no nothin'. What sort of a pictur' wouldstraightlinesof any thing make? Take a par- cel of sodjers, officers and all, 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 cend for an artist ?' 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 126 THK ATTACHE. most fashiouable man in London, dress him in tho last cut coat, best Irowscrs, French boots, Paris gloves, and grape-vine-root cane, don't forget his whiskers, or mous- stache, or breast pins, or gold chains, or any thing *, and what have you got ?— a tailor's print-card, and nothin' else. ''Take a lady, and dress her in a'most a beautiful long habit, man's hat, standup collar and stock, clap a beau- tiful little cow-hide whip in her hand, and mount hor on a'most a splendiferous white boss, with long tail and llowin' mane, a rairin' and a cavortin' like mad, and a champin' and a chawin' of its bit, and makin' the froth fly from its mouth, a spatterin' and white-spottin' of her beautiful trailin' skirt like any thing. Andw hat have you got ? — why a print like the posted hnnd-bills of a circus. "Now spit on your Angers, and rub Lord First Chop out of the slate, and draw an Irish labourer, with his coat oir, in his shirt-sleeves, with his breeches loose and ontied at the knees, his yarn stockings and thick shoes on; a little dudeen in his mouth, as black as ink and as short as nothin'; his hat with devilish little rim and no crown to it, and a hod on his shoulders, filled with bricks, and him lookin' as if he was a singin' away as merry as a cricket : ' When I vras young 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 ? Vou have got sunthin' nateral. THE ATTACHE. 127 ''Well, take the angylyferous dear a horseback, and rub her out, (well, I won't soy thai Mother, for I'm fond of the little critturs, dressed or not dressed for company, or any way they like), yes, Hike woman-natur',I IcllyoM. But turn over the slate, and draw on t'other side on't an old woman, with a red cloak, and a striped petticoat, and a poor pinched-up, old, squashed-in bonnet on, bendin' forrard, with a stafl' in herhand,aleadin' of a donkey that has a pair of yaller willow saddle-bags on, with coloured vegetables and flowers, and red beet-tops, a goin' to market. And what have you got ? Why a pictur* worth lookin' at, too. Yihy 1 — because it's natur'. "Now, look here, Squire 5 let Copley, if he was alive, but he ain't ; and it's a pity too, for it would have kinder liappifled Iheold man, to see his son in the House of Lords, wouldn't it ! Squire Copley, you know, was a Boston man 5 and a credit to our great nation too. P'raps Eu- rope never has dittoed him since. " Well, if he was above ground now, alive, and stirrin', why take him and fetch him to an upper crust London party, and says you, *Old Tenor,' sais you, 'paint all them silver plates, and silver dishes, and silver coverlids, and what nots; and then paint tbem lords with their stars f and them ladies' (Lord if he would paint them with their garters, folks would buy the pictur, cause that's nateral) *them ladies with their jewels, and their sarvanls with their liveries, as large as life, and twice as nateral.' "Well, he'd paint it, if you paid him for it, that's a fact J for there is no better bait to fish for us Yankees arter ''WB^WI.y-i'S"*''!'*'!''*!^ 128 THK ATTACIIK. all, than a dollar. That old boy never turned up his nose at a dollar, except when he thought he ought to get two. And if he painted it, it wouldn't be bad, I tell you. "*Now,* sais you, 'you have done high life, do low life for me, and I will pay you well. I'll come down han- sun, and do the thing genteel, you may depend. Then,' says you, * put in for a back ground that noble, old Noah- like lookin' wood, that's as dark as comingo. Have you done ?' sais you. "' I guess so,' sais he. " *Then put in a brook jist in front of it, runnin' over stones, and foamin* and a bubblin' up like any thing.' " 'It's in,' sais he. " *Then jab two forked sticks in the ground ten feet apart, this side of the brook,' says you, 'and clap a pole across atween the forks. Is that down ?' sais you. " * Yes,' sais he. " 'Then,' sais you, ' hang a pot on that horizontal pole, make a clear little wood fire onderneath ; paint two co- vered carts near it. Let an old boss drink at the stream, and two donkeys make a feed ofT a patch of thistles. Have you stuck that in ?' " 'Stop a bit,' says he, ' paintin' an't quite as fast done as writin'. Have a little grain of patience, will you ? It's tall paintin', makin' the brush walk at (hat price. Now there you are,' sais he. ' What's next ? But, mind I've most filled my canvass \ it will cost you a pretty conside- rable penny, if you want all them critters in, when I come to cypher all the pictur up, and sumtotalize the whole of it.' n^i THE ATTACHK. J 29 "•Oh I CUSS the cost!' sais you. *Do you jistobey orders, and break owners, that's all you have to do, Old Loyalist/ ** * Very well,' sais he, ' here goes.' *'* Well, then,' sais you, 'paint a party of gipsies there i mind their different coloured clothes, and different atti- tudes, and different occupaiious. Here a mart mendin' a harness, there a woman pickin^ a stolen fowl, there a man skinnin' a rabbit, there a woman with her petticoat up, a puttin' of a patch in it. Here two boys a Oshin', 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 coun- tryman.' " ' Well, he'll jist up and tell you, * Mr. Poker,' sais he, ' your fashionable party is the devil, that's a fact. Man made the town, but God made the country. Your company is as formal, and as stiff, and as oninterestin' as a row of poplars 5 but your gipsy scene is beautiful, because it's nateral. It was me painted old Chatham's death in the House of Lords j folks praised it a good deal •, but it was no great shakes, there was no natuf in it. The scene was real, the likenesses was good, and there was spirit in it, but their damned uniform toggery, spiled the whole thing—it was artificial, and wanted life and natur. Now, suppose such a thing in Congress, or suppose some fe)' >• skiverd the speaker with a bowie knife as happened to Arkansaw, if I was to paint it, it would be beautiful. Our free and enlightened people is 9 il I' ,1' 130 THE ATTACHE. SO different, so characteristic and peculiar, it would give a great field to a painter. To sketch the different style of man of each state, so that any citizen would sing right out ; Heavens and airth if that don't beat all ! Why, as I am a livin' sinner that's the Hoosier of Indiana, or the Sucker of Illinois, or the Puke of Missouri, or the Bucky of Ohio, or the Red Horse of Kentucky, or the Mudhead of Tennesee, or the Wolverine of Michigan, or the Eel of New England, or the. Corn Cracker of Virginia ! That's the thing that gives inspiration. That's the glass of talabogus that raises your spirits. There is much of elegance, and more of comfort in England. It is a great and a good country, Mr. Poker, but there is no natur in it.' " 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 En- glish, 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 wass of polished life, where there is no natur. Washington Irving's book is like a Dutch paintin', it is good, because it is faithful ; Ihe mop has the right number of yarns, and each yarn has the right number of twists, (altho' he mistook the mop of the grandfather, for the mop of the man of the present day) and the pewter plates are on the kitchen dresser, and the other little notions are all there. He has done the most that could be done for them, but the painter desarves more praise than the subject. 1 ^^^ " ipu THE ATTACHE. 131 '' Why is it every man's sketches of America takes? Do you suppose it is the sketches ? No. Do you reckon it is the interest we create? jNo. Is it our grand expe- riments ? i\o. They don't care a brass button for us, or our country, or experiments nother. What is it then ? It is because tliey 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 arti- ficials Britishers laugh at ^ they are bad copies, that's a fact ; I give them up. Let them laugh, and be darned ; but I sVvk ic iv?y iiatur, and I stump them to produce the like. " Oh, hiiUire, if you ever sketch me, for goodness gracious sake, don't sketch me as an Attache to our em- bassy, with the Legation button, on the coat, and black Jube Japan in livery. Don't do that ; but paint me in my old waggon to Nova Scotier, with old Clay before me, you by my side, a segar in my mouth, and natur all round me. And if that is too artificial ; oh, paint me in the back woods, with my huntin' coat on, m/ leggins, my cap, my belt, and my powder-horn. Paint me with my talkin' iron in my V«uKd, wipin' her, chargin' her, selectin* the bullet, placiii' it iu the greased wad, and rammin' it down. Then i.rjAv; a , plendid oak openin' so as to give a good view, paiat a nu>' i el 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 deai squirrels said it was. Paint me nateral, I beseech you , mi 1 tell you now, as I told you before, and ever shall say, : i^re is nolhin' worth havin' or knowin', 132 THK ATTACIIK. or heariii', or readin', orseein', or taslin\ or smellin', or feclin' and above all and more than all, nothin* worth atfectionin' but Natur. CHAPTER XIV. THE SOCDOLAGER. \\ As soon as I found my friend Mr. Hopt ell comfortably settled in his lodgings, I went to the oflice of the Belgian Consul and other persons to obtain the necessary pass- ports for visiting Germany, where I had a son at school. Mr. Slick proceeded at the same time to the residence of his Excellency Abednego Layman, who had been sent to this country by the United States on a special mission, relative to the Tariff. On my return from the city in the afternoon, he told me he had presented his credentials to " theSocdolager," and was most graciously and cordially received ; but still, I could not fail to observe that there was an evident air of disappointment about him. "Pray, what is the meaning of theSocdolager?" I asked. " I never heard of the term before." " Possible !" said he, "never heerd tell of * the Socdo- lager,* why you don't say so ! The Socdolager is the Pre- sident of the lakes— he is the whale of theintarnal seas— the Indgians worshipped him once on a time, as the king of fishes, lie lives in great state in the deep waters, does the old boy, and he don't often shew himself. I never THE ATTACHE. 133 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 cani; be caught, no how you can fix, he is so 'tarnal knowin', and he can't be speared nother, for the moment he sees aim taken, he ryles the water and is out of sight in no time. He can take in whole shoals of others hisself, tho' at a mouthful. He's a whapper, that's a fact. I call our Minister here * the Socdolager,' for our J^plomaters were never known to be hooked once yet, and aclilly 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 t^/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' raps of the knocker, presents the legation ticket, and was admitted to where ambas- sador was. He is a very pretty man all up his shirt, and he talks pretty, and smiles pretty, and bows pretty, and he has got the whitest hand you ever see, it looks as white, as a new bread and milk poultice. It does indeed. " ' Sam Slick,' sais he, ' as I'm alive. Well, how do you do, Mr. Slick? I am 'nation glad to see you, I affec- tion 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, (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 sensitive as a skinned eel, is Layman, and ho 134 THE ATTACHK. winced at that poke at his soft sawder hke any thing, and puckered a little about the mouth, but he didn't say nothin', he only bowed. He was a Unitarian preacher once, was Abednego, but he swapt preachin' for politics, and a good trade he made of it too ■, that's a fact. " * A great change,' sais I, 'Abednego, since you was a preachin' to Connecticut and I was a yendin' 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 I' ''It was a raw spot, that, and I always touched him on it for fun. " 'Sam,' said he, and his face fell like an empty puss, when it gets a few cents put into aach eend on it, the weight makes it grow twice as long in a minute. ' Sam,' said he, ' don't call me that are, except when we are alone here, that's a good soul*, not that I am proud, for I am a true Republican •,' and he put his hand on his heart, bowed and smiled hansum, ' but these people will make a nick- name of it, and we shall never hear the last of it ; that's a iuu. We must respect ourselves, afore others will respect us. You onderstand, don't you?' " 'Oh, don't I,' sais I, 'that's all? It's only here I talks this way, because we are at home now ; but I can't help a thinkin' how strange things do turn up sometimes. Do you recollect, when 1 heard you a-preachin' about Hope a-pitchin' of her tent on a hill? By gosh, it struck me then, you'd pitch your tent high some day, you did it beautiful.' ' He know'd I didn't like this change, that Mr. Hope- well had '.iinder inoculated me with other guess views on these matters, so he began to throw up bankments and to picket in the ground, all round for defence like. ifliwi jii I m-> jHM'imms* THE ATTACHE. 135 " ' Hope,' sais he, < is the attribute of a Christian, Slick, for he hopes beyond this world; but I changed on principle.' " 'Well,' sais I, 'I changed on interest j now if our great nation is backed by principal and interest here, I- guess its credit is kinder well built. And atween you and me, Abednego, that's more than the soft-horned British will ever see from all our States. Some on 'em are inlar- mined to pay either debt nor interest, and give nothin' but lip in retarn.' " ' Now,' sais he, a pretendin' to take no notice of this, ' you know we have the Voluntary with us, Mr. Slick.' He said '* Mister" that time, for he began to get formal on puppus to stop jokes ; but, dear me, where all men are equal what's the use of one man tryin' to look big? He must take to growin' agin I guess to do that. *You know we have the Voluntary with us, Mr. Slick,' sais he. " * Jist so,' sais I. '* * Well, what's the meanin' of that?' " ' Why,' sais I, * that you support religion or let it alone, as you like •, that you can take it up as a pedlar does his pack, carry it till you are tired, then lay it down, set on it, and let it support you.' " ' Exactly,' sais he ^ 'it is voluntary on the hearer, and it's jist so with the minister, too ; for his preachin' is vo- luntary also. He can preach or let it alone, as he likes. It's voluntary all through. It's a bad rule that won't work both ways.' " ' Well,' says I, ' there is a good deal in that, too.' I said that just to lead him on. " ' A good deal !' sais he, ' why it's every thing. But I didn't rest on that alone ^ I propounded this maxim to i 136 THE ATTACHE. 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 fellow citizens best by bein' minister to Peach settlement, 'tendin' on a little village of two thousand souls, and preachin' my throat sore, or bein' special mi- nister to Saint Jimses, and sarvin' our great Republic and Us 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 great scho- lard. Now a great scholard, when he can't do a sum the way it's stated, jist states it so— he can do it. Now the right way to state that sum is arter this fashion : '^ Which is best, to endeavour to save the souls of two thousand people under my spiritual charge, or let them go to Old Nick and save a piece of wild land in Maine, gel 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 rather for my consideration than your'n,' and he looked as a feller does when he buttons his trowsers' pocket, as much as to say, you have no right to be a put- tin' 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 maintain 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 THE ATTACHE. t37 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 ?' " ' Oh !' sais he, and he walked up and down agin, cy- pherinMike 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 for talk over a cigar, alone. It don't always answer a good purpose to blart every thing out. But our /position,' says 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 roe parson, and ask me to crave a blessin', jist to raise the larf agin me for bavin' been a preacher.' " * If he does,' sais I, 'jist say, my Attach^ does that, and I'll jist up first and give it to h m atween the two eyes; and when that's done, sais you, my 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 wo made on the right of sarch, raised us about the top- loftiest?' *' * Oh, ' says he * right of sarch ! right of sarch ! I've been tryin ' to sarch my memory, but can't find it. I don't 138 THE ATTACHE. recollect that sarmont about Hope pitchin' her tent on the hill. When was it?' '* ' It was afore the juvenile-united-democratic-re- publican association to Funnel Hall, ' sais I. " * Oh, ' says he, ' that was an oration— it was an ora- tion that. ' "Oh ! ' sais I, " we won't say no more about that ^ I only meant it as a joke, and nothii. ' 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 figu- rativ' 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?' "Goodairth 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 bavin' preached, man. Cromwell was a great preacher all his life, but it didn't spile him as a Socdola- ger one bit, but rather helped him, that's a fact. How 'av we held our footin' here ? ' " * Not well, I am grieved to say, ' sais he ; not well. The failure of the United States' Bank, the repudiation of debts by several of our States, the foolish opposition we made to the suppression of the slave-trade, and above all, the bad faith in the business of the boundary question has lowered us down, down, e'en a'most to the bottom of the shaft. ' " 'Abednego,' sais I, 'we want somethin' besides boastin' and talkin' big ^ we want a dash— a great stroke of policy. Washington hanging Andre that time, gained 1 THB ATTACHE. 139 more ilian a battle. Jackson by hanging Arbuthnot and Anbristher, gained his election. M'Kenzie for havin* banged them three citizens will be made an admiral of yet, see if he don't. Now if Captain Tyler had said, in his message to Congress, * Any State that repudiates its foreign debts, we will first fine it in the whole amount, and then cut it off from our great, free, enlightened, mo- ral and intellectual republic, he would have gained by the dash his next election, and run up our flag to the mast-head in Europe. He would have been popular to home, and respected abroad, that's as clear as mud.' '' ' He would have done right, Sir, if he had done that,' said Abednego, * and the right thing is always approved of in the eend, and always esteemed all through the piece. A dash, as a stroke of policy,' said he, ' has sometimes a good effect. General Jackson threatening France with a war, if they didn't pay the indemnity, when he knew the King would make 'em pay it whether or no, was a masterpiece ; and General Cass tellin' France if she signed the right of sarch treaty, we would fight both her and England together single-handed, was the best move on the political chessboard, this century. All these, Sir^ are very well in their way, to produce an effect; but there's a better policy nor all that, a far better policy, and one, too, that some of our States and legislators, and presi- dents, and Socdclagers, as you call 'em, in my mind have got to lam 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 honour to our great nation. What policy are you a iudicatin' of?' r^ 140 THE ATTACHE. t( I -^hy^' sais he, * that honesty is the best policy.' '^Whenlheerd him say that, I springs right up on eend, like a rope dancer. 'Give me your hand, Abed- nego,' sais I ; ' you are a man, every inch of you,' and I squeezed it so hard, it made his eyes water. ' I always knowed you had an excellent head-piece,' sais I, ' and now I see the heart is in the right place too. If you have thrown preachin' overboard^ you have kept your morals for ballast, any how. I feel kinder proud of you ; you are jist a fit representative 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 mistake,' 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 >vin if I can. Good bye. But mind, Sam^ our dignity is at stake. Let's have no more of Socdolagers, or Preachin', or Clockmakin', or Hope pitchin' her tent. A word to the wise. Goodbye.' *' Yes," said Mr. Slick, " I rather like Abednego's talk myself. I kinder think that it will be respectable to be Attach^ to such a man as that. But he is goin' out of town for some time, is the Socdolager. There is an agri- cultural 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, THE ATTACIIK. 141 and all that sort of work, so he won't be in town for a good spell, and until then, 1 can't go to Court, for he is to introduce me himself. Pity that, but then it 'II give me lots 0' time to study human natur, that is, if there is any c it here, for I have some doubts about that. Yes, he is an able lead horse, is Abednego ; he is a'most a grand preacher, a good poet, a first chop orator, a great diplo- mater, and a top sawyer of a man, in short— he is a Socdolager. CHAPTER XV. DINING OUT. visit to Germany was protracted beyond the period 1 had originally designed^ and, during my absence, Mr. Slick had been constaiitly in company, either '^ di- ning 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 capital stories to tell me, and that he rather guessed he knew as much of the English, anda leetle, jist aleetle, grain more, p'raps, than they knew of the Yankees. ''They are considerable large print are the Bull fa- mily," said he ^ " you can read them by moonlight, in- deed, 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 wink- in'. It's a cloudy one here too, especially in November 5 and most all the time makes you rather sad and so- TT 1 1 II I 142 THE ATTACHE. lemncoly. 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 individiality. They are insipid, and call it perlite. The men dress alike, talk alike, and look as much alike as Providence will let 'em. The club-houses and the tailors have done a good deal towards this, and so has whiggism and dissent ; for they have destroyed distinctions. / '' But this is too deep for me. Ask Minister, he will tell you the cause \, I only tell you the fact. " Din.in' 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'raost), is like another ; one drawin*-room like another drawin*-room \ one peer's en- tertainment, in a general way, is like another peer's. The same powdered, liveried, lazy, idle, good-for-nothin*, do-little, stand-in-the-way-of-each-other, useless sarvants. Same picturs, same plate, same fixings, same don't-know- what - to - do - with - yourself - kinder- o*- lookin* - master. Great folks are like great folks, marchants like mar- chants, and so on. It's a pictur, it looks like life, but it tanle. The animal is tamed here; he is fatter than the wild one, but he hante the spirit. *' You have seen Old Clay in a pastur, a racin' about, free from harness, head and tail up , snortin', cavortin', attitudinisin' of himself. Mane flowin' in i>.e 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 ■ 'VH'' wy.^T" TS«**T7»e<'^ THE ATTACHE. 143 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 * « brock hoss* He re- minds you of Sam Slick 5 cause when you see a boss, 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 got 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 ha- bits 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 ; the 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- talabugus, switchel-flip, gum-ticklers, pblem-cutters, ju- F^N^- ii i 144 THE ATTACHE. leps, skale-iron, cast-Steel, cock-tail, or,'nothin', but that heavy stupid black fat porter ; ) then down to the coffee- house, see what vessels have arrived, how markets is, whether there is a chance of doin' any thin' in cotton or tobaccc, whose broke to home, and so on. Then go to the park, and see what's a goin' on there ^ whether those pretty critturs, the rads are a holdin' a prime minister * parsonally responsible,' by shootin* at him ; or whether there is a levee, or the Queen is ridin' out, or what not -, take a look at the world, make a visit or two to kill time, when all at once it's dark. Home then, smoke a cigar, dress for dinner, and arrive at a quarter past seven. " Folks are up to the notch here when dinner is in question, that's a fact, fat, gouty, broken-winded, and foundered as they be. It's rap, rap, rap, for twenty mi- nutes at the door, and in they come, one arter the other, as fast as the sarvants can carry up their names. Cuss them sarvants ! it takes seven or eight of 'em to carry a man's name up stairs, they are so awful lazy, and so shockin' full of porter. If a feller was so lame he had to be carried up himself, I don't believe on my soul, the whole gang of them, from llie 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 in a funeral *, that and the mistakes is the fun of it. There is a sarvant at a house I visit at, that I suspicion is a bit of a bam, and the critter shows both his wit and sense. He never does it to ! • \ THE ATTACHE. 145 a 'somebody,' 'cause that would cost him hjs 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 I should like to know him. *' Well, arter 'nouncin' is done, then conies two ques- tions-do I know any body here? and if I do, does he look like talk or not? Well, seein' that you have no handle lo your name, and a stranger, it's most likely you can't answer these questions right ; so you stand and use your eyes, and put your tongue up in its case till it's wanted. Company are all come, and now they have to be 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 Attache;' now I am happified it's nothin' but ' only an Attache,' and I'll tell you why. The great guns, and big bugs, have to take in each other's ladies, so these old ones have to herd together. Well, the nobodies go toge- ther too, and sit together, and I've observed these no- bodies 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 nobo- dies 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 40 "J^jp ■'w»wi™p!"5r^" 146 THE ATTACHE. if I had one, I should have a fat old parblind dowager detailed on to me to take in to dinner *, and what the plague is her jewels and laces, and silks and sattins, and wigs to me? As it is, I have a chance to have a gall to take in that's a jewel herself— one that don't want no settin' off, and carries her diamonds in her eyes, and so on. I've told our minister not to introduce me as an Attach^ no more, but as Mr. Nobody, from the State of Nothin', in America, tMVs natur agin, " But to get back to the dinner. Arter you are in mar- chin* order, you move in through two rows of sarvants in uniform. I used to think they was placed there for show^ but it's to keep the air off of folks a goin' through the entry, and it ain't a bad thought, nother. *' Lord, the first time I went to one o' these grand let offs I felt kinder skeery, and as nobody was allocated to me to take in, I goes in alone^ not knowin' where I was to settle down as a squatter, and kinder lagged behind ; when the butler comes and rams a napkin in my hand, and gives me a shove, and sais he, ' Go and stand behind your master, sir,' sais he. Oh Solomon ! how that waked me up. Howl curled inwardly when he did that. * You've mistaken the child,' sais I mildly, and I held out the nap- kin, and jistas he went to take it, I gave him a sly poke in the J)read 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 5 1 thought I should a split when I looked at him. Guess he'll know an Attach^ when he sees him next time. <* Well, there is dinner. One sarvice of plate is like THE ATTACHE. 147 another sarvice of plate, any one dozen of sarvants are like another dozen of sarvants, hock is hock, and cham- paigne is champaigne — and one dinner is like another dinner. The only difference is in the thing itself that's cooked. Veal, to be good, must look like any thing else but veal ; you mustn't know it when you see it, or it's vulgar ', mutton must be incog, too ; beef must have a mask on-, any thin' that looks solid, take a spoon to; any thin' that looks light, cut with a knife ; if a thing looks like flsh, you may take your oath it is flesh ; and if it seems rael flesh, it's only disguised, for it's sure to be fish ; nothin' must be nateral, natur is out of fashion here. This is a manufacturin' country, every thing 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 goin' round and round in a ring, slow, but sartain, and for ever, like the arms of a great big windmill, shovin' oish after dish, in dum show, afore your nose, for you to see how you like the flavour ; when your glass is empty it's filled ; when your eyes is off your plate, it's off too, afore you can say Nick Biddle. " 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 arbi- trary tyrannical fashion that don't leave 'em no fr^e will at all. You don't often speak across a table any more nor you do across a street, but p'raps Mr. Somebody of West Eend of town, will say to a Mr. Nobody from WestEend of America: * Niagara is noble.' Mr. Nobody will say, ' Guess it is, it got its patent afore the " Norman Con- quest,''* I reckon, and afore the " subdued tone" come ^8 THE ATTACHE. in fashion.' Then Mr. Somebody will look like an oracle, and say, * Great rivers and great trees in America. You speak good English.' And then he will seem surprised, but not say it, only you can read the words on his face, * Upon my soul, you are a'most as white as us.' *' Dinner is over. It's time for ladies to cut stick. Aunt Goosey looks at the next oldest goosey, and ducks her head, o" 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. Larnin' is pedantic ^ politics is onsafe ; religion ain't fashionable. You must tread on neutral ground. Well, neutral ground gets so trampled down by both sides, and so plundered by all, there ain't any thing fresh or good grows on it, and it has no cover for game nother. *' Housundever, the ground is tried, it's well beat, but nothiri' is put up, and you get back to where you started. Uncle Gander looks at next oldest gander hard, bobs his head, and lifts one leg, all ready for a go, and says, * Will you take any more wine?* * No,' sais he, ' but I take the hint, let's jine the ladies.' " Well, when the whole flock is gathered in the goose pastur, the drawin'-room, other little flocks come troopin' in, and stand, or walk, or down on chairs-, and them that know each other talk, and them that don't twirl their thumbs over their fingers *, and when they are tired of that, twirl their fingers over their thumbs. I'm nobody, THE ATTACHE. 149 and so I goos 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' hosses and galls. They give 'em both plenty of walkin' exercise, feed 'em regular, shoe 'em well, trim 'em neat, and keep a beautiful skin on 'em. They keep 'em in good health, and don't house 'em too much. They are clippers, that's a fact. There is few things in natur, equal to a boss and a gall, that's well trained and in good con- dition. 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 i$ fit to be seen ■, they grow out of shape, and look coarse. *< 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 practiced. The mark o' mouth is kept up in a boss here by the file, and a hay-cutter saves his tseth, and helps his digestion. Well, a dentist does the same good turn for a woman; it makes her pass for several years younger, aud helps her looks, mends her voice, and makes her as smart as a three year old. " What's that? It's music. Weil, that's artificial too, it's scientific they say, it's done by rule. Jist look at that gall to the piany : first comes a little Garman thunder. Good airth and seas, what a crash ! it seems as if she'd ■^ ! r 150 THE ATTACHE. bang the instrument all to a thousand pieces. I guess she's vexed at somebody and is a peggin' it into the piany out of spite. Now comes the singin'; see what faces she makes, how she stretches her mouth open, like a barn door, and turns up the white of her eyes, like a duck in thunder. She is in a musical ecstasy is that gall, she feels good all over, her soul is a goin' out along with that ere music. Oh, it's divine, and she is an angel, ain*t she? Yes, I guess she is, and when I'm an angel, I will fall in love with herj but as I'm a man, at least what's left of me, I'd jist as soon fall in love with one that was a leetle, jist a leetle more of a woman, and a leetle, jist a leetle less of an angel. But hullo ! what onder the sun is she about, why her voice is goin' down her own throat, to gain strength, and here it comes out again as deep toned as a man's \ while that dandy feller along side of her, is singin' what they call falsetter. They ve actilly changed voices. The gall sings like a man, and thi t 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. Berey 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 no farther \ it's the raal thing. Look at the women kind, now. Anindgian gall, down South, goes most naked. Well, a splendiferous company gall, here, when she is/i/W dressed is only half covered, and neither of 'em attract you one mite or morsel. W^e dine at two and ^up at seven s here they lunch j^t two, and dine at seven, THE ATTACHE. 151 The words are difTerent, but they are identical the same. Well, the singin* is amazin* like, too. Who ever heerd them Italian singers recitin* their jabber, showin* their teeth, and cuttin' didoes at a great private consart, that wouldn't take his oath he had heerd niggers at a dignity ball, down South, singjist the same, and jist as well. And then do, for goodness* gracious' sake, hear that great absent man, belongin' to the House o* Commons, when the chaplain says * Let us pray I ' sing right out at once, as if he was to home, ' Oh I by all means,' as much as to say, ' me and the powers above ready to hear you \ but don't be long about it.' ** Ain't that for all the world like a camp-meetin*, when a reformed ring-tail roarer calls out to the minister,' That's a fact, Welly Fobus, by Gosh 5 amen! or when preacher says, ' Me and the boys, throw us a hen-coop ; the galls will drift down stream on a bale 0' cotton.' Well then, our very lowest, and their very highest, don't always act pretty, that's a fact. Sometimes * they repudiate. You take, don't you ? " There is another party to-night 5 the flock is a thin- nin' off agin \ and as I want a cigar most amazin'ly let's go to a divan, and some other time, I'll tell you what a swoiree 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 eternity, don't you think you'd get a leetle— jist a leetle more tired of it every day, and wish for natur once more. If you wouldn't I would, that's all." 152 THE ATTACH^. CHAPTER XVI. THE N08B OF A SPT. " Squire," said Mr. Hopewell, " you know Sam well enough, I iiopc, to make all due allowances for the exu- berance of his fancy. The sketch he has just given you of London society, like the novels of the present day, though founded on fact, is very unlike the reality. There may be assemblages of persons in this great city, and no doubt there arc, quite as insipid and absurd as the one he has just pourtrayed ; but you must not suppose it is at all a fair specimen of the society of this place. My own expe- rience is quite the reverse. I think it the most refined, the most agreeable, and the most instructive in the world. Whatever your favourite study or pursuit may be, here you are sure to lind 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 incom- prehensible to a republican. Money is the great leveller of distinctions with us ; here, it is talent. Fashion spreads many tables here ■, but talent is always found seated at the best, if it thinks proper to comply with certain usages, without which, even genius ceases to be attractive. " On some future occasion, I will enter more at large on this subject', but now it is too late ; I have already ex- ceeded my usual hour for retiring. Excuse me, Sam," THE ATTACHE. 153 said he/< I know you will not be offended with me; but Squire, there are some subjects on which Sam may amuse, but cannot instruct you ; and one is, fashionable life in London. You must judge for yourself, Sir. Good night, my children. " Mr. Slick rose, and opened the door for him, and as be passed, bowed and held out his hand, ** Remember me, your honour;" no man opens the door in (his country without being paid for it, " Remember 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. Goodnight." 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 conver- sation is much greater in certain circles in London, than in any other place. By talking well, I do not mean talking wisely or learnedly ; but agreeably, for relaxation and pleasure are the principal objects of social assemblies. This can only bo illustrated by instancing some very remarkable persons, who are the pride and pleasure of every table they honour and delight with their pre- sence. 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. JNo more certain mode could be devised of destroying conversation, than by showing, that when the citadel is unguarded, the approach of a friend is as unsafe as that of an enemy. Alas! poor Hook ! who can read the unkind notice 154 THE ATTACHll. of thee in a late periodical, and not feel, that on some oc- casions you must have admitted to your confldence men who were as unworthy of that distinction as they were incapable of appreciating it; and that they who will dis- regard the privileges of a table, will not hesitate to vio- late even the sanctity of the tomb. Cant may talk of your " inter pocula" errors with pious horror •, and preten- sion, now that its indulgence is safe, may affect to disclaim your acquaintance; but kinder, and better, and truer men than those who furnished your biographer with his facts will not fail to recollect your talents with pride, and your wit and your humour with wonder and delight. We do not require such flagrant examples as these to teach us our duty, but they are not without their use in increasing our caution. - 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 Yarginy. He is a brick, that's a fact. Still, for all that, he ain't jist alto- gether a citizen of this world nother. He fishes in deep water, with a sinker to his hook. He can't throw a fly as I can, reel out his line, run down stream, and then wind up, wind up, wind up, and let out, and wind up again, till he lands his fish, as I do. He looks deep into things, is a better religionist, polititioner, and bookster than I be : but then that's all he does know. If you want to find your way about, or read a man, come to me, that's all; for I'm the boy that jist can do it. If I can't walk into a man^ I can dod^e roun4 him ; and if he is too nimble for THE ATTACHE. 155 that, I can Jump over him : and if ho is too tail for that, although I don't liice 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 speak- in' in jeest now, or in prejudice. I hante a grain of pre- judice in me. I've see'd too much of the world for that, I reckoii. I call myself a candid man, and I tell you the English are no more like what the English used to be, when pigs were swine, and Turkey chewed tobacky, than they are like the Picts or Scols, or Norman-French, or Saxons, or nolhin'." ** Not what they used to be?" I said. " Pray, what do you mean/" " I n.>ean," said he, "list what I say. They ain't the same people no more. They are as proud, and overbear- in', and concaited, and haughty to foreigners as ever \ but, then they ain't so manly, open-hearted, and noble a" they used to be, once upon a time. They have the Spy System now, in full operation here ; so jist take my ad- vice, and mind your potatoe-trap, or you will bo in trou- ble afore you are ten days older, see if you ain't." "The Spy System!" I replied. "Good H?avftn«. Mr. Slick, how can you talk such nonsense, and yet have the r desty to say you have no prejudice?" " Yes, the Spy System," said he, "and I'll prove it. You know Dr. Mc Dougall to Nova Scotia ^ well, he knows all about nineralogy, and geology, and astrology, and every thing a'most, ej^cept what ho ought to knQVt , "Hfft T'frri • 156 THB ATTACHE. and that is dollar-ology. For he ain*l over and above half well off, that's a fact. Well, a critter of the name of Oat- meal, down to Pictou^ said to anoiher Scotchman there Oiie day, ' The great nateralist F/i*. Mc Dougall is come to town.' <**Who?' says Sawney. *' ' Dr. Mc Dougall, the nateralist,' says Oatmeal. " * Hout, mon,' says Sawney, * he is nae nateral, that chiel ', he kens mair than maist men \ he is nae that fool you take him to be.' " Now, I am not such a fool as you take me to be, Squire. Whenever I did a sum to school. Minister used to say, ' Prove it, Sam, and if it won't prove, do it over agin, till it will ;, a sum ain't right when it won't prove.' Now, 1 say the English have the Spy System, and I'll prove it ; nay, more than that, they have the nastiest, dirtiest, meanest, sneakenest system in the world. It is ten times as bad as the French plan. In France they have bar-keepers, waiters, chamber galls, guides, quo- tillions, — " " Postilions, you mean," I said. " Well, postilions then, for the French have queer names for people, that's a fact ] disbanded sodgers, and such trash, for spies. In England they have airls and countesses. Parliament men, and them that call them- selves gentlemen and ladies, for spies." " How very absurd ! " I said. " Oh yes, very absurd," said Mr. Slick j '* whenever I say anythin' agin England, it's very absurd, it's all pre- judice. Nothin' is strange, though, when it is said of us, and the absurder it is, the truer it is. I can bam as well THE ATTACHE. 157 as any man when bam is the word, but when fact is the play, I am right up and down, and true as a trivet. I won't deceive you ; I'll prove it. There was a Curnel Dun— dun— plague lake his name, I can't recollect it, but it makes no odds— I know he is Dun for, though, that's a fact. Well, he was a British kurnel, that was out to Halifax when I was there. I know'd him by sight, I didn't know him by talk, for I didn't fill then the dignified situation I now do, of Atta- che. I was only a clockmaker then, and I suppose ho 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 5 and if a feller can't be let shake hands with a gall except he has a glove on, why ain't he made to cover his lips, and kiss thro* kid skin too. *' But to get back to the kurnel, and it's a pity he hadn't had a glove over his mouth, that's a fact. Well, he went home to England with his regiment, and one night when he was dinin' among some first chop men, nobles and so on, they sot up considerable late over their claret 5 and poor thin cold stuff it is too, is claret. A man may get drowned in it, but how the plague he can get drunk with it is dark to me. It's like evry thing else French, it has no substance in it ; it's nothin' but red ink, that's a fact. Well, how it was I don't knew, but so it eventuated, that about daylight he was mops and brooms, and began to talk somethin' or another he hadn't 158 THE ATTACHE. ought to ^ somethin' he didn't know himself, and some- thin' he didn't mean, and didn't remember. " Faith, next mornin' he was booked ^ and the first thing he see'd wlien he waked was another man a tryin' on of his shoes, to see how they'd fit to march to the head of his regiment with. Fact, I assure you, and a fact too that shows what EngUshmen has come to ^ I despise 'em, I hate 'em, I scorn such critters as I do oncarcumcised niggers." " What a strange perversion of facts," I replied. But he would admit of no explanation. " Oh yes, quite parvarted j not a word of truth in it ; there never is when England is consarned. There is no beam in an English- man's eye ; no not a smell of one j he has pulled it out long ago ] that's the reason he can see the mote in other folks's so plain. Oh, of course it ain't true ; it's a Yankee invention •, it's a hickory ham and a wooden nutmeg. *' Well, then, there was another feller gotbagged 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 5 and if I did, I couldn't carry 'em about so long; but it was for sayin' it hadn't ought to have been taken notice of, considerin' it jist popt out permiscuous like with the botlle-cork. If he hadn't a had the clear grit in him, and showed teeth and claws, they'd a nullified him so, you wouldn't have see'd a grease spot of him no more. What do you call that, now? Do you call tliat 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. THE ATTACHE. 150 " Not one mite or morsel," he replied. ** Tho* 1 was born in Connecticut, I have travelled all over the thirteen united univarsal worlds of ourn and am a citizen at large. No, I have no prejudice. You say I am mistaken ; p'raps I am, I hope I be, and a stranger may get hold of the wrong eend of a thing sometimes, that's a fact. But I don't think I be wrong, or else the papers don't tell the truth ^ and I read it in all the jamais j I did, upon my soul. Why man, it's history now, if such nasty mean dolus is worth puttin' 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 commission they hold ; at *east so folks tell me. I recollect when I was there last, for it's some years since Government first sot up the Spy System ; there was a great feed given to a Mr. Robe, or Robie, or some such name, an out and out Tory. Well, sunthin' or ano- ther was said over their cups, that might as well have been let alone, I do suppose, tho', dear me, what is the use of wine but to onloosen the tongue, and what is the use of the tongue, but to talk. Oh, cuss 'em, I have no patience with them. Well, there was an officer of a mar- chin* regiment there, who it seems ought to have took down the words and sent 'em up to the head Gineral, but he was a knovvin' coon, was officer, and didn't hear it. No sooner said than done *, some one else did the dirty work for him *, but you can't have a substitute for this, you must sarve in person, so the old Gineral ha wis him right up for it. " * Why the plague, didn't you make a fuss?' sais the 160 THE ATTACHE. General, * why didn't you gel right up, and break up the party?' "*I didn't hear it/ saishe. *• 'You didn't hear it !' sais Old Swordbelt, * then you had ought to have heerd it ; and for two pins, I'd sharpen your hearin' for you, so that a snore of a fly would wake you up, as if a byler had bust.' *' Oh, how it has lowered the English in the eyes of foreigners ! How sneakin' it makes 'em look I They seem for all the world like seared dogs ^ and a dog when ho slopes off with his head down, his tail atween his legs, and his back so mean it won't bristle, is a caution to sinners. Lord, I wish I was Queen !" " 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 1 have no prejudice. By natur, there is sun- thin' noble and manly in a Britisher, and always was, till this cussed Spy System got into fashion. . They tell me it was (he Liberals first brought it into vogue. How that is, I don'l know*, but 1 shouldn't wonder if it was them, for I know this, if a feller talks very liberal in politics, put him into oflice, and see what a tyrant he'll make. If lie talks very liberal in religion, it's because he banlegot none at all. If he talks very liberal to the poor, talk is all the poor will ever get out of him. If he talks liberal about corn law, it tante to feed the hungry, but to lower wages, and so on in every thing a'most. None is so liberal as those as hante got nothin'. The most liberal feller I know on is " Old Scratch himself." If ever the liberals come in. #T^ THE AITACHK. jg, Ihey Should make him Prime Minister. He i, very liberal ■n rehg,on and would jine them in excludin' the S . from common schools I know. He is very liberal about the cr,m.na. code, for he can't bear to see criminai spT u hed. He IS very liberal in politics, for he don't appro- bate restraint, and likes to let every critter < go o the dev.r lusown way. Oh,heshouIdbeHead Spy and Prime Minister that feller. *"^nme any o "' rl'""?*"' '""'' '' ' ""' ^"""n. the fust time h d said I^'T' """" '" "^ '° '»P"' ^"o' 'he spies had said, I d j.st up and say, ' Minister,' I'd say, ' it is a Sn'Tuf ''r^"'^' "'^^-y-i-.'i's thiVf pumpm , and spym', and tattlin'. I don't like it a bit t « T: T 7 "'■•"■" " ^ ^ "-" ""^ hands dear out. « will jist break the spirit of mvoeoDle So ™i «f - spy, X II whip his tongue out and whop your ear off or my name ain't Qaeen. So jist mind what I say fe^ tTot'x T 'r ^"" """«• ^'•°- " ~ S t ai,or!Lf ?1 "' """" '"^y P"'' 'he heads of a ulev!. ? '"'' """" "''"' ™'h your own fist, me mcanin , r/ns is the nose of a Spy." U I II = 162 THE ATTACHE. CHAPTER XVI. THK PATROM; OB, THE COW'S TAIL. Nothing is so fatiguing as sight-seeing. The number and variety of objects to which your attention is called, and the rapid succession in which they pass in review, at once wearies and perplexes the mind \ and unless you take notes to refresh your memory, you are apt to find you carry away with you but an imperfect and indistinct recollection. , Yesterday was devoted to an inspection of the Tunnel and an examination of the Tower, two things that ought always to be viewed in juxta-position ; one being the greatest evidence of the science and wealth of modern times ', and the other of the power and pomp of our fore- fathers. It is a long time before a stranger can fully appreciate the extent of population and wealth of this vast metro- polis. At first, he is astonished and confused ; his vision is indistinct. By degrees he begins to understand its lo- calities, the ground plan becomes intelligible, and he can take it all in at a view. The map is a large one ^ it is a chart of the world. He knows the capes and the bays -, he has sailed round them, and knows their relative distance, and at last becomes aware of the magnitude of the whole. Object after object becomes more familiar. He can esti- mate the population ; he compares the amount of it with iate ;ro- ;ion lo- Ican lis a |-, he ice, lole. !Sti- ith THE ATTACHE. 163 that of countries that he is acquainted with, and flnds that this one town contains within it nearly as great a number of souls as all British North America. He esU- matcs the incomes of the inhabitants, and finds figures almost inadequate to express the amount. He asks for the sources from whence it is derived. He resorts to bis maxims of political economy, and they cannot inform him. Ue 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, con- cludes that the whole world is tributary to this Queen of Cities. It is the heart of the Universe. All the circu- lation centres here, and hence are derived all those streams that give life and strength to the extremities. How vast, how populous, how rich, how well regulated, how well supplied, how clean, how well ventilated, ^how healthy ! — what a splendid city ! How worthy of such an empire and such a people. What is the result of his experience? It is, that there is no such country in the world as England, and no such place in England as London; that London is better than any other town in winter, and quite as good as any other place in summer; that containing not only all that he requires, but all that he can wish, in the greatest per fection, he desires never to leave it* Local description, however, is not my object ; I shall therefore, return to my narrative. Our examination of the Tower and the Tunnel occu- pied the whole day, and though much gratified, we were no less fatigued. On returning to our lodgings, I found 164 THE ATTACHE. letters from Nova Scotia. Among others, was one from the widow of an old friend, enclosing a memorial to the Commander-in-Chief, setting forth the important and gratuitous services of her late husband to the local govern- ment of the province, and soliciting for her son some small situation in the ordnance department, which had just fallen vacant at Halifax. I knew that it was not only out of my power to aid her, but that it was impossible for her, however strong the claims of her husband might be, to obtam 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 qualiflcations, namely, county or parliamentary interest, but it might do harm. It might, by engendering ridicule from the insolence of ofiice, weaken a claim, otherwise well founded. " Who the devil is this Mr. Thomas Poker, that recommends the prayer of the petition? The fellow imagines all the world must have heard of him. A droll fellow that, I take it from his name : but all colonists are queer fellows, eh ?" "Bad news from home?" said Mr. Slick, who had no- ticed my abstraction. " No screw loose there, I hope. You don't look as if you liked the flavour of that ere nut you are crackin' of. 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 THE ATTACHE. 165 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 tliis country merit will always obtain a patron — in the provinces never. The English are a noble-mind- ed, generous people, and whoever here deserves encou- ragement or reward, is certain to obtain either or both : but it must be a brilliant man, indeed, whose light can bo perceived across the Atlantic." " I entertain. Sir," I said, " a very strong prejudice against relying on patrons. Dr. Johnson, after a long and fruitless attendance on Lord Chesterfield, says : ' Seven years, my Lord, have now past, since I waited in your outward rooms, or was repulsed from your door 5 during which time I have been pushing on my work, through difficulties, of which it is useless to complain, and have brought it at last to the verge of publication, without one act of assistance, one word of encouragement, or one smile of favour. Such treatment I did not expect, for I never had a patron before." " Ah!" said Mr. Hopewell, "a man who feels that he is wrong, is always angry with somebody else. Johnson is not so much to be admired for the independence that dic- tated that letter, as condemned for the meanness and ser- vility of seven years of voluntary degradation. It is no wonder he spoke with bitterness ; for, while he censured his Lordship, he must have despised himself. There is a great difference between a literary and a political patron. The former is not needed, and a man does better without one ; the latter is essential. A good book, like good wine, needs 166 THE ATTACHE. no bush ; but to get an office, you want merits or patrons ; — merits so great, that they cannot be passed over, or friends so powerful, they cannot be refused." "Oh! you can't do nothing Squire," said Mr. Slick, '^ send it back to OIJ Marm ; tell her you have the mis- fortin to be a colonist ; that if her son would like to be a constable, or a Hogreave, or a thistle-viewer, or sun- thin' 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 lega- tion, though they can't dance, p'raps, as well as the French one can, could set all Europe a dancin' in wide awake airnest, if it chose. They darsent refuse us nothin', or we would fust embargo, and then go to war. Any one you want to know, I'll give you the ticket. Look round, select a good critter, and hold on to the tail, for dear life, and see if you hante a patron, worth bavin'. You don't want none yourself, but you might want one some time or another, for them that's a comin' arter you. " When I was a half grow'd lad, the bears came down from Nor- West one year in droves, as a body might say, and our woods near Slickville was jist full of 'em. It warn't safe to go a-wanderin' about there a-doin' of nothin', I tell you. Well, one arternoon, father sends me into the back pastur', to bring home the cows, ' And,' THE ATTACHE. 167 says he, ' keep a stirrin', Sam, go ahead right away, and he out of the bushes afore sun-set, on account of the bears, for that's about the warmints' supper-time.' ** Well, I looks to the sky, and I sees it was a consi- derable of a piece yet to daylight down, so I begins to pick strawberries as I goes along, and you never see any thing so thick as they were, and wherever the grass was long, they'd stand up like a little bush, and hang in clus- ters, 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. " Oir 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 mej I was e'en a'most 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 astarn, he'll just snap up a plump little corn fed feller like me in less than half no time. Cryin',' says I, ' though, will do no good. You must be up and doin', Sam, or it's gone goose with you.' ** So a thought struck me. Father had always been a- talkin' to me about theleadin' men,|'and makin' acquain- IWI|H i 168 THE ATTACHK. tanco with the political big bugs when I growed up and havin' a patron, and so on. Thinks I, I'll take the leadin' cow for my patron. So I jist goes and cuts a long tough ash saplin, and takes the little limbs off of it, and then walks along side of Mooley, as meachin' as you please, so she mightn't suspect nothin', and then grabs right hold of her tail, and yelled and screamed like mad, and wal- lopped away at her like any thing. ** Well, the way she cut dirt was cautionary; she cleared stumps, ditches, windfalls and every thing, and made a straight track of it for home as the crow flies. Oh, she was a 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 arterus. " 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, overwent Mooley, like a fox, brought me whap up agin 'em, which knocked all the wind out of my lungs and the fire out of my eyes, and laid me sprawlin on the grouud, and every one of the flock went right slap over me, all but one— poor Brindie. She never came home agin. Bear nabbed her, and lore her most ridiculous. He eat what he wanted, which was no trifle, I can tell you, 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 lay hold on, to help us along— M^e want the cow's tail. " Tell your friend, the female widder, she has got hold of the wrong cow by the tail in gettin' hold of you, (for you are nothin' but a despisable colonist) ; but to look out THE ATTACHE. ^Qg for some patron here, some leadin' man, or great lord, to clinch fast hold of him, and slick to him like a leach,* and if he Hags, f for patrons, like old Mooley, get tired sometimes), to recollect the ash saplin, to lay into him well, and keep him at it, and no fear but he'll carry her through. He'll fetch her home safe at last, and no mis- take, depend on it. Squire. The best lesson that little boy could be taught, is, that of t/ie Patron, or the Cow's Tail. CHAPTER XVII. ASCOT RACES. To-uAY I visited Ascot. Race-courses are similar every where, and present the same objects; good horses, cruel riders, knowing men, dupes, jockeys, gamblers,and a large assemblage of mixed company. But this is a gayer scene than most others ; and every epithet, appropriate to a course, diminutive or otherwise, must be in the su- perlative degree when applied to Ascot. This is the ge- neral, and often the only impression that most men carry away with them. Mr. Slick, who regards these things practically, called my attention to another view of it. "Squire," said he, "I'd a plaguy sight sooner see Ascot than any thing else to England. There ain't nothin' like it. I don't mean the racin', because they can't go ahead like us, if they was to die for it. We have colts that can whip chain Ughtnin', on a pinch. Old Clay hi li 170 THE ATTACHE. trotted with it once all round an orchard, and beat it his whole lengthy but it singed his tail properly as he passed it, you may depend. It ain't its runnin' I speak of, there- fore, though that ain't mean nother; but it's got another featur', that you'll know it by from all others. Oh it's an everlastin' pity you warn't here, when I was to England last time. Queen was there then *, and where she is, of course all the world and its wife is too. She warn't there this year, and it sarves folks right. If I was an angely- ferous queen, like her, I wouldn't go nowhere till I had a toiy minister, and then a feller that had a *' trigger-eye" would stand a chance to get a white hemp-neckcloth. I don't wonder Hume don't like young England; for when that boy grows up, he'll teach some folks that they had better let some folks alone, or some folks had better take care of some folks' ampersands that's all. " The time I speak of, people went in their carriages, and not by railroad. ]>.ow, pr'aps you don't know, in fact you can't know, for you can't cypher, colonists ain't no good at iigurs, but if you did know, the way to judge of a nation is by its private carriages. From Hyde Park corner to Ascot Heath, is twenty odd miles. Well, there was one whole endurin' stream of carriages all the way, sometimes havin' one or two eddies, and where the toll- gates stood, havin' still water for ever so far. Well, it flowed and flowed on for hours and hours without stop- pin', like a river j and when you got up to the race-ground, there was the matter of two or three tiers of carriages, with the bosses off, packed as close as pins in a paper. " It costs near hand to twelve hundred dollars a-year THE ATTACHE. 171 to keep up a carriage here. Now for goodness' sake jist multiply that everlastin' string of carriages by three hun- dred pounds each, and see what's spent in that way every year, and then multiply that by ten hundred thousand more that's in other places to England you don't see, and then tell me if rich people here ain't as thick as huckle- berries." "Well, when you've done, go to France, to Belj^rium, and to Prussia, three sizeable places for Europe, and rake and scrape every private carriage they've got, and they ain't no touch to what Ascot can show. Well, when you've done your cipherin*, come right back to London, as hard as you can clip from the racecourse, and you won't miss any of 'em ; the town is as full as ever, to your eyes. A knowin' old coon, bred and born to Lon- don, might, but you couldn't. " Arter that's over, go and pitch the whole bilin' of 'em into the Thames, bosses, carriages, people, and all •, and next day, if it warn't for the black weepers and long faces of them that's lost money by it, and the black crape and happy faces of them that's c^ ot money, or titles, or what not by it, you wouldn t know nothin' about it. Carriages wouldn't rise Ion cents in the pound in the market. A stranger, like you, if you warn't told, wouldn't know nothin' was the matter above common. There ain't nothin' to England shows its wealth like this. " Says father to me when I came back, ' Sam,' sais he, ' what struck you most?' " * Ascot Races,' sais L '' ' Jist like you,' sais he. ' Bosses and galls is all you think of. Wherever they be, there you are, that's a fact. 172 THE ATTACHE. You're a chip of the old block, my boy. There ain't nothin' like 'em 5 is there?* " Well, he was half right, was father. It's worth secin' for bosses and galls too ; but it's worth seein' for its car- riage wealth alone. Heavens and airth, what a rich country it must be that has such a show in that line as England. Don't talk of stock, for it may fail^ or silver- smiths' shops, for you can't tell what's plated ; or jewels, for they may be paste •, or goods, for they may be worth only half nothin' ; but talk of the carriages, them's the witnesses that don't lie. "And what do they say? 'Calcutta keeps me, and China keeps me, and Bot'ney Bay keeps me, and Nova Scotia keeps me, and the whales keep me, and the white bears keep me, and every thing on the airth keeps me, every thing onder the airth keeps me. In short, all the world keeps me. ' " " No, not all the world, Sam," said Mr. Hopewell ; '•there are some repudiative States that don't keep me; and if you go to the auction rooms, you'll see some beau- tiful carriages for sale, that say, ' the United States' Bank used to keep me,' and some more that say, ' Nick. Biddle put me down.' " "Minister, I won't stand that," said Mr. Slick. "I won't stay here and hear you belittle Uncle Sam that way for nothin'. He ain't wuss than John Bull, arter all. Ain't there no swindle-banks here? Jist tell me that. Don't our liners fetch over, every trip, fellers that cut and run from England, with their fobs filled with other men's money ? Ain't there lords in this country that know how to " repudiate" as w«'ll as ring-tail-roarers in ourn. THE ATTACHE. 173 So come now, don't llirow stones till you put your window-shutters to, or you may stand a smart chance of gettin' your own glass broke, that's a fact. " And then. Squire, jist look at the carriages. I'll bet you a goose and trimmin's you can't find their ditto no- where. They are carriages, and no mistake, that's a fact. Look at the bosses, the harness, the paint, the linin's, the well-dressed, lazy, idle, infarnal hansum servants, ( these rascals, I suspicion, are picked out for their looks), look at the whole thing all through the piece, take it, by and large, stock, lock, and barrel, and it's the dandy, that's a fact. Don't it cost money, that's all ? Sum totalize it then, and seo what it all comes to. It would make your hair stand <}\i ? -^nd, I know. If it was all put into figurs, it would reach clean across the river \ and if it was all put into dollars, it would make a solid tire of silver, and hoop the world round and round, like a wheel. "If you want to give a man an idea of England, Squire, tell him of Ascot \ and if you want to cram him, get old Multiplication-table Joe li to cast it up \ for he'll make it come to twice as much as it railly is, and that will choke him. Yes, Squire, stick to Ascot. 174 THE ATTACHE. CHAPTER XVIII. THE GANDER PULLING. A CUNNING man is generally a suspicious one, and is as often led into error himself by his own misconceptions, as protected from imposition by his habitual caution. 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 go- verned by the same principle of action •, and, therefore, frequently deceived himself by attributing designs to others that never existed but in his own imagination. Whether the following story of the gander pulling was a fancy sketch of the Attache, or a narrative of facts, I had no means of ascertaining. Strange interviews and queer conversations he constantly had with oflicial as well as private individuals, but as he often gave his opinions the form of an anecdote, for the purpose of interesting his hearers, it was not always easy to decide whether his stories were facts or fictions. If, on the present occasion, it was of the latter descrip- tion, it is manifest that he entertained no very high opi- nion of the constitutional changes effected in the govern- ment of the colonies by the Whigs, during their long and perilous rule. If of the former kind, it is to be lamented that he concealed his deliberate convictions under an al- legorical piece of humour. His disposition to " humbug" was so great, it was difiicult to obtain a plain straight- THE ATTACHE. 175 forward reply from him ^ but had the Secretary of State put the question to him in direct terms, what he thought of Lord Durham's ^^ Responsible government/' and the practical working of it under Lord Sydenham's and Sir Charles Bagot's administration, he would have obtained a plain and intelligible answer. If the interview to which he alludes ever did take place, (which I am bound to add, is very doubtful, notwithstanding the minuteness with which it is detailed), it is deeply to be regretted that he was not addressed in that frank manner which could alone eUcit 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 temper of Englishmen. Obvious as.this appears to be, the frequent relinquishment of government mea- sures, by the dominant party, shows that their own statesmen, are sometimes deficient in this knowledge. Mr. Slick says, thatif Sir James Graham had consulted him, he could have shown him how to carry the educa- tional clauses of his favourite bill. This, perhaps, is rather an instance of Mr. Slick's vanity, than a proof of his sagacity. But if this species of information is not easy of attainment here, even by natives, how difficult must it be to govern a people three thousand miles off, who differ most materially in thought, word, and deed, from their official rulers. 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 ¥ 176 THE ATTACHE. lo-day, and one that will interest you, 1 guess. Jist as I was a settin' down to breakfast this moniin', and was a turnin* of an egg inside out into a wine-glass, to salt, pep- per and butter it for Red-lane Alley, I received a note from a Mister Pen, saying the Right Honourable Mr. Tact would be glad, if it was convenient, if I would call down to his office, to Downin' Street, lo-day, at four o'clock. Thinks says I to myself, ' What's to pay now ? Is it the Boundary Line, or Creole Case, or Colonial Trade, or the Burnin' of the Caroline, or Right o' Sarch? or what national subject is on the carpet to-day? Howsundever,' sais I, * let the charge be what it will, slugs, rifle-bullets, or powder, go I must, that's a fact.' So I tips him a shot right off^ here's the draft, Sir^ it's in reg'lar state lingo. '♦ Sir, " I have the high honour to acknowledge the receipt of your letter of this present first of June instant and note its contents. The conference ( subject unknown ) proffered by the Right Honourable Mr. Tact, I accede to hereby protesting and resarving all rights of conformation and reniggin' of our Extraordinary Embassador, now absent from London, at the great agricultural meetln'. I would suggest, next time, it would better convene to business, to insart subject of discussion, to prevent being taken at a short. "I have to assure you of the high consideration of your most obedient servant to command. ^'The Hon. Sam. Slick, " Attache. ol THE ATTACHE. 177 *' Well, when the time conies, 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 busier, I tell you, jist ready to blow up with the steam of all the secrets he had in his byler. " ' Can I see Mr. Tact?' sais I. '* ' Tell you directly/ sais he, jist short like ; for En- glishmen are kinder costive of words 5 llicy don't use more nor will do, at no time ; and ho rings a bell. This brings in his second in command 5 and sais he, ' Pray walk in here, if you please, Sir,' and he led me into a little plain, s'age-coach-house lookiu' room, with nothin' but a table and two or three chairs in it j and says he, * Who shall I say. Sir?' " *The Honourable Mr. Slick,' sais I, 'Attache of the American Legation to the court of Saint Jimses Vic- toria.' " Off he sot j and there 1 waited and waited for ever so long, but he didn't come back. Well, I walked to the winder and looked out, but there was nothin' to see there ; and then I turned and looked at a great big map on the wail, and there was nothin' I didn't know thcrj; and then I took out my pen-knife to whittle, but my nails was all whittled off already, except one, and that was made into a pen, and I didn't like lo spile that; and as there wasn t any thing I could get hold of, I jist slivered a great big bit off the leg of the chair, and began to make a toothpick of it. And when 1 had got that finished, I begins to get tired j for nothin' makes me 18 f I 178 THE ATTACHE. SO poskilly onoasy as to be kept waitin' ^ for if a Clock- maker 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 liear it. Squire ? it's a'most a beautiful air, as most all them nigger songs arc. I'll make you a varse, that will suit a despisable colonist exactly. 1 went up to London, the capital of the nation, To see Lord Stanley, and get a sitivation. Says he to tne, ' Sam Slick, what can you do ? ' Says I, ' Lord Stanley, jist as much as you. Liberate the rebels, and 'mancipate the niggers, Uurror for our side, and damn thimble-riggers.' " Airlh and seas ! If you was to sing that 'ere song tiicre, how it would make 'em stare -, wouldn't it? Such words as them was never hecrd in that patronage oHice, I guess \ and yet folks must have often thort it too 5 that's a fact. " I was a hummin" the rael 'Jim Brown,' and got as far as : Play upon the banjo, play upon the fldUle, Walk about the town, and abuse old Bi«klle, when I stopped right in the middle of it, for it kinder sorter struck me it warn't dignified to be a singin' of nigger-catches that way. So says I to myself, * This ain't respectful to fwar gieat nation to keep a high functionary a waitin' arter this fashion, is it? Guess I'd better assart (he honour of our republic by goin' away •, and let him se« tlwil it warn't me tfeat was his lackey last year.' " Well, jist as I h«^l taken the sleeve of my coat and THE ATTACHE. . 179 given my liat u rub over with it, (a good hat will carry olT an old suit of ciothesany time, but a new suit of clotlies will never carry off an old hat, so I likes to keep my hat in good order in a general way). Well, jist as I had done, in walks the porter's first lef tenant *, 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 artcr no man. ' "The critler jist stopped short, and began to see whe- ther that spelL treason or no. lie never hcerd freedom o' speech afore, that feller, I guess, unless it was somebody a jawin' of him, up hill and down dale ; so sais I, ' Lead off, my old 'coon, and 1 will foiier you, and no mistake, if you blaze the line well. ' "So he led me up stairs, opened a door, and 'nounced me j and there was Mr. Tact, sittin' at a large table, all alone. " *Iiow do you do, Mr. Slick,' says he. 'I am very glad to see you. Pray be sealed.' lie really was a very gentlemanlikeman, 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 acrosl his mouth, and looked up at the cornish, and said, 'I sent for you. Sir, ahem!' — (thinks I, I see now. All you will say for half an hour is only throw'd up for a brush fence, to lay down behind to lake aim through ; and arler that, the first shot is the one that's 180 THE ATTACHK. aimed at (lie hird), 4o explain to you about this African Slave Treaty, ' said he. * Your government don't seem to comprehend me in reference to this Right of Snrch. Lookin' a man in the face, to see he is the right man, and sarchin' his pockets, are two very diderent things. You take, don't you ?' " ' I'm up to snulT, Sir,' sais I, * and no mistake.' I know'd well enougi) that warn'l what he sent for me for, by the way he 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 tanlc burglary,' sais I, 'unless the lodger sleeps in his trunk. It's only — ' " ' Well,' says he, a colourin' up, ' that's technical. I leave these matters to my law officers.' " I larnt that little matter of law from brother Eldad, the lawyer, but I guess I was wrong there. 1 don't think I had ought to have given him that sly poke 5 but I didn't like his talkin' that way to me. Whenever a feller tries to pull the wool over your eyes, it's a sign he don't think high of your onderstandin'. It isn't complimental, that's a fact. 'One is a serious olTence, I mean, sais he; ' the other is not. We don't want to sarch ; we only want to look a slaver in the face, and see whether he is a free and enlightened American or not. If he is, the flag of liberty protects him and his slaves ; if he ain't, it don't protect him, nor them nother.' " Then he did a leadiu' article on slavery, and a para- THE ATTACHE. 181 graph on non intorvonlion, and spoko a lilllosofl sawder about America, and wound up by askin' me if be bad made himself onderstood. " ' Plain as a boot-jack,' sais I. " When tliat was over, he look breath. He sot back on his chair, put one leg over the other, and took a fresh departur' agin. " ' I have read your books, Mr. Slick,' said he, ' and read 'em, too, with great pleasure. You have been a great traveller in your day. You've been round the world a'most, haven't you ?' " ' Well,' sais J, ' I sharn't say I hante.' " * What a deal of information a man of your observa- tion must have acquired.' (He is a gentlemanly man, that you may depend. I don't know when I've see'd one so well mannered.) " ' Not so much, Sir, as you would suppose,' sais I. " ' Why how so?' sais he. " ' Why,' sais J, ' the first time a man goes round the world, he is plaguy skeered for fear of fallin' off the edge; the second time he gets used to it, and lams a good deal.' "'Fallin' off the edge!' sais he; 'what an original idea that is. That's one of your best. I like your works for that they are original. We have nothin' but imita- tions now. Fallin' off the edge, that's capital. I must tell Peel that •, for he is very fond of that sort of thing.' " He was a very pretty spoken man, was Mr. Tact; he is quite the gentleman, that's a fact. I love to hear him talk ; he is so very perlite, and seems to lake a likin' to me parsonally." ^ ^ v^.^ >ir. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT.3) ^ -'^V 4^ ^ 1.0 I.I 12.5 ■Ail2.8 ■10 ^^ £! 1^ 12.0 u 1^ Ills Ih K Hiotographic Sciences Corporation 23 WIST MAIN STRir WIUTM.N.Y. USM (71«)I72-4S03 4^ 4^' i 182 THE ATTACHE. Few men are so open to flattery as Mr. Slick ; and pJthough "soft sawder" is one of the artiPices he con- stantiy uses in his intercourse with others, he as often thrown off of his guard by it himself. How much easier it is to discover the weaknesses of others than to see our own ! But to resume the story. " ' You have been a good deal in the colonies, haven't you?' said he. " * Considerable sum,' sais T. Now, sais I to myself, this is the raal object he sent for me for •, but I won't tell him nothin'. If he'd a up and askt me right off the reel, like a man, he'd a found me up to the notch ; but he thort to play mo off. Now I'll garve him out his own way \ so here goes. " 'Your long acquaintance with the provinces, and familiar intercourse with the people,' sais he, ' must have made you quite at home oi\. all colonial topics.' *" I thought so once,' sais I; 'but I don't think so now no more, Sir.' " ' Why how is that?' sais he. " ' Why, Sir,' sais I, ' you can hold a book so near your eyes as not to be able to read a word of it *, hold it off further, and get the right focus, and you can read beautiful. Now the right distance to see a colony, and know all about it, is England. Three thousand miles is the right focus for a political spy-glass. A man livin' here, and who never was out of England, knows twice as much about the provinces as I do.' " ' Oh, you are joking,' sais he. " Not a bit,' sais I. ' I find folks here that not only THE ATTACHE. 183 know every thing about thtm countries, but have no doubts upon any matter, and ask no questions \ in fact, they not only know more than me, but more than the people themselves do, what they want. It's curious, but it's a fact. A colonist is the most beautiful criltur in natur to try experiments on, you ever see •, for he is so simple and good-natured he don't know no better *, and so weak, he couldn't help himself if he did. There's great fun in making these experiments, too. It puts me in mind of ** Gander Pulling;" you know what this is, don't you?' " ' No,* he said, * I never heard of it. Is it an American sport?' " ^ Yes,' sais I, Mt is ; and the most txcitin' thing, too, you ever see.' " ' You are a very droll man, Mr. Slick,' said he, * a very droll man indeed. In all your books there is a great deal of fun ; but in all your fun, there is a meanin'. Your jokes hit, and hit pretty hard, too, sometimes. They make a man think as well as laugh. But, describe this Gander PuUing.' '* * Well, I'll tell you how it is/ sais I. * First and fore- most, a ring*road Is formed, like a small race-course*, then, two great long posts is fixed into the ground, one on each side of the road, and a rope made fast by the eends to each post, leavin' the middle of the rope to hang loose in a curve. Well, then they take a gander and pick his neck as clean as babby's, and then grease it most beautiful all the way from the breast to the head, till it becomes as slippery as a soaped eel. Then they tie both his legs together with a strong piece of cord, of the size of a halyard, and hang him by the feet to the middle of : 184 THE ATTACHE. the swingin* nope, with his head downward. All the youngsters, all round the county, come to see the sport, mounted a horseback. ' ' . " ' Well, the owner of the goose goes round with his hat, and gets so much a-piece in it from every one that enters for the " Pullin' 5" and when all have entered, they bring their bosses in a line, one arter another ; and at the words, * Go ahead !' off they set, as hard as they can split; and as they pass under the goose, make a grab at him ; and whoever carries off the head, wins. " ' Well, the goose dodges his head and flaps his wings, and swings about so, it ain't no easy matter to clutch his neck*, and when you do, it's so greasy, it slips right through the lingers, like nothin'. Sometimes it takes so long, that the bosses are fairly beat out, and can't scarcely raise a gallop *, and then a man stands by the post, with a heavy loaded whip, to lash 'em on, so that they mayn't stand under the goose, which ain't fair. The whoopin', and bollerin', and screamin', and bettin', and excitement, beats all \ there ain't hardly no sport equal to it. It's great fun to all except the poor goosey" gander. " ' The game of colony governement to Canady, for some years back, puts me in mind of that exactly. Co- lonist has had his heels put where his head used to be, this some time past. He has had his legs tied, and his neck properly greased, I tell you; and the way every parliament man, and governor, and secretary, gallops round and round, one arter another, a grabbin' at poor colonist, ain't no matter. Every new one on 'em that comes, is confident he is a goin' to settle itj but it THE ATTACHE. 185 slips through his hand, and ofT tic gpes, properly larged at. "•They have pretty nearly fixed goosey colonist, though ^ he has got his neck wrung several times ; it's twisted all a one side, his tongue hangs out, and he squeaks piteous, that's a fact. Another good grab or two will put him out o* pain ; and it's a pity it wouldn't, for no created critter can live long, turned wrong eend up, that way. But the sport will last long arter that ^ for arter his neck is broke, it ain't no easy matter to get the head off^ the cords that tie that on, are as thick as your finger. It's the greatest fun out there you ever see, to all except poor goosey colonist. " * I've larfed ready to kill myself at it. Some o* these Englishers that come out, mounted for the sport, and expect a peerage as a reward for bringin* home the head and setUin' the business for colonist, do cut such figurs, it would make you split 5 and they are all so ever- lastin' consaited, they won't take no advice. The way they can't do it is cautionary. One gets thro wed, another gets all covered with grease, a third loses his hat, a fourth gets run away with by his horse, a fifth sees he can't do it, makes some excuse, and leaves the ground afore the sport is over 5 and now and then, an unfortunate critter gets a hyste that breaks his own neck. There is only one on 'em that I have see'd out there, that can do it right. " It requires some experience, that's a fact. But let John Bull alone for that ; he is a critter that thinks he knows every thing ; and if you told him he didn't, he wouldn't believe you, not he. He'd only pity your igno- rance, and look dreadful sorry for you. Oh if you want fr ^^m 186 THR ATTACHI^.. to see high life, come and see " a colonial gander pull- ing.': •* * Tying np a goose, Sir, is no great harm,' sais I, * seein* that a goose was made to be killed, picked and devoured, and nothin' else. Tyin' up a colonist by the heels is another thing. I don't think U right ; but I don't know nothin' ; I've had the book too close to my eyes. Joe H e, that never was there, can tell you twice as much as I can about the colonies. The focus to see right, as I said afore, is three thousand miles off." *' * Well,' sais he, ' that's a capital illustration, Mr. Slick. There is more in that than meets the ear. Don't tell me you don't know nothin' about the colonies ; few men know so much as you do. I wish to heavens you was a a colonist,' sais he ; Mf you were, I would offer you a government.' *' ' I don't doubt it ,* sais I ; ' seein' that your depart- ment have advanced or rewarded so many colonists al- ready.' But I don't think he heard that shot, and I warn't sorry for it ; for it's not right to be a pokin' it into a per- liteman, is it? '* * I must tell the Queen that story of the Gander Pulling ySd\% he ; ' I like it amazingly. It's a capital ca- ricature. I'll send the idea to H.F3. Pray name some day when you are disengaged •, 1 hope you will give me the pleasure of dining with me. Will this day fortnight suit you ? ' " ' Thank you,* sais I, * I shall have great pleasure,' " * He railly was a gentlemany man that. He was so good natured, and took the joke so well, I was kinder sorry I played it off on him. I hante see'd no man to En- THE ATTACHE. 187 gland I affection so much as Mr. Tact, I swear ! I begin to think, arter all, it was the right of sarchin* vessels he wanted to talk to me about, instead of sarchin me, as I suspicioned. It don't do always to look for motives ; men often act vifithout any. The next time, if he axes me, ru talk plain, and jist tell him what I do think-, but still , if he reads that riddle right, he may larn a good deal, too, from the story of ** the Gander Pulling," mayn't he?" CHAPTER XX. THE BLACK STOLE. The foregoing sketch exhibits a personal trait in Mr. Slick's character, the present a national one. In the interview, whether real or fanciful, that he alleges to have had with one of the Secretaries of Slate, he was not disposed to give a direct reply, because his habitual cau- tion led him to suspect that an attempt was made to draw him out on a particular topic without his being made aware of the object. On the present occasion, he exhi- bits that irritability, which is so common among all his countrymen, at the absurd accounts that travellers give of the United States in general, and the gross exaggera- tions they publish of the state of slavery in particular. That there is a party in this country, whose morbid sensibility is pandered to on the subject of negro eman- cipation there can be no doubt, as is proved by the expe- riment made by Mr. Slick, recorded in this chapter. 188 THE ATTACHE. On this subject every maji has a right to his own opi- nions, but any interference with the municipal regulations of another country, is so utterly unjustifiable, that it cannot be wondered at that the Americans resent the conduct of the European abolishionists, in the most un- qualified and violent manner. The conversation that I am now about to repeat, took place on the Thames. Our visits, hitherto, had been res- tricted by the rain to London. To-day, the weather being fine, we took passage on board of a steamer, and went to Greenwich. While we were walking up ana down the deck, Mr. Slick again adverted to the story of the government spies with great warmth. I endeavoured, but in vain, to per- suade him that no regular organized system of espionage existed in England. He had obtained a garbled account of one or two occurrences, and his prejudice, (which, not- withstanding his disavowal, I knew to be so strong, as to warp all his opinions of England and the English), immediately built up a system, which nothing I could say, could at all shake. I assured him the instances he had mentioned were isolated and unauthorized acts, told in a very distorted manner, but mitigated, as they really were, when truly related, they were at the time received with the unani- mous disapprobation of every right-thinking man in the kingdom, and that the odium which had fallen on the relators, was so immeasurably greater than what bad been bestowed on the thoughtless principals, that there was no danger of such things again occurring in our day. But he was immovable. as THE ATTACHE. 189 " Oh, of course, it isn't truo," he said, " and every Englishman will swear it's a falsehoud. Hut you must not expect us to disbelieve it, nevertheless ; for your tra- vellers who come to America, pick up here and there, some absurd ontruth or another ; or, if they are all picked up already, invent one ^ and although every man, woman, and child is ready to take their bible oaths it is a bam, yet the English believe this one false witness in preference to the whole nation. " You must excuse me, Squire; you have a right to your opinion, though it seems you have no right to blart it out always \ but I am a freeman, I was raised in Slickville, Onion County, State of Connecticut, United States of America, which is a free country, and no mis- lake ; and I have a right to my opinion, and a right to speak it, too ; and let me see the man, airl or com- moner, parliamenterer or sodger officer, that dare to report me, I guess he'd been born a week later, that's all. I'd make a caution of him, / know. I'd polish his dial-plate fust, and then I'd feel his short ribs, so as to make him larf, a leetle jist a leetle the loudest he ever heerd. Lord, he'd think thunder and lightnin' a mint julip to it. I'd ring him in the nose as they do pigs in my country, to prevent them rootin' up what they hadn't ought." Having excited himself by his own story, he first ima- gined a case and then resented it, as if it had occurred. I expressed to him my great regret that he should visit England with these feelings and prejudices, as I had hoped his conversation would have been as rational and as amusing as it was in IN ova Scotia , and concluded by 190 THE ATTACHE. saving Ihat I felt assarcd he would find that no such pre- judice existed here against his countrymen, as he enter- tained towards the English. *^ Lord love you !" said he, " I have no prejudice. I am the most candid man you ever see. I have got some grit, but I ain't ugly, I ain't indeed." " But you are wrong about the English ] and Til prove it to you. Do you see that turkey there?" said he. *' Where ?" I asked. " 1 see no turkey 5 indeed, I have seen none on board. What do you mean ?" " Why that slight, pale-faced, studentlike Britisher 5 he is a turkey, that feller, lie has been all over the Union, and he is a goin' to write a book, lie was at New York when we left, and was introduced to me in the street. To make it liquorish, he has got all the advertisements about runaway slaves, sales of niggers, cruel mistresses and licentious masters, that he could pick up. He is a caterer and panderer to English hypocrisy. There is nothin' too gross for him to swallcr. We call them turkeys j first because they travel so fast— for no bird travels hot foot that way, except it be an ostrich— and second, because they gobble up every thing that comes in their way. Them fellers will swaller a falsehood as fast as a turkey does a grasshopper; take it right down whole, without winkin*. *' Now, as we have nothin' above particular to do, * ru cram him' for you ; I will show you how hungry he'll bite at a tale of horror, let it be never so onlikely ; how readily he will believe it, because it is agin us ; and then, when his book comes out, you shall sec that all England will credit it, though I swear I invented it as a cram, and you swear you heard it told as a joke. They've THE ATTACHE. 191 drank in so much that is strong, in this way, have the English, they require somethin' sharp enough to tickle their palates now. Wine hante no taste for a man that drinks grog, that's a fact. It's as weak as Taunton water. Come and walk up and down deck along with me once or twice, and then we will sit down by him, promiscuously like ■, and as soon as I get his appetite sharp, see how I will cram him." "This steam-boat is very onsteady to-day, Sir," said Mr. Slick 5 " it's not overly convenient walking, is it? " The ice was broken. Mr. Slick led him on by degrees to his travels, commencing with New England, which the traveller eulogised very much. He then complimented him on the accuracy of his remarks and the depth of his reflections, and concluded by expressing a hope that he would publish his observations soon, as few tourists were so well qualified for the task as himself. Finding these preliminary remarks taken in good part, he commenced the process of " cramming." '' But oh, my friend," said he, with a most sanctimo- nious air, " did you visit, and I am ashamed as an Ame- rican citizen to ask the question, I feel the blood a tannin' of my cheek when I inquire, did you visit the South? That land that is polluted with slavery, that land where the boastin' and crackiii' of freemen pile up tiie agony pangs on the corroding wounds inflicted by the iron chains of the slave, until natur can't stand it no more*, my heart bleeds like a stuck critler, when I think of this plague spot on the body politic. I ought not to speak thus^ prudence forbids it, national pride forbids it *, but genuwine feelings is loo strong for poUite forms. ' Out of ^r 102 THE ATTACHE. llie fuliiDSs uf the heart the mouth spoakcth.' Have you been there?" " Turkey" was thrown off his guard, he opened his wallet, which was well slocked, and retailed his stories, many of them so very rich, that I doubted the capacity of the Attache to out-IIerod him. Mr. Slick received these tales with evident horror, and complimented the narrator with a well simulated groan ; and when he had done, said, " Ah, I see how it is, they have purposely kept dark about the most atrocious features of slavery. Have you never seen the Gougin' School I" " No, never." ** What, not seen the Gougin' School?" *' No, Sir ; I nevei- heard of it." " Why, you don't mean to say so?" ♦• 1 do, indeed, 1 assure you." ** Well, if that don't pass ! And you never even hcerd tell of it, eh?" " Never, Sir. 1 have never either seen it or heard of it." *' I thought as much," said Mr. Slick. " I doubt if any Britisher ever did or ever will see it. Well, Sir, in South Carolina, there is a man called Josiah Wormwood ; I a... ashamed to say he is a Connecticut man. For a conside- rable of a spell, he was a strollin' preacher, but it didn't pay in the lung run. There is so much competition in that line in our country, that he consaited the business was overdone, and he opened a Lyceum to Charleston Soulh Car, for boxin', wrestlin' and other purlite British accomplishments ; and a most a beautiful span er he is, too*, 1 doiri know as I ever see a more scientific gentle- man than he is, in that line. Lately, he has halfed on to ' THE ATTACHE. 103 it Ihe art of gougin' or ' monokolisin,' as lie calls it, to sound grand \ and if it weren't so dreadful in its conse- quences, it sartinly is amost allurin' thing, is gougin\ The sleight-of-hand is beautiful. All other sleights we know art tricks ^ but this is reality -, there is the eye of your adversary in your hand ; there is no mistake. It's the real thing, You feel you have him ; that you have set your mark on him, apd that you have look your satisfac- tion. The throb of delight felt by a *• monokolister* is beyond all conception." " Oh heavens!" said the traveller. " Oh horror of hor- rors I I never heard any thing so dreadful. Your manner of telling it, too, adds to '*" * errors. You appear to view the practice with a T)roper Christian disgust *, and yet you talk like an amateur. Oh, the thing is sickening." ''It is, indeed," said Mr. Slick, '' particularly to him that loses his peeper. But the dexterity, you know, is another thing. It is very scientific. He has two niggers, has Squire Wormwood, who teach the wrastlin' and gouge-sparrin' ; but practisin' for the eye is done for pu- nishment of runaways. He has plenty of subjects. All the planters send their fugitive niggers there to be practised on for an eye. The scholars ain't allowed to take more than one eye out of them^ if they do, they have to pay for the nigger -, for he is no sort o' good after, for notbin' but to pick oakum. I could go through the form, and give you the cries to the life, but I won't ; it is too horrid^ it really is too dreadful." " Oh do, I beg of you," said the traveller. " I cannot, indeed^ it is too shocking. It will disgust you." 15 194 THE ATTACH!':. " Oh, not at all," said Turkey, " when 1 know it is si- mulated, and not real, it is another thing." ** I cannot, indeed," said Mr. Slick. " It would shock your philanthropic soul, and set your very teeth of hu- manity on edge. But have yOu ever seen — the Black Stole?" " No. " " Never seen the Black Stole ? 4 ** No, never." *' Why, it ain't possible? Did you never hear of it nother?" " No never. Well now, do tell !" *' So you never heerd tell of it, nor never sot eyes on it?" *' Certainly never." " Well, that bangs the bush, now ! I suppose you didn't. Guess you never did, and never will, nor no other traveller, nother, that ever slept in shoe-leather. They keep dark about these atrocities. Well, the Black Stole is a loose kind of shirt-coat, like an English carter's frock ; only, it is of a difTerent colour. It is black instead of white, and made of nigger hide, beautifully tanned, and dressed as soft as a glove. It ain't every nigger's hide that's fit for a stole. If they are too young, it is too much like kid ; if they are too old, it's like sole leather, it's so tough ] and if they have been whipt, as all on 'em have a'most, why the back is all cut to pieces, and the hide ruined. It takes several sound nigger skins to make a stole ; but when made, it's a beautiful article,'that's a fact. " It is used on a plantation for punishment. When the whip don't do its work, strip a slave, and jist clap on to THE ATTACHE. 195 him the Black Stole. Dress liim up in a dead man's skin, and it frightens him near about to death. You'll hear him screetch for a mile a'most, so 'tarnaliy skeered. And the best of the fun is, that all the rest of the herd, bulls, cows, and calves, run away from him, jist as if he was a pan- ther." " Fun, Sir ! Do you call this fun ? " " Why sartainly 1 do. Ain't it better nor whippin' to death ? What's a Stole arter all ? It's nothin' but a coat. Philosophizin' on it, Stranger, there is nothin' to shock a man. The dead don't feel. Skinnin', then, ain't cruel, nor is it immoral. To bury a good hide, is waste — waste is wicked. There are more good hides buried in the States, black and white, every year, than would pay the poor-rates and state-taxes. They make excellent huntin'- coats, and would make beautiful razor-straps, bindin' for books, and such like things ^ it would make a noble ex- port. Tannin' in hemlock bark cures the horrid nigger flavour. But then, w« hante arrived at that state of phi- losophy ^ and when it is confined to one class of the hu- man family, it would be dangerous. The skin of a crip- pled slave might be worth more than the critter was himself; and I make no doubt, we should soon hear of a stray nigger being shot for his hide, as you do of a moose for his skin, and a bear for his fur. " Indeed, that is the reason ( though I shouldn't men- tion it as an Attache), that our government won't now concur to suppress the slave trade. They say the pri- soners will all be murdered, and Ihcir peels sold; and that vessels, instead of taking in at Africa a cargo of hu- mans, will take in a cargo of hides, as they do to South m m 106 THE ATTACHE. America. As a Christian, a philanthropist, indeed, as a man, this a horrid subject to contemplate, ain't it? " ** Indeed it is," said Turkey. " I feel a little overcome — my head swims — I am oppressed with nausea— I must go below." "How the goney swailered it all, didn't he?" said Mr. Slick, with great glee. " Hante he a most a beautiful twist that feller ? How he gobbled it down, tank, shank and flank at a gulp, didn't he. Oh ! he is a Turkey and no mistake, that chap. But see here, Squire \ jist look through the skylight. See the goney^ how his pencil is a leggin' it off, for dear life. Oh, there is great fun in crammin' those fellers. " Now tell me candid, Squire -, do you think there is no prejudice in the Britishers agin us and our free and enlightened country, when they can swaller such stufTas the Gougin' School and Black Stole P " THE ATTACHK. 197 CHAPTER XXI. TRI FRIMCE DE JOINVILLK'S HORSE. " There is more in that story, Squire," said Mr. Hopewell," of the Patron, and Sam's queer illustration of the Cow's Tail, than you are aware of. The machinery of the colonies is good enough in itself, but it wants a safety valve. When the pressure within is loo great, there should be something devised to let off the steam. This is a subject well worthy of your consideration -, and if you have an opportunity of conversing, with any of the mi- nistry, pray draw their attention to it. By not under- standing this, the English have caused one revolution at home, and another in America.'' " Exactly," said Mr. Slick. " It reminds me of what I once saw done by the Prince de Joinville's horse, on the Halifax road." " Pardon me," said Mr. Hopewell, " you shall have an opportunity presently of telling your story of the Prince's horse, but suffer me to proceed. ** England, besides other outlets, has a never-failing one in the colonies, but the colonies have no outlet. Cromwell and Hampden were actually embarked on board of a vessel in the Thames, for Boston, when they were prevented from sailing by an Order in Council. What was the consequence? The sovereign was dethroned. Instead of leading a small sect pf fanatical puritans, and 1^ 198 THE ATTACHE. Ijeing Iho first men of a village, in Massachussets, Ihey aspired to be the first men in an empire, and succeeded. So in the old colonies. Had Washington been sent abroad in command of a regiment, Adams to govern a colony, Franklin to make experiments in an observatory like that at Greenwich, and a more extended field been opened to colonial talent, the United States would still have con- tinued to be dependencies of Great Britain. " There is no room for men of talent in British America 5 and by notafTording them an opportunity of distinguishing themselves, or rewarding them when they do, they are always ready to make one, by opposition. In comparing their situation with that of the inhabitants of the British Isles, they feel that they labour under disabilities ; these disabilities they feel as a degradation ^ and as those who impose that degradation \\\f 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 incor- porated with Great Britain. The people should be made to feel, not that they are colonists, but Englishmen. They may tinker at constitutions as much as they please ; the root of the evil lies deeper tlian statesmen are aware of. O'Connell, when he agitates for a repeal of the Union, if ho really has no ulterior objects beyond that of an Irish Parliament, does not know what he is talking about. If his request were ^granted, Ireland would become a province, and descend from being an integral part of the empire, THE ATTACHE. 199 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 River is greater than from Halifax N.S., to Liverpool. I do not Want to see colonists and Englishmen arrayed against each other, as different races, but united as one people, having the same rights and privileges, each bearing a share of the public burdens, and all having a voice in the general government. •' The love of distinction is natural to man. Three mil- lions of people cannot be shut up in a colony. They will either turn on each other, or unite against their keepers. The road that leads to retirement in the provinces, should be open to those whom the hope of distinction invites to return and contend for the honours of the empire. At present, the egress is practically closed." " If you was to talk for ever. Minister," said Mr. Slick, " you couldn't say more than the Prince de Joinville*s hosson that subj'-i." The interrupti^ .as very annoying j for no man I ever met, so thoroughly understands the subject of colo- nial 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 humour. " Let us hear what the Prince's horse said." ■11 i ii i ii ' 200 THE ATTACHE. " Well," said Mr. Slick, " I don't jist exactly mean to say he spoke, as Balaam's donkey did, in good English or French nother -, but he did that that spoke a whole book, with a handsum wood-cut to the fore, and that's a fact. ** About two years ago, one mortal brilin' not day, as I was a pokin' along the road from Halifax to Windsor, with Old Clay in the waggon, with my coat off, a ridin' in my shirt-sleeves, and a thin kin' how slick amint-julep would travel down red-lane, if I had it, I heard such a chatterin*, and laughin', and screamin' as I never a'most heerd afore, since I was raised. " * What in natur* is this,' sais I, as I gave Old Clay a crack of the whip, to push on. * There is some critters here, I guess, that have found a haw haw's nest, with a tee hee's egg in it. What's in the wind now?* Well, a sudden turn of the road brought me to where they was, and who should they be but French otTicers from the Prince's ship, travellin' incog, in plain clothes. But, Lord bless you, cook a Frenchman any way you please, and you can't disguise him. Natur' will out, in spite of all, and the name of a Frencher is written as plain as any thing in his whiskers, and his hair, and his skin, and his coat, and his boots, and his air, and his gait, and in everythin', but only let him open his mouth, and the cat's out of the bag in no time, ain't it ? They are droll boys, is the French, that's a fact. " 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 fiflh, and he was a layin' down belly flounder on the ground, a tryin' to drink out of the runnin' spring. THE ATTACHE. 201 " '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, ttiey hee-hawed so. '' Well, one on 'ecj:, that was a Duke, as I found out arterwards, said ' O ydes, Saar, we spoked English too.' '* 'Lawful heart!' sais I, * what's the joke?* a i 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 hoss kneeled down, and put his head jist over his neck, and began to drink too. Well, the officer couldn't get up for the hoss, and he couldn't keep his face out of the water for the hoss, and he couldn't drink for the hoss, and he was almost choked to death, and as black in the face as your hat. And the Prince and the officers larfed so, they couldn't help him, if they was to die for it. " 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 splutterin' this way much longer.' So I jist gives the hoss a dab in the mouth, and made him git up ; and then sais I, 'Prince,' sais I, for I know'd him by his beard, he had one exactly like one of the old saint's heads in an Eyetalian pictur, all dressed to a pint, so sais I, 'Prince,' and a plaguy hansum man he is tod, and as full of fun as a kitten, so sais I, ' Prince,' and what's bet- ter, all his officers seemed plaguy proud and fond of him too ■, so sais I, ' Prince, \o\\k le condition of one colonist, which,' sais I, ' Prince, means in English, that leftenant is jist like a colonist.' " ' Commong,* sais he, ' how is dat ?' ^^ 202 THE ATTACHE. u I Why,' sais I, 'Prince, whenever a colonist goes for to drink at a spring of the good things in this world, (and plaguy small springs we have here too,) and fairly lays down to it, jist as he gets his lips cleverly to it, for a swig, there is some cussed neck or another, of some con- founded Britisher, pops right over him, and pins him there, lie can't get up, he can't back out, and he can't drink, and he is Macked 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 dig- nified, for I know'd I had a right to be proud, and no mistake j 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 onsar- cumsised 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 carriage?* "*As for the matter of that,* sais I, 'Mountsheer Prince, the honour is all the other way,* for I can be as civil as any man, if he sets out to act pretty and do the thing genteel. " With that he jumped right in, and then he said somethin' in French to the officers; some order or an- other, I suppose, about comin* on and fetchin' his boss with them. I have hearn in my time, a good many men speak French, but I never see the man yet, that could hold a candle to him. Oh, it was like lightnin*, jist THE ATTACHE. 303 one long endurin* streak ; it seemed all one sentence and one word. It was beautiful, but I couldn't onder- stand it, it was so everlastin* fast. *' Now/ sais he, ' set sail.' And ofT we sot, at the rate of sixteen notls an hour. Old Clay pleased him, you may depend *, he turned round and clapped his hands, and larfed, and waved bis hat to his oflicers to come on j and they whipped, and spurred, and galloped, and raced for dear life \ but we dropped 'cm astarn like any thing, and he larfed again, heartier than ever. There is no people a'most, like to ride so fast as sailors ; they crack on, like a house a fire. '^ Well, arter a while, sais be, ''Back topsails,' and I hauled up, and he jumped down, and outs with a pocket book, and takes a beautiful gold coronation medal. (It was solid gold, no pinchback, but the rael yaller stuff, jist fresh from King's shop to Paris, where his money is made), and sais he, ' Mr. Yankee, will you accept that to remember the Prince de Joinville and his horse by ?' And then he took off his hat and made me a bow, and if that warn't a bow, then I never see one, that's all. I don't believe mortal man, unless it was a Philadel- phia 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. 204 THE ATTACHE." he must stand and let you put on ttie 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 national air, Yankee Doodle, you never get tired of it. * My Lord/ sais you, * what do you suppose is the reason the French keep Algiers?' Well, he'll up and say, it's an outlet for the fiery spirits of France, it gives them employment and an opportunity to distinguish themselves, and what the climate and the inimy spare, become valuable officers. It makes good soldiers out of bad subjects. *" Do you 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, he may flounder and spring like a salmon jisl caught ; but he can't out of the landin'net. You've got him, and no mis- take. 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 popula- tion, for France or the provinces nother. I was talking of an outlet for the clever men, for the onquiet ones, for the fiery spirits.' THE ATTACHE. 205 " ' For that, Sir,' he will say, ' they have the local pa- tronage.* " 'Oh!' sais you, * 1 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. " * The armed ships in the harbour? ' "'English.' '" The governor and his secretary?' "'English.' " ' The principal officer of customs and principal part of fhis deputies?' "'English.' " ' The commissariat and the staff? ' "' English to a man.' * ' ' The dockyard people ? * " ' English.' ' " * The postmaster giniral ?' "'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,* sais 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 ? ' 206 THE ATTACHE. *"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 depend. As for patronage,* sais you, ' you know as well as I do, that all that's not worth havin', is jist left to poor colonist. He is an officer of militia, gets no pay and flnds his own fit out. Like Don Quixote's tailor, he works for nothin' and finds thread. Any other little matters of the same kind, that nobody wants, and nobody else will take ■, if Blue-nose makes interest for, and has good luck, he can get as a great favour, to con- ciliate his countrymen. No, Minister,* sais you, * you are a clever man, every body sais you are a brick ^ and if you ain't, you talk more like one, than any body I have seen this while past. I don't want no ofiice myself, if I did p'raps, I wouldn't talk about patronage this way ^ but I am a colonist, I want to see the colonists remain so. They are attached to England, that is a fact, keep them so, by making them Englishmen. Throw the door wide open ; patronise them \ enlist them in the imperial sarvice, allow them a chance to contend for honours and let them win them, if they can. If they don*t, it's their own fault , and cuss 'em they ought to be kicked, for if they ain't too lazy, there is no mistake in 'em, that's a fact. The coun- try will be proud of them, if they go ahead. Their lan- guage will change then. It will be our army, the de- lighted critters will say, not the English army ^ our navy, our church, our parliament, our aristocracy, etc., and the word English will be left out holus-bolus, and that proud, that endearin' word " our" will be insarted. Do this, and you will shew yourself the first statesman of THE ATTACHE. 207 modern (imes. You'U rise rrghl up to the lop of the pot, you'll go clean over Peel's head, as your folks go ovcrourn, 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 eai , and shew their teeth, as well as the niggers did. Don't let Yankee clockmakers, (you may say that if you like, if it will help your argument, ) don't let travellin' Yankee clockmakers tell such stories, against your justice and our pride as that of the i'rince de Joinville and his horse.'" CHAPTER XXII. LIFE IN THE COONTRY. *' Here," said Mr. Slick, *' is an invitation for you and me, and minister to go and visit Sir Littleeared Bighead, down to Yorkshire. You can go if you like, and for once, p'raps it's worth goin' to see how these chaps first kill time, and then how time kills them in turn. Eatin', drinkin', sleepin', growlin', fowlin', and huntin' kills time •, and gout, aperplexy, dispepsy, and blue devils kills them. They are like two fightin' dogs, one dies of the thrashin' he gets, and t'other dies of the wounds he got a killin' of him. Tit for tat; what's sarce for the goose, is sarce for the gander. 208 THE ATTACHE, " If you want to go, Minister will go witli 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 whatnot; and stands starin* at 'em for ever so long, through his eye-glass, and keeps a sayin' to himself, ' Wonderful provision of natur !' Airlh 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 assooaset down and jaw away by the hour together with a dirty-faced, stupid little poodle lookin' child, as if it was a nice spry little dog he was a trainin^ of for treein' partridges 5 or talk poetry with the galls, or corn-law with the patriots, or any thing. Nothin' comes amiss to him. " But what provokes me, is to hear him go blartin* all over the country about home scenes, and beautiful land- scape, and rich vardure. My sakes, the vardure hero is so deep, it looks like mournin' ; it's actilly dismal. Then there's no water to give hght to the pictur,and no sun to cheer it ; and the hedges are all square ; and the lime trees are as stiff as an old gall that was once pretty, and has grow'd proud on the memory of it. '^ I don't like their landscape a bit, there ain't no natur in it. Oh ! if you go, take him along with you, for he wiU put you in consaitof all you see, except reform, dissent, and things 0' that kind ^ for he is an out and out old Tory, hen unto lime and THE ATTACHE. 209 and thinks nothin' can be changed here for the better, except them that don't agree with him. "He was a warnin' you t'other day not to take ail I said for Gospel about society here ; but you'll see who's right and who's wrong afore you've done, \ know. I described to you, when you returned from Germany, Diniri' out lo London. Now I'll give you my opinion of " Life in the Country." And fust of all, as I was a sayin\ there is no such thing as natur' here. Every thing is arti- ficial ', every thing of its kind alike -, and every thing onin- terestin' and tiresome. *' Well, if London is dull, in the way of West Eend people, the country, I guess, is a little mucher. Life in the country is different, of course, from life in town *, but still life itself is alike there, exceptin' again class difference. That is, nobility is all alike, as far as their order goes*, and country gents is alike, as far as their class goes ', and the last especially, when they hante travelled none,ever- lastin' flat, in their own way. Take a lord, now, and visit him to his country seat, find I'll teU you what you will find— a sort of Washington State house place. It is either a rail old castle of the genuine kind, or a ginger-bread crinkum crankum imitation of a thing that only eTifted in fancy, but never was seen afore— a thing that's made nodern for use, and in ancient stile for shew j or else it's a great cold, formal, slice or a London terrace, stuck on a hill in a wood. '' Well, there is lawn, park, artificial pond called a lake, deer that's fashionablized and civilized, and as little natur in 'em as the humans have. Kennel and hounds for parsicutin' foxes— presarves (not what we call pre- 14 210 THE ATTACHE. sarves, quinces and apple sarce, and green gages done in sugar, but presarves for breedin' tame partridges and pheasants to shoot at), H'aviaries, Hive-eries, H'yew- veris, Hot Houses, and so on ; for they put an H before every word do these critters, and then tell us Yankees we don't speak English. . " Well, when you have seen an old and a new house of these folks, you have seen all. Featurs differ a little, but face of all is so alike, that though p'raps you wouldn't mistake one for another, yet you'd say they was all of one family. The king is their father. " Now it may seem kinder odd to you, and I do sup> pose it will, but what little natur there is to England is among these upper crust nobility. Extremes meet. The most elegant critter in America is an Indgian chief. The most elegant one in England is a noble. There is natur in both. You will vow that's a crotchet of mine, but it's a fact ^ and I will tell you how it is, some other time. For I opine the most charmin', most nateral, least artificial, kindest, andcondescendenest people here arerael nobles. Younger children are the devil, half rank makes 'em proud, and entire poverty makes 'em sour. Strap pride on an empty puss, and it puts a most beautiful edge on, it cuts like a razor. They have to assart their dig- nity, tother one's dignity don't want no assartin.' It speaks for itself. " I won't enter into particulars now. I want to shew you country life \ because if you don't want to hang your- self, don't tarry there, that's all \ go and look at 'em, but don't stay there. If you can't help it no how, you can fix it, do it in three days*, one to come, one to see, and one THE ATTACHE. 211 lo go. If you do thai, and make the fust late, and the last airly, you'll get through it 5 for it won't only make a day and a half, when sumtotaiized. We'll fancy it, that's better than the rael thing, any time. ' ' So lets go lo a country gentleman's house, or *' land- ed," as they.ftall 'em, cause they are so iufarnally heavy. Well, his house is either an old onconvenient up and down, crooked-laned place, bad lighted, bad warmed, and shockin' cut up in small rooms; or a spic and span formal, new one, haviu' all or most, according to his puss, of those things, about lord's houses, only on a smaller scale. *' Well^ I'll arrive in time for dinner, I'll titivate myself up, and down to drawin'-room, and whose the company that's to dine there? Why, cuss 'em, half a dozen of these gents own the country for miles round, so they have to keep some company at the house, and the rest is neighbours. *' Now for goodness gracious sake, jist let's see who they be! Why one or two poor parsons, that have nothin' new in 'em, and nothin' new on 'em, goodish sort of people too, only they larf a leetle, jist a leetle louder at host's jokes, than at mine, at least, I suspicion it, 'cause I never could see nothin' to larf at in his jokes. One or two country nobs of brother landed gents^ that look as big as if the whole of the three per cent consols was in their breeches pockets ', one or two damsels, that was young once, but have confessed to bein' old maids, drop't the word 'Miss,' 'cause it sounded ridikilous, and took the title of 'Mrs.' to look like widders. Two or three wivewomen of the Chinese stock, a bustin' of their stays off a'most, and as fat as showbeef 5 an oldest son or two, with the cend of :| i 212 THE ATTACHE. the silver spoon he was born with, a peepin' out o' the corner of his mouth, and his face as vacant as a horn lan- tern without a candle in it ^ a younger son or so jist from college, who looks as if he had an idea he'd have to airn his llvin', and whose lantern face looks as if it had had a candle in it, that had e'en amost burnt the sides out, ra- ther thin and pale, with streaks of Latin and Greek in it^ one or two everlastin* pretty young galls, so pretty as there is nothin' to do, you can't hardly help bein' spooney on 'em. '^ Matchless galls , they be too, for there is no matches for 'em. The primur-genitur boy takes all, so they have no forlin. Well, a younger son won't do for 'em, for he has no fortin : and t'other primo geno there, couldn't if he would, for he wants the estate next to hisn, and has to take the gall that owns it, or he won't get it. I pity them galls, I do upon my soul. It's a hard fate, that, as Minister sais, in his pretty talk, to bud, unfold, bloom, wilh«r, and die on the parent stock, and have no one to pluck the rose, and put it in his bosom, aint it? " Dinner is ready, and you lock and lock, and march off two and two, to t'other room, and feed. Well, the dinner is like town dinner, there aint much diffe- rence, there is some ^ there is a difference atween a country coat, and a London coat j but still they look alike, and are intended to be as near the same as they can. The appelite is better than town folks, and there is more eatin' and less talkin', but the talkin', like the eatin', is heavy and solemcoloy. *'JNow do, Mr. Poker, that's a good soul, now do, Squire, lools at the sarvants. Do you hear that feller a THE ATTACHE. 213 blowin* and a wheesin' like a boss that's got the heaves? Well he is so fat and lazy, and murders beef and beer so, he has got the assmy, and walkin' puts him out o' breath — aint it beautirul I Faithful old sarvant that, so attached to the family ! which means the family prog. Always to home ! which means he is always eatin' and drinkin', and hante time to go out. So respectful! which means bowin* fj an everlastin' sight easier, and safer too, nor talkin' is. So honest! which means, parquisites covers all he takes. Keeps every thin' in such good order I which means he makes the wo- men do his work. Puts every thin' in it's place, he is so methodical! which means, there is no young children in the house, and old aunty always puts things back where she takes 'em from. For she is a good bit of stuff is aunty, as thin, tough, and soople as a painter's palate knife. Oh, Lord ! how 1 would like to lick him with a bran new cow hide whip, round and round the park, every day, an hour afore breakfast, to improve his wind, and teach him how to mend his pace. I'd repair his old bellowses for him, I know. " Then look at the butler, how he tordles like a Ter- rapin 5 he has got the gout, that feller, and no wonder, nother. Every decanter that comes in has jist half a bottle in it, the rest goes in tastin' to see it aint corked. His character would suffer if a bit o' cork floated in it. Every other bottle, is corked, so he drinks that bottle, and opens another, and gives master half of it. The housekeeper pets him, calls him Mr., asks him if he has heard from Sir Philip lately, hintin' that he is of gentle blood, only the wrong side of the blanket, and 214 THE ATTACHK. that pleases him. They are both well to do in the world. Vails count up in time, and they talk big sometimes, when alone together, and hint at warnin' off the old knight, marryin*, and setlin* up a tripe shop, some o' these days •, don't that hint about wedlock bring him u nice little hot supper that night, and don't that little supper bring her a tumbler of nice mulled wine, and don't both on 'em look as knowin' as a boiled codfish, and a shelled oyster, that's all. " He once got warned himself, did old Thomas, so said he, * Where do you intend to go, master ? ' ' Me,* said the old man, scratchin' his head, and lookin' puzzled * nowhere.' *Oh, I thought you intend to leave, said Thomas for / don't.' 'Very good that, Thomas, come, 1 like that.* The old knight's got an anecdote by that, and nanny-goats aint picked up every day in the country. He tells that to every stranger, every stranger larfs, and the two parsons larf, and the old ' Sir' larfs so, he wakes up an old sleepin' cough that most breaks his ribs, and Thomas is set up for a character. " Well, arter sarvants is gone, and women folks made themselves scarce, we haul up closer to the table, have more room for legs, and then comes the most interestin' part. Poor rates, quarter sessions, turnpikes, corn-laws, next assizes, rail-roads and parish matters, with a touch of the horse and dog between primo and secundo geni- tnr. f'^r variety. If politics turn up, you can read who v »Vi!r, then he is a manufacturer that wants to grind thci poor instead of grain. He is a 7iew man and re- former. If he goes up to the bob for corn-law, then he ■■iBH THE ATTACHE. 215 wants to live and let live, is of an old family, and a tory. Talk of test oaths bein* done away with. Why Lord lovo you, they are in full force here yet. See what a feller swears by — that's his test, and no mistake. " Well, you wouldn't guess now there was so much to talk of, would you? But hear 'em over and over every day, the same everlastin* round, and you would think the topics not so many arter all, I can tell you. It soon runs out, and when it does, you must wait till the next rain, for another freshet to float these heavy logs on. *' Coffee comes, and then it's up and jine the ladies. Well, then talk is tried agin, but it's no go*, they can't come it, and one of the good-natured fat old lady-birds goes to the piany, and sits on the music stool. Oh, Hedges ! how it creaks, but it's good slufi", I guess, it will carry double this hitch *, and she sings ' I wish I was a butterfly.' Heavens and airth ! the fust time I heard one of these hugeaceous critters come out with that queer idee, I thought I should a dropt right off of the otterman on the floor, and rolled over and over a-laughin', it tickled me so, it makes me larf now only to think of it. Well, the wings don't come, such big butterflies have to grub it in spite of Old Nick, and after wishin' and wishin' ever so long in vain, one of the young galls sits down and sings in rael right down airnest, ' I w^ow'/ be a nun.* Poor critter ! there is some sense in that, but I guess she will be bleeged to be, for all that. " Now eatin' is done, talkin' is done, and singin' is done*, so here is chamber candles, and ofl" to bed, that is if you are a-stayin' there. If you ain't, * Mr. Weather 216 THE ATTACHK. Mutton's carriage is ready, Sir,' and Mr. Weather Mut- ton and Mrs. Weatlier Mutton and the entire stranger get in, and when you do^ you are in for it, I can tell you. You are in for a seven mile heat at least of cross country roads^ axletrce deep, rain pourin' straight up and down like Niagara, high hedges, deep ditches full of water, dark as Egypt ; ain't room to pass nothin* if you meet it, and don't feel jist altogether easy about them cussed alligators and navigators, critters that work on rail-roads all day, and on houses and travellers by night. ** If you come with Mr. Weather Mutton, you seed the carriage in course. It's an old one, a family one, and as beavy asan ox cart. The bosses are old, family bosses, everlastin' fat, almighty lazy, and the way they travel is a caution to a snail. It's vulgar to go fast, its only butcher's bosses trot quick, and besides, there is no hurry— there is nothin* to do to home. Affectionate couple ! happy man! betakes his wife's hand in his kisses it? No, not he, but he puts his head back in the corner of the carriage, and goes to sleep, and dreams of her? Not be indeed, out of a saddle of mutton and curren' jelly. " Well, if you are a-stoppin'at Sir Little eared Big- bead's, you escape the flight by night, and go to bed and think of home and natur'. Next mornin', or rather next noon, down to breakfast. Oh, it's awfully stupid! That second nap in the mornin' always fuddles the head, and makes it as mothery as ryled cyder grounds. Nobody looks as sweet as sugar candy quite, except them two beautiful galls and their honey lips. But them is only to look at. If you want honey there is some on a little cut THE ATTACHE. 217 glass, dug out of a dish. But you can't eat it, for lookin* at the geimine, at least I can't, and never could. I don't know what yuu can do. " P'raps you'd like to look at the picturs, it will sarve to pass away time. They are family ones. And family pic- turs, sarve as a history. Our Mexican Indgians did all their history in picturs. Let's go round the room and look. Lawful heart ! what a hig " Brown ox" that is. Old ^' Star and Garters;" father fatted him. He was a prize ox ; he eat a thousand bushel of turnips, a thousand pound of oil cake, a thousand of hay, and a thousand weight of mangel wurzel, and took a thousand days to fat, and weighed ever so many thousands too. I don't be- lieve it, but I don't say so, out of manners, for I'll take my oath he was fatted on porter, because he looks exactly like the footman on all fours. He is a walking " Brown Stoiit," that feller. '* There is a hunter, come, I like bosses 5 but this brute was painted when at grass, and is too fat to look well, guess he was a goodish boss in his day though. He ain't a bad cut that's a fact. " Hullo ! what's this pictur? Why, this is from our side of the water, as I am a livin' sinner, this is a New- Foundlander, this dog 5 yes, and he is of the true genu- iX'inc breed too, look at his broad forehead — his dew- claws — his little ears^ (Sir Littleeared must have been named arter him), his long hair — his beautiful eye. He is a first chop article that ; but, oh Lord, he is too shockin' fat altogether. He is like Mother Gary's chickens, they are all fat and feathers. A wick run through 'em makes a candle. This critter is all hair and blubber, if he goes •I 218 THE ATTACHE. too near the grato, he'll catch into a blaze and set fire to the house. " There's our friend the host with cap and gold tassel on, ridin' on his back, and there's his younger brother, (that died to Cambridge from settin' up all night for his depfreo, and suppin' on dry mathematics, and swallerin' " Newton" whole) younger brother like, walkin'on foot, and leadin' the dog by the head, while the heir is a scoldin* him for not goin' faster. " Then, there is an old aunty that a forten come from. She looks like a bale o' cotton, fust screwed as tight as possible, and then corded hard. Lord, if they had only a given her a pinch of snuff, when she was full dressed and trussed, and sot her a sneezin*, she'd a blowed up, and the fortin would have come twenty years sooner. " Yes, it's a family pictur, indeed, they are all family picturs. They are all fine animals, but over fed and un- der worked. " Now it's up and take a turn in the gardens. There is some splendid flowers on that slope. You and the galls go to look at 'cm, and jist as you get there, the grass is juicy from the everlastin' rain, and awful slippy, up go your heels, and down goes stranger on the broad of bis back, slippin' andslidin' and coastin' right down the bank, slap over the light mud-earth bed, and crushin' the flow- ers as flat as a pancake, and you yaller ochered all over, clean away from the scruff of your neck, down to the tip eend of your heel. The galls larf, the helps larf, and the bed-room maid larfs*, and who the plague can blame them? Old Marm don't larf though, because she is too perlite, and besides, she's lost her flowers, and that's no THE ATTACHE. 219 larfin' matter; and you don't larf, 'cause you feel a little the nastiest you ever did, and jist as near like a fool as to be taken for one, in the dark, that's a fact. " Well, you renew the outer man, and try it agin, and it^s look at the stable and bosses with Sir Host, and the dogs, and the carriages, and two American trees, and a peacock, and a guinea hen, and a gold pheasant, and a silver pheasant, and all that, and then lunch. Who the plague can eat lunch, that's only jist breakfasted? ** So away goes lunch, and off goes you and the * Sir,' a trampousin' and a trapsein' over the wet grass agin ( I should like to know what aint wet in this country ), and ploughed fields, and wide ditches chock full of dirty wa- ter, if you slip in, to souse you most ridikelous ; and over gates that's nailed up and stiles that's got no steps for fear of thoroughfare, and through underwood that's loaded with rain-drops, away off to tother eend of the estate, to see the most beautiful field of turnips that ever was seen, only the flies eat all the plants up ; and then back by another path, that's slumpierthan t'other, and twice as long, that you may see an old wall with two broke-out winders, all covered with ivy, which is called a ruin. And well named it is, too, for I tore a bran new pair of trousers, most onhandsum, a scramblin' over the fences to see it, and ruined a pair of shoes that was all squashed out of shape by the wet and mud. " Well, arter all this day of pleasure it is time to rig up in your go-to-meetin' clothes for dinner-, and that is the same as yesterday, only stupider, if that's possible *, and that is Life in the Country. " How the plague can it be otherwise than dull? If 220 THE ATTACHE. there is nothin* to see, there can't be nothin' to talk about. Now the town is Tull of things to see. There is Baggage's machine, and Bank Governor's machine, and the Yankee woman's machine, and the flyin' machine, and all sorts of machines, and galleries, and tunnels, and mesmeriscrs, 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 Ihey be. There is no sun herej and how in natur' can it be otherways than that they have good complexions. But it tante safe to be caged with them in a house out o' town. Fust thing you both do, is to get spooney, makin' eyes and company-faces at each other, and then think of matin', like a pair of doves, and that won't answer for the like of you and me. The fact is, Squire, if you want to see women, you musn't go to a house in the country, nor to mere good company in town for it, tho' there be first chop articles in both ; but you must go among the big bugs the top-lofty nobility, in Lon- don; for since the days of old marm Eve, down to this instant present lime, I don't think there ever was or over will be such splendiferous galls as is there. Lord, the fust time I seed 'em it put me in mind of what happened to me at New Brunswick once. Governor of Maine sent me over to their Governor's, ofiicial-like, with a state letter, and the British officers axed me to dine to their mess. Well, the English brags so like niggers, I thought I'd prove 'em, and set 'em off on their old trade jist for fun. So, says I, stranger captain, sais I, is all these forks and ■ THE ATTACHE. 221 spoons, and plates and covers, and urns, and what nots , rael Qenuwine solid silver , the clear things and no mis- take. ' Sarlainly,' said he, * we have nulhin' but silver here.' He did, upon my soul, just as cool, as if it was all true ; well you can't tell a mili^^O' what he sais ain't cre- dible, or you have to fight him. It's considered ongen- teel, 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 mo to be, I can tell you." '* When he seed I'd found him out, he larfed like any thing. Guess he found that was no go, for I warn't born in the woods to be scared by an owl, that's a fact. Well, the fust time I went to lord's party, I thought it was another brag agin -, I never see nothin' like it. Hea- vens and airlh, I most jumpt out o' my skin. Where onder the sun, sais I to myself, did he rake and scrape together such super-superior galls as these. This party is a kind o' consarvitory, he has got all the raree plants and sweetest roses in England here, and must have ran- sacked the whole country for 'em. Knowin' I was a judge of woman kind, he wants me to think they are all this way \ but it's onpossible. They are only '* shew frigates" arterall; it don't stand to reason, they can't be all clippers. He can't put the leake into me that way, so ii tante no use tryin'. Well, the next time, I seed jist such another covey of partridges, same plumage, same step, and same breed. Well done, sais I, they are intarmed to pull the wool over my eyes, that's a fact, but they won't find that no easy matter, I know. Guess they must be done now, they can't show another presarve like them agin in all Britain. What trouble they do take 1 II 222 THE ATTACHE. to brag heic, don't they? Well, to make a long story shorty how do you think it eventuated, Squire? \Vhy every party I went to, had as grand a shew as them, only some on 'em was better, fact I assure you, it's gospel truth ; there ain't a word of a lie in it, text to the letter. r never see nothin' like it, since I was raised, nor dreamed nothin' like it, and what's more, I don't think the world has nothin' like it nother. It beats all natur. It takes the rag off quite. If that old Turk, Mahomed, had seed these galls, he wouldn't a bragged about his beautiful ones in paradise so for everlastinly, I know •, for these English heifers would have beat 'em all holler, that's a fact. For my part, I call myself a judge. I have an eye there ain't no deceivin*, I have made it a study, and know every pint about a woman, as well as I do about a boss ; therefore, if I say so, it must be so, and no mistake. I make all allowances for the gear, and the gettin' up, and the vampin', and all that sort o' flash ; but toggery won't make an ugly gall handsum, nohow you can fix it. It may lower her ugliness a leettle, but it won't raise her beauty, if she hante got none. But I warn't a talkin' of nobility ^ I was a talkin' of Life in the Country. But the wust of it is, when galls come on the carpet, I could talk all day ; for the dear little critters, I do love 'em, that's a fact. Lick! it sets me crazy a'most. Well, where was we? for petticoats always puts every thing out o' my head. Whereabouts was we?" '* 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. THE ATTACHE. 223 There's England's Queen, and England's Prince, and Hanover's King, and the old Swordbell that whopped Bony ; and he is better worth seein' than any man now livin' on the face cf the univarsal airlh, let t'other one be where he will, that's a fact. He is a great man, all through the piece, and no mistake. If there was what do you call that word, when one man's breath pops into 'nother man's body, changin' lodgins, like?" " Do you mean transmigration?" '* Yes; if there was sudi 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 coun- try; and it's so everlastin' stupid, it's only a Britisher and 8 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. Ob if I ytM President of these here United States, I'd sucIl sugar candy and swing upon de gates ; And them I didn't lilie, I'd strilie 'em oiT de docliet, And the way we'd go ahead, would be akin tu Davy Crocliit. With ray zippy dooden, dooden dooden, docden dooden dey, W ilh 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 enlight- ened citizen like mp. A country house— oh goody gra- cious ! the Lord p.esarve me from it, I say. If ever any soul ever catches me there agin, I'll give 'era leave to tell me of it, that's all. Oh go, Squire, by all means ; you will 224 THE ATTACHE. lind it monstrous pleasant, I know you will. Go and spend a week there ^ it will make you feel up in tne stirrups, I know. Pr'aps nothin' can exceed it. It takes the rag off the bush quite. It caps all, that's a fact, does ' Life in the Country.' CHAPTER XXIII. BUKKUM. I AM not surprised at the views expressed by Mr. Slick in the previous chapter. He has led too active a life, and his habits and thoughts are too business-like to admit of his enjoying retirement, or accommodating himself to the formal restraints of polished society. And yet, after mak- ing this allowance for his erratic life, it is but fair to add that his descriptions were always exaggerated j 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 pre- judiced vision. In other respects, they are just the sentiments 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 admis- sion to the House of Commons, and took me down with him to hear the debates. THE ATTACHE. 226 *' 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 '11 be some sport, I guess ; some hard hitlin', scalpin', and tomahawkin'. To see a Britisher scalp a Britisher is equal to a bull-fight, anytime. You don't keer whether the bull, or the horse, or the rider is killed, none of 'em is nothin' to you 5 so you can enjoy it, and hurror for him that wins. I don't k^er who 'tarries the day, the valy of a treat of julep, but 1 wmc :ee the sport. It's excitin', them things. 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 speakers. Lord Stan- ley, Sir Robert Peel, Sir James Graham, ^hiel, and Lord John Russell, had either already addressed the Chair, and were thereby prsehided by the rules of the House from coming forward agc-^'n, or did not choose to answer se- condrate m* 1. '"hose whom we did hear, made a most wretched exhibitor About one o'clock, the adjournment took pipije, and we returned, fatigued and disppointed. " Did you ever see the beat of that, Squire?" said Mr. Slick. " Don't that take the rag off quite ? Cuss them fellers that spoke, they are wuss than assembly men, hang me if they ant -, and they aint fit to tend a bear trap, for they'd be i:'»' n to catch themselves, if they did, in their own pit-fall. " Did you hear that Irishman a latherin' away with 15 MM* 226 THE ATTACHli. both arms, as il' he was Iryin' to thrash out wheal, 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 argu- ment in favour of it. Like a pig swimmin' agin stream, every time he struck out, he was a cuttin' of his own throat. He then blob blob blobbered, and gog gog gog- gled, till he choked with words and passion, and then sot down. " Then that English Radical •: , that spoke with great voice, and little sense. Aint he a beauty, without paint, that critter? He know'd he had to vote agin the Bill, 'cause it was a Government Bill, and he know'd he had to speak for Bunkum, and therefore — " ^^Bunkuml" 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 moro 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 hear of Bunkum? why how you talk !" " No, never." " Well, if that don't pass ! I thought every body know'd that word. I'll tell you then, what Bunkum is. All over America, every place likes to hear oi its members to Con- gress, and see their speeches, and if they don't, they send a piece to the paper, enquirin' if their member died a nateral death, or was skivered with a bowie knife, for in (all 1" )n- ind I a for IHK ATTACH!:. 227 they haiito seoii his spcrchos lately, and his friends are anxious to know his fate. Our free and enlightened citi- zens don't a[»prohate silent memhers ; it don't seem to them as if Squashville, or Punkinville, or Lumbertown was right represented, unless Squashville, or Punkinville, or Lumbertown, makes itself heard and known, ay, and feared too. So every feller in bounden duty, talks, and talks big too, and the smaller the State, the louder, big- ger, 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 other airthly puppus but electioneering, our folks call it Bunkum. Now the State o' Maine is a great place for Bunkum— Ms members for years threatened to run foul of England, with all steam on, and sink her, about the boundary line, voted a million of dollars, payable in pine logs and spruce boards, up to Bangor mills — and called out a hundred thousand militia, (only they never come,) to captur' a sawmill to ]N ew Bruns wick— -that's i5M/iA;Mm. All that flourish about Right o' Sarch was Bunkum — all that brag about hangin'yourCanada sheriff was Bunkum. All the speeches about the Caroline, and Creole, and Right 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 evcr- lastin' gab about representation, care one cent about the extension of franchise? Why no, not they; it's only to ■MNM 228 THE ATTACHE. secure their seals to gull their coiistituenls, 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; , want 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 pro- mise of a shillin', which they never got, the sargeants having drank it all ; go and mesmerise them all, from Ge- neral Russell down to Private Chartist, clap 'em into a calerwaulin' or catalapsin' sleep, or whatever the word is, and make 'em tell the secrets of their hearts, as Du- potet 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 own 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 sinpere, I was disinterested ; but I am disap- pointed. I have awakened a pack of hungry villains who have sharp teeth, long claws, and the appetite of th^ devil. They have swallered all I gave 'em, and now would eat me up without salt, if they could. Oh, that I could hark b&ck ! there is no satisfy in' 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 ?' THE ATTACHK. 229 sais Ihey, * ay, where are Ihey? for we are wuss off than ever, now, havin* lost all our old friends, and got bilked by our new ones tamallonly. What did all their fine speeches end in at last? Bunkum^ damn the thing but Bunkum. But that aint the wust of it, nother. Bunkum, like lyin', is plaguy apt to make a man believe his own bams at last. From telling 'em so often, he forgets whether he grow'd 'em or dreamt 'em, and so he stands right up on end, kisses the book, and swears to 'em, as positive as the Irish- man 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 mo can- did ? because if you have, I never did, that's all. Both sides was bad, it aint easy to say which is wuss, six of one and half a dozen of t'other, nothin' to brag of nary way. That government man, that spoke in their favour, warn't his speech rich ? " Lord love you! I aint no speaker, I never made but one speech since I was raised, and that was afore a Slick- ville legislatur, and then I broke down. I know'd who I was a talkin' afore ; they was men that had cut their eye- teeth, and that you could'nt pull the wool over their eyes, nohow you could fix it, and I was young then. Now I'm growed up, I guess, and I've got my narves in the right place, and as taught as a drum ; and [ could speak if I was in the House o' Commons, that's a fact. If a man was to try there, that was worth any thin', he'd find he was a flute without knowin' it. They don't onderstand nothin' but Latin and Greek, and I'de buoy out them sand banks, 230 THE ATTACHE. keep Iho leadagoin', slick to (he channel, and never lake ground, I know. The way I'd cul water ainl no matter. Oh Solomon I what a field for good speakin' that question was to-nighl, if they only had half an eye, tliem fellers, and what a'most a beautiful mess Ihey 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 j it's a thing don't grow in our diggins. \sg 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 ante none to spare. " Oh, John Bull, John Bull, when you are full rigged, with your white cravat and while waistcoat like Young England, and have got your go-to-meetin' clothes on, if ■ you ain't a sneezer, it's a pity, that's all. No, I ain't, a vain man, I despise it, as I do a nigger •, but. Squire, what a glorious field the subject to-night is for a man that knows what's what, and was up to snuff, ain't it? Airth and seas' if I was there, I could speak on either side-, for like Waterloo it's a fair field, it's good ground for both parties. Heavens what a speech I could make ! I'd elec- trify 'em and kiil'em deadlikelightnin',andlhengalvanis5 'em and fw'lch 'em to life agin, and then give them exluliratiii' gass and s?X 'em a larliii', till thoy fairly wet themselves agin with cryin'. Wouldn't it be fun, that's all? 1 could sting Peel so if I liked, he'd think a galley THE ATTACH1>. 23l nipper had bit him, and he'd spring right cff 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 danco like ravin', distractin' 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 'em and can't get it out, physic 'em as you would, first with vanity, and then with office; others have got a way out, but have nolhin' to drive thro' the gale; some is so timid^ they can't go ahead ; and others are in such an infarnal hurry, they spend the whole time in false starts. " No, there is no good oratory to parliament now, and the English brag so, I doubt if it ever was so good, as they say it was in old times. At any rate, it's all got down to " Bunkum" now. It's makin' a speech for newspapers^ and not for the House. It's to tell on voters and not on members. Then, what a row they make, don't they? Hear, hear, hear ; divide, divide, divide ; oh, oh, oh ; haw, haw, haw- It tanle much dilTeren* from stump oratory in America arter all, or speakin' ofTa whiskey barrel, is it? It's a sort of divil me-kear-kind o' audience ; inde- pendent critters, that look at a feller full in the face, as sarcy as the divil ; as much as to say, ' Talk away, my old 'coon, you won't alter me, I can tell you, it's all Bunkum.' " Lord, I shall never forget poor old Davy Crocket's last speech ; there was no "bunkum" in that. He despised it; all good shots do, they aim right straight for the mark 232 THE ATTACHK. and liit it. There's no shootin' round the ring, with them kinder men. Poor old feller, he was a great hunter ; a great shot with the rifle, a great wit, and a great man. He didn't leave his span behind him, when he slipt olT the handle, I know. <^ Well he stood for an election and lost it, just afore he left the States *, so when it was over, he slings his powder horn on, over his shoulders, takes his " Betsey," which was his best rifle, onder his arm, and mounts on a barrel, to talk it into his constituents, and take leave of .'em. " ' Feller citizens,' sais he, * we've had a fair stand-up fight for it, and I'm whipped, that are a fact \ and Ihar is no denyin' of it. I've come now to take my leave of you. You may all go to H— 1, and I'll go to Texas.' "And he stepped right down, and went over the bound- ary, and jined the patriots agin Mexico, and was killed there. " Why it will never be forgot, that speech. It struck into the bull's eye of the heart. It was noble. It said so much in a few words, and left the mind to fill the gaps up. The last words is a sayin' now, and always will be, to all elarnity. Whenever a feller wants to shew how indifl'erent he is, he jist sais, ' you may go to (hem, hem, you know,) and I'll go to Texas.' There is no Bunkum in that. Squire. *' Yes, there is no good speakin' there, speakin' is no use. Every feller is pledged and supports his party. A speech don't alter no man's opinions ; yes it may alter his opinions, but it don't alter his vote, that ain't his'n, it's his party's. Still, there is some credit in a good speech, THE ATTACHE. 233 and some fun too. No feller there has any ridicule; he has got no ginger in him, he can neither crack his whip, nor lay it on ; he can neither cut the hide nor sting it. Heavens I if I was there ! and Vm sure it's no great boas- tin' to say Fm better than such fellers, as them small fry of white bait is. If 1 was there, give me a good subject like that to-night, give me a good horn of lignum vitoe-^" " Lignum vitae— what's that?" " Lord-o -massy on us I you don't know nothin'. Squire. "Where have you been all your born days, not to know what lignum vitse is? why lignum vitse, is hot brandy and water to be sure, pipin' hot, scald an iron pot amost, and spiced with cloves and sugar in it, stiif enough to make a tea-spoon stand up in it, as straight as a dead nigger. Wine ain't no good, it goes off as quick as the while beads off of champaign does, and then leaves a stupid head-ache behind it. But give me the subject and a horn of lignum vita; (of the wickedest kind), and then let a feller rile me, so as to get my back up like a fightin' cat's, and I'll tell you what I'd do, I'd sarve him as our Slickville boys sarve the cows to California. One on 'em lays hold of the tail, and the other skins her as she runs strait an eend. Next year, it's all growed ready for another flayin'. Fact, I assure you. Lord ! I'd skin a feller so, his hide would never grow agin ; I'd make a caution of him to sinners, I know. *' Only hear them fellers now talk of extendin' of the representation •, why the house is a mob now, plaguy little better, I assure you. Like the house in Cromwell's time, they want " Sam Slick's" purge. But talkin' of mobs, puts me in mind of a Swoi-ree, I told you I'd describe 234 THE ATTACHE. that to you, and I don't care if I do now, for I've jistgot my talkin' tacks aboard. A Swoi-ree is— " We'll talk of that some other time, Mr. Slick," said I; '* it is now near two o'clock,! must retire." *♦ Well, well," said he, *' 1 suppose it is e'en a'most time to be a movin'. Rut, Squire, you are a Britisher, why the plague don't you get into the house? you know more about colony matters than the whole bilin' of them put together, quite as much about other things, and speak like a—" ♦' Come, come, Mr. Slick," said I, rising and lighting my bed-room candle, " it is now high time to bid you good night, for you are beginning to talk Bunkum.** CHAPTER XXIV. THROWING THE LAVENDER. Mr. Suck's character, like that of many of his coun- trymen, is not so easily understood as a person might suppose. We err more often than we are aware of, when wc judge of others by ourselves. English tourists have all fallen into this mistake, in their estimate of the Ame- ricans. They judge them by their own standard ; they atlribule effects to wrong causes, forgetting that a diffe- rent tone of feeling, produced by a different social and political state from their own, must naturally produce dissimilar results. THE ATTACHE. 235 Any porflon reading the last sketch containing the ac- couMt, given hy Mr. Slick of the House of Commons, his opinion of his own abilities as a speaker, and his aspira- n after a seat in that body, for the purpose of "skin- ning," as he calls it, impertinent or stupid members, could not avoid coming to the conclusion that he was a con- ceited blockhead ; and that if his countrymen talked in (hat absurd manner, they must be the weakest, and most vain-glorious people in the world. That he is a vain man, cannot be denied— self-taught men are apt to be so every where*, but those who under- stand the New England humour, will at once perceive, that he has spoken in his own name merely as a personi- fication, and that the whole passage means after all, when nsposed into that phraseology which an Englishman v>ould use, very little more than this, that the House of Commons presented a noble field for a man of abilities as a public speaker ; but that in fact, it contained very few such persons. We must not judge of words or phrases, when used by foreigners, by the sense we attribute to them, but endeavour to understand the meaning they at- tach to them themselves. In Mexico, if you admire any thing, the proprietor immediately says, " Pray do me the honour to consider it yours, I shall be most happy, if you will permit nie, to place it upon you, (if it be an ornament), or to send it to your hotel," if it be of a different description. All this means in English, a present; in Mexican Spanish, a civil speech, purporting that the owner is gratified, (hat it meets the approbation of his visiter. A Frenchman, who heard this grandiloquent reply to his praises of a horse, 236 THE ATTACHE. astonished his friend, by thanking him in terms equally amplified, accepting it, and riding it home. Mr. Slick would be no less amazed, if understood lite- rally. He has used a peculiar style ; here again, a stranger Tvould be in error, in supposing the phraseology common to all Americans. It is peculiar only to a certain class of persons in a certain state of life, and in a particular sec- tion of the States. Of this class, Mr. Slick is a specimen. I do not mean to say he is not a vain man, but merely that a portion only of that, which appears so to us, is vanity, and that the rest and by far the greater portion too, is local or provincial peculiarity. This explanation is due to the Americans, who have been grossly misrepresented, and to the English, who have been egregiously deceived, by persons attempting to de- lineate character, who were utterly incapable of per- ceiving those minute lights and shades, without which, a portrait becomes a contemptible daub, or at most a mere caricature. " A droll scene that at the house o' represen/a/iVe^ last night," said Mr. Slick when we next met, " warn't it? A sort o' rookery, like that at the Shropshire Squire's, where I spent the juicy day. What a darned cau-cau cawin' they keep, don't they ? These members are jist like the rooks, too, fond of old houses, old woods, old trees, and old harnts. And they are jist as proud, too, as they be. Cuss 'em, they won't visit k pew man, or new plantation. They are too aristocratic for that. They have a circle of their own. Like the rooks, too, they are pri- vileged to scour over the farmers' fields ail round home, and play the very devil. THE ATTACHK. 23^^ " And then a fellow can't hear himself speak for 'em ^ divide, divide, divide, question, question, question ; cau, cau, cau, cau, cau, cau. Oh ! we must go there again. I want you to see Peel, Stanley, Graham, Shiel, Russell, Macauley, Old Joe, and so on. These men are all upper crust here. Fust of all, I want to hear your opinion of 'em. I take you to be a considerable of a good judge in these matters." "NoBunkum, Mr. Slick." *' D that word Bunkum ! If you say that 'ere agin, I won't say another syllable, so come now. Don't I know who you are? You know every mite, and morsel as well as I do, that you be a considerable of a judge of these critters, though you are nothin' but an outlandish colo- nist ; and arc an everlastin' sight better judge, too, if you come to that, than them that judge you. Cuss 'em, the state would be a nation sight better sarved, if one o' these old rooks was sent out to try trover for a goose, and larceny for an old hat, to Nova Scotia, and you was sent for to take the ribbons o' the state coach here •, hang me if it wouldn't. You know that, and feel your oats, too, as well as any one. So don't be so infarnal mealy-mouthed, with your mock modesty face, a turnin' up of the whites of your eyes as if you was a chokin', and sayin' * No Bunkum, Mr. Slick.' Cuss that word Bunkum I I am sorry I ever told you that are story, you will be for ?»/lbrtastinly a throwin* up of that are, to me now. *' Do you think if I warn ted to soft sawder you, I'd taKe the white-wash brush to you, and slobber it on, as a nigger wench does to a board fence, or a kitchen wall 238 THE ATTACHE. to home, and put your eyes out with the lime? No, not I ; but I could tickle you though, and have done it afore now, jist for practice, and you warn't a bit the wiser. Lord, I'd take a camel's-hair brush to you, knownin' how skittish and ticklesome you are, and do it so it would feel good. I'd make you feel kinder pleasant, I know, and you'd jist bend your face over to it, and take it as kindly as a gall does a whisper, when your lips keep jist a brushin' of the cheek while you are a talkin'. I wouldn't go to shock you by a doin' of it coarse \ you are too quick and too knowin' for that. You should smell the oltcr o' roses, and snilT, sniff it up your nostrils, and say to yourself, * How nice that is, ain't it? Come, I like that, how sweet it slinks!' I wouldn't go for to dash scented water on your face, as a hired lady does on a winder to wash it, it would make you start back, take out your pocket-handkercher, and say, *' Come, Mister Slick, no nonsense, if you please.' I'd do it delicate, I know my man : I'd use a light touch, a soft brush, and a smooth oily rouge." '* Pardon me," I said, " you overrate your own powers, and over-estimate my vanity. You are flattering yourself now, you can't flatter me, for I detest it." " Creation, man," said Mr. Slick, " I have done it now afore your face, these last Ave minutes, and you didn't know it. Well, if that don't bang the bush. It's tarna- tion all over that. Tellin* you, you was so knowin', so shy if touched on the flanks 5 how diflicult you was to take in, bein' a sensible, knowin' man, what's that but soft sawder? You swallowed it all. You took it off with- out winkin', and opened your mouth as wide as a young THE ATTACHE. 239 blind robbin does for another worm, and then down went the Bunkum about making you a Secretary of Stale, which was rather a large bolus to swaller, without a draft; down, down it went, like a greased-wad through a smooth rifle bore; it did, upon my soul. Heavens! what a take in ! what a splendid sleight-of-hand ! I never did nothin' better in all my born days. I hope I may be shot, if I did. Ha ! ha I ha ! ain't it rich ? Don't it cut six inches on the rib of clear shear, that. Oh ! it's hansum, that's a fact." " It's no use to talk about it, Mr. Slick," I replied ; *' I plead guilty. You took me in then. You touched a weak point. You insensibly flattered my vanity, by as- senting to my self-sufliciency, in supposing I was exempt from that universal frailty of human nature *, you " threw the Lavender^* well." ** I did put the leake into you. Squire, that's a fact," said he ; *' but let me alone, I know what I am about ; let me talk on, my own way. Swaller what you like, spit out what is too strong for you ; but don't put a drag-chain on to me, when I am a doin' tall talkin', and set my wheels as fast as pine stumps. You know me, and I know you. You know my speed, and I know your bottom don't throw back in the breetchin' for nothin' that way." " Well, as 1 was a-sayin', I want you to see these great men, as they call 'em. Let's weigh 'em, and measure 'em, and handle 'em, and then price 'em, and see what their market valy is. Don't consider 'em as Tories, or Whigs, or Radicals; we hante got nothin' to do with none o' them; but consider 'em as statesmen. It's pol- lack with 'em all ; take your fork as the pot biles up, jab ^m 240 THE ATTACHE. it in, and felcli a feller up, see whether he is beef, pork or mutton 5 partridge, rabbit or lobster j what his name, grain and flavour is, and how you like him. Treat 'em indifferent, and treat 'em independent. " I don't care a chaw 0' tobacky for the whole on 'em ^ and none on 'em care a pinch o' snuff for you or any Hortentort of a colonist that ever was or ever will be. Lord love you! if you was to write like Scott, and map the human mind like Bacon, would it advance you a bit in prefarment? Not it. They have done enough for th# colonists, they have turned 'em upside down, and given 'em responsible government ? What more do the rascals want? Do they ask to bo made equal to us? No, look at their social system, and their political system, and tell 'em your opinion like a man. You have heard enough of their opinions of colonies, and suffered enough from their erroneous ones too. You have had Durham reports, and commissioners' reports, and parliament reports till your stomach refuses any more on 'em. And what are they ? a bundle of mistakes and misconceptions, from beginnin' to eend. They have travelled by stumblin', and have measured every thing by the length of their knee, as they fell on the ground, as a milliner measures lace, by the bendin' down of the forefinger— cuss 'em ! Turn the tables on 'em. Report on therrij measure t/iem, but take care to keep your feet though, don't be caught trippin', don't make no mistakes. *' Then we '11 go to the Lords' House— I don't mean to meetin' house, though we must go there too, and hear Mc Neil and Chalmers, and them sort 0' cattle ; but I mean the house where the nobles meet, pick out the big THE ATTACHE. 24l bugs, and see what sort o* stuff they are made of. Let's take minister with us— he is a great judge of these things. I should like you to hear his opinion ; he knows every thin' a'most, though the ways of the world bother him a little sometimes ; but for valyin' a man, or stating princi- ples, or talkin' politics, there ain't no man equal to him, hardly. He is a book, that's a fact ; it's all there what you want; all you've got to do is to cut the leaves. Name th6 word in the index, he'll turn to the page, and give you day, date, and fact, for it. There is no mistake in him. *' That cussed provokin' visit of yours to Scotland will shove them things into the next book, Fm afeered. But it don't signify nothin' ; you can't cram all into one, and we hante only broke the crust yet, and p'rhaps it's as well to look afore you leap too, or you might make as big a fool of yourself as some of the Britishers have a writin* about us and the provinces. Oh yes, it's a great advan- tage bavin' minister with you. He'll fell the big stiff trees for you ; and I'm the boy for the saplin's, I've got the eye and the stroke for them. They spring so confound- edly under the axe, does second growth and underwoc>d, it's dangerous work, but I've got the sleight o' hand for that, and we'll make a clean field of it. " Then come and survey ; take your compass and chain to the ground and measure, and lay that off— branch and bark the spars for snakin' off the ground ; cord up the fire-wood , lie up the hoop poles, and then burn off the trash and rubbish. Do it workman-like. Take your lime to it as if you was workin' by the day. Don't hurry, like job work ; don't slobber it over, and teave half-burnt trees and logs strewed about the surface, but make smack 16 242 THE ATTACilK. smooth work. Do that, Squire, do it well, and that is, only half as good as you can, if you choose, and then—" " And then," said I, " I make no doubt you will have great pleasure * in throwin' the Lavender again." CHAPTER XXV. '* AIMING HIGH.' » ■. » ** What do you intend to do. Squire, with your two youngest boys?" said Mr. Slick to me to-day, as we were walking in the Park. " I design them," I said, " for professions. One I shall educate for a lawyer, and the other for a clergyman," *' Where?" " In Nova Scotia." " Exactly," says he. " It shews your sense •, it's the very place for 'em. It's a fine field for a young man j I don't know no better one no where in the whole univarsal world. When I was a boy larnin' to shoot, sais father to me, one day, *Sam,* sals he, *I'll give you a lesson in gunnin' that's worth knowin'. " Aim high" my boy •, your gun naturally settles down a little takin' sight, cause your arm gets tired, and wabbles, and the ball settles a little while it's a travellin', accordin' to a law of natur, called Franklin's law \ and I obsarve you always hit below the mark. Now, make allowances for these things in gunnin'f and " aim high," for your life, always. And, 7 36 a [r, in THE ATTACHE. 243 Sam/ sais he, *' Tve seed a great deal of the world, all miUtary men do. * T was to Bunker's Hill durin' the en- gagement, and I saw Washington the day he was made President, and in course must know more nor most men of my age ; and Til give you another bit of advice, *' Aim hi^" in life, and if you don't hit the bull's eye, you'll hit the ***fust circles," and that ain't a bad shot nother/ " * Father,' sais I, * I guess I've seed more of the world than you have, arter all.' " ' How so, Sam ?' sais he. " * Why,* sais I, ' father, you've only been to Bun- ker's Hill, and that's nothin'; no part of it ain't too steep to plough ; it's only a sizeable hillock, arter all. But I've been to the Notch on the White Mountain, so high up, that the snow don't melt there, and seed five States all to once, and half way over to England, and then I've seed Jim Crow dance. So there now ?* He jist up with the flat of his hand, and gave me a wipe with it on the side of my face, that knocked me over ; and as I fell, he lent me a kick on my musn't-mention-it, that sent me a rod or so afore I took ground on all fours. *' * Take that, you young scoundrel !' said he, * and lam to speak respectful next time to an old man, a mili- ary man, and your father, too.' " It hurt me properly, you may depend. * Why,' sais I, as I picked myself up, * didn't you tell me to " aim high," father ? So I thought I'd do it, and beat your brag, that's all.' " Truth is. Squire, I never could let a joke pass all my life, without havin' a lark with it. 1 was fond of one, ever since I was knee high to a goose, or could recollect 244 THE ATTACHE. any thin' amosl \ I have got into a horrid sight of scrapes by 'em, that's a fact. I never forgot that lesson though, It was kicked into me : and lessons that are larnt on the right eend, ain't never forgot amost. 1 have "aimed high" ever since, and see where I be now. Here I am an Attache, made out of a wooden clock pedlar. Tell you what, I shall be "embassador" yet, made out of nothin' but an "Attache," and I'll be President of our great Republic, and almighty nation in the eend, made out of an embassador, see if I don't. That comes of " aimin' high." What do you call that water near your coach-house?" "A pond." "Is there any brook runnin* in, or any stream runnin' out?" " No." " Well, that's the difference between a lake and a pond. Now, set that down for a vraveller's fact. Now, where do you go to fish ? " "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 outlandish, out o' the way, little crampt up, stagnant places. There is no ' big fish ' there, nor never can be 5 there ain't no food for 'em, A colony frog !! Heavens and airth, what an odd fish that is? A colony pollywog! do, for gracious sake, catch one, put him into a glass bottle full of spirits, and send him to the Museum as a curiosity in natur. So you are a goin' THE ATTACHE. 245 to make your two nice pretty little smart boys a pair of colony frogs, ch ? Oh I 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 everlaslin' 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 set- tled all round you in the same mudhole, all gathered in a nice little musical family party. All fine fun this, till some fine day we Yankee storks will come down and gobble them all up, and make clear work of it. " No, Squire, take my advice now, for once ; jist go to your colony minister when he is alone. Don*tsetdown, but stand up as if you was in airnest, and didn't come to gossip, and tell him, ' Turn these ponds into a lake,' sais you, ' my lord minister, give them an inlet and an outlet. Let them be kept pure, and sweet, and wholesome, by a stream runnin' through. Fish will live there then if you put them in, and they will breed there, and keep up the stock. At present they die ; it ain't big enough ; there ain't room. If he sais he hante time to hear you, and asks you to put it into writin', do you jist walk over to his table, take up his lignum vitae ruler into your fist, put your back to the door, and say *By the 'tarnal empire, you shall hear me ^ you don't go out of this, till I give you the butt \k 146 THE ATTACHE. eend of my mind, I can tell you. I am an old bull frog now ; the Nova Scotia pond is big enough for me \ Pllget drowned if I gei. into a bigger one, for I hante got no fins, Dothin' but legs and arms to swim with, and deep water wouldn't suit me, I ain't fit for it, and I must live and die there, that's my fate as sure as rates.' If he gets tired, and goes to get up or to move, do you shake the big ruler at him, as fierce as a painter, and say, ' Don't you stir for your life ^ I don't want to lay nolhin' on your head, I only want to put somethin' in it. I am a father and have got youngsters. I am a native, and have got countrymen. Enlarge our sphere, give us a chance in the world.' ' Let me out,' he'll say, '• this minute. Sir, or I'll put you in charge of a policeman.' 'Let you out is it,' sais you. 'Oh! you feel bein' pent up, do you ? I am glad of it. The tables are turned now , that's what we complain of. You've stood at the door, and kept us in j now I'll keep you in awhile. I want to talk to you, that's more than you ever did to us. How do you like bein' shut in ? Does it feel good? Does it make your dander rise ?' ' Let me out/ he'll say agin, 'this moment. Sir, how dare you.' Oh! you are in a hurry, are you ?' sais you. ' You've kept me in all my life^ don't be oneasy if I keep you in five mi- nutes.' " 'Well, what do you want then?' he'll say, kinder peevish, 'what do you want?' 'I don't want nothin* for myself,' sais you. ' I've got all I can get in that pond \ and I got that from the Whigs, fellers I've been abusin' all my .life; and I'm glad to make amends by acknow- ledging this good turn they did me j for lam a tory, and no mistake. 1 don't want nothin' *, but I want to be an THE ATTACHE. 847 Englishman. I don't want to be an English subject ; do you understand that now ?If you don't, this is themeanin', that there is no fun in bein' a fag, if you are never to have a fag yourself. Give us all fair play. Don't move now,' sais you, ' for I'm gettin' warm ; I'm gettin' spotty on the back, my bristles is up, and I might hurt you with this ruler \ it's a tender pint this, for I've rubbed the skin ofT of a sore places but I'll tell you a gospel truth, and mind what I tell you, for nobody else has sense enough, and if they had, they hantc courage enough. If you don't make Englishmen of us, the force of circumstances will make Yankees of us, as sure as you are born.' He'll stare at that. He is a clever man, and aint wantin' in gumption. He is no fool, that's a fact. ' Is it no compliment to you and your institutions this?' sais you. ' Don't it make you feel proud that even independence won't tempt us to dissolve the connexion? Ain't it a noble proof of your good qualities that, instead of agitatin' for Repeal of the Union, we want a closer union? ^ut have we no pride too ? We would be onworthy of the name of Englishmen, if we hadn't it, and we won't stand beggin' forever I tell you. Here's our hands, give us yourn \ let's be all Eng- lishmen together. Give us a chance, and if us, young English boys, don't astonish you old English, my name ain't Tom Poker, that's all.' 'Sit down,' he'll say, ' Mr. Poker \ ' there is a great deal in that; sit down; I am interested.' " The instant he sais that, take your ruler, lay It down on the table, pick up your hat, make a scrape with your hind leg, and say, * I regret I have detained you so long, Sir. I am most peskily afraid my warmth has kinder be- 24B THE ATTACHE. trayed me into rudenesss. I really beg pardon, I do upon my soul. I feel I have smashed down all decency, I am horrid ashamed of myself.' Well, he won't say you hante rode the high boss, and done the unhandsum thing, because it wouldn't be true if he did) but he'll say, 'Pray be seated. I can make allowances, Sir, even for intem- perate zeal. And this is a very important subject, very indeed. There is a monstrous deal in what you say, though you have, I must say, rather a peculiar, an unu- sual, way of puttin' it.' Don't you stay another minit though, nor say another word, for your life ; but bow, beg pardon, hold in your breath, that your face may look red, as if you was blushin', and back out, starn fust. Whenever you make an impression on a man, stop; your reasonin' and details may ruin you. Like a feller who sais a good thing, he'd better shove off, and leave every one larfin' at his wit, than stop and tire them out, till they say what a great screw augur that is. Well, if you find he opens the colonies, and patronises the smart folks, leave your sons there if you like, and let 'em work up, and work out of it, if they are fit, and time and oppor- tunity offers. But one thing is sartain, the very openiri of the door will open their minds, as a matter of course. If he don't do it, and I can tell you before hand he won't— for they actilly hante got time here, to think of these things— send your boys here into|the great world. Sais you to the young Lawyer, * Rob,' sais you, "aim high." If you don't get to be Lord Chancellor, I shall never die in peace. I've set my heart on it. It's within your reach, if you are good for anything. Let me see the great seal— let me handle it before I die— do, that's a THE ATTACHE. 240 dear; if not, go back to your Colony pond, and sing with your provincial frogs, and I hope to Heaven the fust long-legged bittern that comes there will make a supper of you.' "Then sais you to the young parson, 'Arthur,* sais you, 'Natur jist made you for a clergyman. Now, do you jist make yourself 'Archbishop of Canterbury.' My death-bed scene will be an awful one, if I don't see you 'the Primnte'; for my affections, my hopes, my heart, is fixed on it. I shall be willin' to die then, I shall depart in peace, and leave this world happy. And, Arthur/ sais you, 'they talk and brag here till one is sick of ih^ sound a'most about "Addison's death-bed." Good peopi<) refer to it as an example, authors as a theatrical scene and hypocrites as a grand illustration for them to turn up ihe whites of their cold cantin' eyes at. Lord love you, my son,' sais you, ' let them brag of it; but what would it be to mine ; you congratulatin' me on goin' to a better world, and me congratulatin' you on bein* "Archbishop." Then,' sais you, in astarnvoice like a boatsan's trumpet— for if you want things to be remem- bered, give 'em effect, " Aim high," Sir,' sais you. Then like my old father, fetch him a kick on his western eend, that will lift him clean over the table, and say ' that's the »ay to rise in the world, you young sucking i>irco?» you. " Aim high," Sir.' " Neither of them will ever forget it as long as they live. The hit does that ; for a kick is a very striking thing, that's a fact. There has been no good scholars since birch rods went out o' school^ and sentiment went in.'\ ti But you know," I said, " Mr. Slick, that those high I 250 THE ATTACHE. prizes in Ihe lottery of life, can, in the nature of things, be drawn but by few people, and how many blanks are there to one prize in this world." " Well, what's to prevent yo'ir boys gettin' those prizes, if colonists was made Christians of, instead of outlawed, exiled, transported, onsarcumcised heathen Indgean nig- gers, as they be. If people don't put into a lottery, how the devil can they get prizes? will you tell me that. Look at ilia critters here, look at the publicans, tailors, barbers, and porters' sons, how they've rose here, 'in this big lake,' to be chancellors, and archbishops^ how did they get them? They 'aimed high,' and besides, all that, like father's story of the gun, by ' aiming high,' though they may miss the mark, they will be sure to hit the upper circles. Oh, Squire, there is nothing like 'aiming high,' in this world." " I quite agree with you, Sam," said Mr. Hopewell. " I never heard you speak so sensibly before. Nothing can be better for young men than " Aiming high." Though they may not attain to the highest honours, they may, as you say, reach to a most respectable station. But surely, Squire, you will never so far forget the respect that is due to so high an oflicer as a Secretary of state, or, indeed, so far forget yourself as to adopt a course, which from its eccentricity, violence, and impropriety, must leave the impression that your intellects are disordered. Surely you will never be tempted to make the experiment?" " I should think not, indeed," I said. "I have no desire to become an inmate of a lunatic asylum." " Good," said he; " I am satisfied. I quite agree with Sam, though. Indeed, I go further. I do not think ho THE ATTACHE. 261 has advised you to recommend your boys to ^aim high enough.' " ' ' Creation I " said Mr. Slick, '^ how much higher do you want provincial frogs to go, than to be ^Chancellor' and ♦Primate?" ^' I'll tell you,Sam ^ I'd advise them to ' aim higher ' than earthly honours. I would advise them to do their duty, in any station of life in which it shall please Providence to place them ; and instead of striving after unattainable objects here, to be unceasing in their endeavours to obtain that which, on certain conditions, is promised to all hereafter. In theh* worldly pursaits, as men, it is right for them to '■aim high i' but as Christians, it is also their duly to * aim higher.' " CHAPTER XXVI. A SWOI-REE. Mr. Slick visited me late last night, dressed as if he had been at a party, but very cross, and, as usual when in that frame of mind, he vented his ill-humour on the English. " Where have you been to-night, Mr. Slick?" " Jist where the English bosses will be," he replied, " when Old Clay comes here to this country; — no where. I have been on a stair-case, that's where I have been ; and a pretty place to see company in^ ain't it? I havp 252 THE ATTACHE. been jammed to death in an entry, and what's wus than all, I have given one gall a black eye with my elbow, tore another one's frock off with my buttons, and near about cut a third one's leg in two with my hat. Pretty well for one night's work, ain't it? and for me too, that's so fond of the dear little critturs, I wouldn't hurt a hair of their head, if I could help it, to save my soul alive. What a spot o* work ! ^' What the plague do people mean here by askin' a mob to their house, and invitin' twice as many as can get into it? If they think it's complimental, they are infar- nally mistaken, that's all : it's4|p insult and nothin' else, makin' a fool of a body that w^. Heavens and airth ! I am wringing wet! I'm ready to faint! Where's the key of your cellaret? I want some brandy and water. I'm dead; bury me quick, for I won't be nice directly. Oh dear ! how that lean gall hurt me ! Hew horrid sharp her bones are ! " I wish to goodness you'd go to a Swoi-ree oncet. Squire, jist oncet-^a grand let off, one that's upper crust and rael jam. It's worth seein' oncet jist as a show, I tell youy for you havb no more notion of it than a child. All Halifax, if it was swept up clean and shook out into a room, wouldn't make one swoi-ree. I have been to three to night, and all on 'em was mobs — regular mobs. The English are horrid fond of mobs, and I wonder at it too; for of all the cowardly, miserable, scarry mobs, that ever was seen in this blessed world, the English is the wust. Two dragoons will clear a whole street as quick as wink^ anytime. The instant they see 'em, they jist run like a flock of sheep afore a couple of bull dogs, and slope off THE ATTACHE. 253 properly skeered. Lawful heart, I wish they'd send for a dragoon, all booted, and spurred, and mounted, and let him gallop into a swoi-ree, and charge the mob there. He'd clear 'em out / know, double quick : he'd chase one quarter of 'em down stairs head over heels, and another quarter would jump out o' the winders, and break their confounded necks to save their lives, and then the half that's left, would be jist about half too many for comfort. *' My first party to-night was a conversation one; that is for them that could talk; as for me I couldn't talk a bit, and all I could think wa^^* how infarnal hot it is ! I wish I could get in !' or, * obd^ar, if I could only get out !' It was a sciei tific party, a mob o' men. Well, every body expected somebody would be squashed to death, and so ladies went, for they always go to executions. They've got a kinder nateral taste for the horrors, have women. They like to see people hanged or trod to death, when they can get a chance. It was a conversation warn't it ? that's all. I couldn't understand a word I heard. Trap shale Grey wachy ; a petrified snail, (he most important discovery of modern times. Bank governor'^ machine weighs sovereigns, light ones go to the right, and heavy ones to the left. "*Stop,' says I, * if you mean the sovereign people here, there are none on 'em light. Right and left is both monstrous heavy; all over weight, every one on 'em. I'm squeezed to death.' « *' * Very good, Mr. Slick. Let me introduce you to—," they are whipt off in the current, and I don't see 'em again no more. ^ A beautiful shew of ilowers. Madam, at 264 THE ATTACHE. the garden : they are all in full blow now. The rhododen- dron—had a tooth pulled when she was asleep.' 'Please to let me pass, Sir.' 'With all my heart, Miss, if I could ^ buti can*t move ; if I could I would down on the carpet, and you should walk over me. Take care'of your feet, Miss, I am off of mine. Lord bless me ! what's this? why as I am a livin' sinner, it's half her frock hitched on to my coat button. Now I know what that scream meant.' " ' How do you do, Mr. Slick ? When did you come ?' ' Why I came — ' he is turned round, and shoved out o* hearin.' 'Xanthian marbles at the British Museum are quite wonderful ; got into his throat, the doctor turned him upside down, stood him on his head, and out it came — his own tunnel was too small.' * Oh, Sir, you are cut- tin' me.' 'Me, Miss! Where had I the pleasure of seein' you before, I never cut a lady in my life, could'nt do so rude a thing. Havn't the honour to recollect you.' ' Oh, Sir, take it away, it cuts me.* Poor thing, she is distrac* ted, I don't wonder. She's drove crazy, though I think she must have been mad to come here at all, ' Your hat. Sir.' ' Oh that cussed French hat is it ? Well, the rim is as stiff and as sharp-as a cleaver, that's a fact, I don't wonder it cut you.' * Eddis's pictur — capital painting, fell out of the barge, apd was drowned.* * Having been beat on the shiliin' duly; they will attack him on the four- pence, and thimble rigg him out of that.' * They say Sug- den is in town, hung in a bad light, at the Temple Church.' 'Who is that?' 'Lady Fobus; paired off for th« Session; Brodie operated.' Lady Francis*, got the Life Guards; there will be a division to-night.' That's THE ATTACHE. 255 Sam Slick ; Til 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 ! I feels shockin' cold here, too, arter comin' out o' that hot room. Guess I'll go to the grand musical party. Come, this will do ^ this is Christian-like, there is room here; but the singin' is in next room, I will go and hear them. Oh ! here they are agin ; it's a proper mob this. Cuss these English, they can't live out of mobs. Prince Albert is there in that room ; I must go and see him. He is popu- lar-, he is a renderln' of himself very agreeable to the En- glish, 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 5 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 Jou 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 5 but he wants to des- cend to the world we live in. "With a Queen all men love, afad 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 5 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 256 THE ATTACHE. 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, phi- losophisin' legislators, sentimental ladies, and spooney gentlemen. It's horrid barbarous that, is sheddin' blood \ I wouldn't do that, I'd jist hang him. A strong cord tied tight round his neck would keep that precious mixtur, traitor's blood, all in as close as if his mouth was corked, wired, and white-leaded, like a champagne bottle. '* Oh dear ! these are the fellers that come out a tra- ; vellin' among us, and sayin^ 4he difference atween you and us is * the absence of loyalty.' I've he^rd 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 'cm every day. Yes, the English are like their hosses, they are so fme bred, there is nothin' left 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 here goes. Onder, below there, look out for your corns, hawl your feet in, like turtles, for I am a comin'. Take care o' your ribs, my old 'coons, for my elbows are crooked. Who wants to grow? I'll THE ATTACHE. 267 squeeze you out as a rollin'-pin does dough, and make you ten inches taller. I'll make good figures of you, my fat boys and galls, I know. Look out for scaldin's there. Here I am : it's me, Sam Slick, make way, or Til walk rigftt over yoii, and cronch you like lobsters. ' Cheap talkin', or rather thinkin', sais I ; for in course I couldn't bawl that out in company here j 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 repudiatin' at the same time, is most as bad as can- tin' and swearin'. It kinder chokes me. I thought it all though, and said it all to myself. 'And,' sais I, Make 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 ^n 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 hand- sum man he is, too. Let me out now. I'm stifled, I'm choked. My jaws stick together, I can't open 'em no more \ and my wind won't hold out another minute. " 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? Clear the way there, the Prince is a comin*, and so is the 17 258 TUB ATTACHE. Duke. And a way is opened : waves u' the sea roll back at these words, and I walks right out, as largo as lifo, and the fust Egyptian that foUers is drowned, for the water has closed over him. Sarves him right, too, what business had he to grasp my life-presarver without leave. 1 have enough to do to get along by my own wit, with- out 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 sohandsun, that feller, he looks like a Yankee.' * Why, that was Sam Slick.' ' Capital, that! What a droll feller he is ; he is always so ready ! He desarves credit for that trick.' Guess I do 5 but let old Connecticut alone 5 us Slickville boys always find a way to dodge in or out, embargo or no embargo, blockade or no blockade, we larnt that last war. ^' Here I am in the street agin ^ the air feels handsum. I have another invitation to-night, shall I go? Guess I will. All the world is at these two last places, I reckin there will be breathin' room at the next ; and I want an ice cream to cool my coppers, shockin' bad. — Creation ! It is wus than evcr^ this party beats t'other ones all hol- ler. They ain't no touch to it. I'll jist go and make a scrape to old uncle aud aunty, and then cut stick \ for I hante strength to swiggle 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 I I? I THE ATTACHE. 259 o(r, put all steam on, and hack out, slarn fust, and then swing round into the stream. That's the ticket, Sam.' It's done \ but my elbow has took that lady that's two steps furder down on the stairs, jist in the eye, and knocked in her dead light. How she cries ! how I apologize, don't I? And the more 1 beg pardon, the wus she carries on. But it's no go ; if I stay, I must fust fight somebody, and then marry 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 mc, and that ain't much more nor my shader. Oh dear! I'm tired, shockin' tired, almost dead, and awful thirsty; for Heaven's sake, give me some lignum vitee, for I am so dry, I'll blow away in dust. " This is a Swoi-ree, Squire, this is London society -, this is rational enjoyment, this is a meeting of friends, who are so infarnal friendly they are jammed together so they can't leave each other. Inseparable friends ; you must choke 'em off, or you can't part 'em. Well, I ain't jist so thick and intimate with none o' them in this country as all that comes to nother. I won't lay down my life for none on 'em : I don't see no occasion for it, do you? "I'll dine with you, John Bull, if you axe me; and I ain't nothin' above particular to do, and the cab hire don't cost more nor the price of a dinner; but hang me if ever I go to a Swoi-ree agin. I've had enough of that, to last me my life, I know. A dinner I hante no objec- tion to, though that ain't quite so bright as a pewter but- ton nother, when you don't know you're right and left 260 THE ATTACHE. Iiand man. And an evcnin' party, I wouldn't take my oath I wouldn't go to, though I don't know, hardly what to talk about, except America j and I've bragged so much about that, I'm tired of the subject. But a Swoi- ree is the devil, that's a fact.'' CHAPTER XXVII. TATTERSALL'S ; on, TUE 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 lolher, why I know whatlartl^bout; but if I can only see my own eend, I don't know who I am a pullin' agin. I intend to take a rise out o' some o' the knowin' ones here, that will make 'em scratch their heads> and stare, I know. But here we are. Cut round this corner, into this Lane. Here it is \ this is it to the right." We entered a sort of coach-yard, which was filled with a motley and mixed crowd of people. I was greatly dis- appointed in Tatlersall's. Indeed, few things in London have answered my expectations. They have either ex- THE ATTACHE. 261 cccded or fallen short of the description I had heard of them. I was prepared, both from what I was told by Mr. Slick, and heard from others, to find that there were but very few gentlemen-like looking men there ; and that by far the greater number neither were, nor affected to be, any thing but ''knowing ones." I was led to believe that there would be a plentiful use of the terms of art, a va- riety of provincial accent, and that the conversation of the jockeys and grooms would be liberally garnished with appropriate slang. The gentry portion of the throng, with some few ex- ceptions, it was said, wore a dissipated look, and had that peculiar appearance of incipient disease, that indicates a life of late hours, of excitement, and bodily exhaustion. Lower down in the scale of life, I was informed, intem- perance had left its indelible marks. And that still further down, were to be found the worthless lees of Ihis foul and polluted stream of sporting gentlemen, spendthrifts, gamblers, bankrupts, sots, sharpers and jockeys. This was by no means the case. It was just what a man might tiave expected to have found a great sporting ex- change and auction mart, of horses and carriages, to have been, in a great city like London, had he been merely told that such was the object of the place, and then left to imagine the scene. It was, as I have before said, a mixed and motley crowd •, and must necessarily be so, where agents attend to bid for their principals, where servants are in waiting upon their masters, and above all, where the ingress is open to every one. It is, however, unquestionably the resort of gentlemen. In a great and rich country like this, there must, unavoid- 1 262 THE ATTACIir. ably, bon Tallcrsairs;and Iho wonder is, nol tbat 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. Tattersall's, therefore, is not without its pri- vateers. 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 interesting anecdotes of in- dividuals whom he pointed out as having been once well known about town, but whose attachment to gam- bling 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 carriages which were exhibited for sale, to their elegant shape and " beautiful Oxins," 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 1 was to tell him of one pair of bosses carryin' tliree or four people, forty or fifty miles a-day, day in and day out, hand runnin' for a fort- night? Why, he'd either bo too civil to tell me it was a lie, or bein' afecrcJ I'd jump down liis throat if he did, he'd sing dumb, and let me see by his looks, he thought so, though. THE ATTACHE. 303 " I intend to take the consait out of these chaps, and that's a fact. If I don't put the leak into 'em afore I've done with them, my name ain*t Sam Slick, that's a fact. I'm studyin' the ins and the outs of this place, so as to know what I am about, afore I take hold ; for I feel kinder skittish about my men. Gentlemen are the lowest, lyin- est, bullyinest, blackguards there is, when they choose to be ; 'specially if they have rank as well as money. A thoroughbred cheat, of good blood, is a clipper, that's a fact. They ain't right up-and-down, like a cow's tail, in their dealin's ; and they've got accomplices, fellers that will lie for 'em like any ttiing, for the honour of their com- pany ] and bettin', onder i!uch circumstances, ain't safe. " But, I'll tell you what is, if you have got a boss that can do it, and no mistake : back him, boss agin boss, or what's safer still, boss agin time, and you can't be tricked. Now, I'll send for Old Clay, to come in Cunard's steamer, and cuss 'em they ought to bring over the old 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 warn't slow. It stopt steam for that hitch, that's a fact, for he thort I was mad. He sent it down to the Admiralty to get it ciphered right, and it took them old seagulls, the Admirals, a month to find it out. " 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 i 264 THE ATTACHE. guess I am able to pay freight for him, and no thanks to nobody. Now, I'll tell you what, English Irottin' is about a mile in two minutes and forty-seven seconds, and that don't happen oftener than oncet in fifty years, if it was ever done at all, for the English brag so there is no telling right. Old Clay 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 whale- bone, 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 Til make him as well knowd to England as he is to Nova Scotia. " I'll allow him to be be?«t at fust, so as to lead 'em on, and Clay is as cunnln' as a coon too, if he don't get the word g'lang ( go ?.long ) 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 pre- tend to do his best, and sputter away like a hen scratch- in' gravel, but he won't go one mossel faster, for ho knows I never lick a free boss. *' Won't it be beautiful? How they'll all larf and crow, when they see me a thrasbin' 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 olTerin' to back him agin, if they dare, and planken down the pewter all round, takin' every one up that will go the figur', till I raise the bets to the tune of fifty thousand dollars. When I get that far, they may stop their larfin' till next THE ATTACHE. 265 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 shape, talk a little Connecticut Yankee to the old hoss, to set his ebenezer up, and make him rise inwardly, and then give the yell," (which he uttered in his excitement in earnest ; and a most diabolical one if ^vas. It pierced me through and through, and curdled my very blood, it was the death shout of a sav-age.) " G'lang you skunk, and turn out your toes pretty," said he, and ho again repeated this long protracted, shrill, infernal yell, a second time. Every eye was instantly turned upon us. Even Tat- tersall suspended his " he is five years old — a good hack —and is to be sold," to give time for the general exclama- tion of surprise. " Who the devil is that? Is he mad? Where did he come from? Does any body know him? He is a devilish keen-lookin' fellow that 5 what an eye he has! He looks like a Yankee, that fellow." " He's been here, your honour, sf^veral days, examines every thing and says nothing 5 looks like a knowing one, your honour. He handle ; a hoss as if he'd seen one afore to-day, Sir." " Who is that gentleman wi(h him?" " Don't know, your honour, 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 be, " 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 266 THE ATTACHE. County, State of Connecticut, United States of America. ])Ut I do suppose we had as good make tracks, for I don't want folks to know me yet. I'm plaguy sorry I let out that countersign of Old Clay too, but they won't onder- stand 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 darnin' needle; her hair a standin' upon cend as if she was amazed at herself, and a look out of her eye , as if she thort the dogs would find the steak kinder tough, when they got her for dinner. Well, that's a great mare that 'are, and there ain't nothin' onder the sun the matter of her, except the groom has stole her oats, forgot to give her water, and let her make a supper sometimes off of her nasty, mouldy, filthy beddin'. 1 liante see'd a hoss here equal to her a'most — short back, beautiful rake to the shoulder, great depth of chest, ele- gant (luarter, great stille, amazin' strong arm, monstrous nice nostrils, eyes like a weasel, all outside, game ears, lirst chop bone and fine flat leg, with no gum on no part of it. She's a sneezer that ; but she'll be knocked down for twenty or thirty pound, because she looks as if she was used up. " I intended to a had that mare, for I'd a made her worth twelve hundred dollars. It was a dreadful pity, I let go, that time, for I actilly forgot where I was. I'll know better next hitch, for boughten wit is the best in a general way. Yes, I'm peskily sorry about that mare. Weil, swappin' I've studied, but I doubt if it's as much the fashion here as witli us ; and besides, swappin' where P" THE ATTACHE. 267 you don't know the county and its tricks, (for every county iias its own tricks, different from others), is dan- gersome too. I've seen swaps where both sides got took in. Did ever I tell you the story of the " Elder and the grave-digger?" " Never," I replied 5 *' but here we are at our lodgings. Come in, and tell it to me." •' Well," said he, " I must have a glass of mint julip fust, to wash down that ere disappointment about the mare. It was a dreadful go that. I jist lost a thousand dollars by it, as slick as grease. * But it's an excitin' thing is a trottin' race, too. When you mount, hear the word ' Starr ' 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 j 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 duo to me there from the French. And as I was a-joggin' on along the road, who should I overtake but Elder Stephen Grab, of Beechmeadows, a mounted on a considerable of a clever- lookin' black mare. The Elder was a pious man ; at least he looked like one, and spoke like one too. His face was as long as the moral law, and p'rhaps an inch longer, and as smooth as a hone ; and his voice was so soft and sweet, ILWUtl^ipilll ! si 1 1 ' 268 THE ATTACHK. and his tongue moved so ily on its hinges, you'd a thought you might a trusted him with ontold gold, if you didn't care whether you ever got it agin or no. He had a bran new hat on, with a brim that was none of the smallest, to keep the sun from makin' his inner man wink, and his go-to-meetin' clothes on, and a pair of silver mounted spurs, and a beautiful white cravat, tied behind, so as to have no bows to it, and look meek. If there was a good man on airth, youM 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 Goose Creek. We had a " most refreshin! lime on\.'* There was a great " outpourin' of the spirit '." " ' Well, that's awful,' says I, ' too. The magistrates ought to see to that \ it ain't right, when folks assemble that way to worship, to be a-sellin' of rum, and gin, and brandy, and spirits, is it?' '" 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 5 there was " many sinners saved" " * I guess there was plenty of room for it,' sais I, ' onless that neighbourhood has much improved since I knowcJ it last.' " ' Jt's a sweet thing,' sais he. ' Have you ever '* made profession,"" Mr. Slick ? ' " ' Come,' sais I to myself, ' this is cultin' it rather too THE ATTACHE. 269 fat. I must put a slop to this. This ainH a subject for conversation with such a cheatin', cantin', hippocrytical skunk as this is. Yes,' sais I, * long ago. My profession is that of a clockmaker, and I make no pretension to nothin' else. But come, let's water our hosses here and liquQr 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 i' and arter helpin' myself, I gives the silver cover of the flask a dip in the brook, (fdr 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 mouthful, and then makin' a face like a frog afore he goes to sing, and swellin' his cheeks out like a Scotch bagpiper, he spit it all out. Sais he, ' That is so warm, it makes me sick; and as I ain't otherwise well, from the celestial exhaustion of a protracted meetin', I believe I will take a little drop as medicine.' " Confound him I 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 oiT clean, without winkin'. " 'It's a" wry re/rcMm' time,"' sais I, 'ain't it?' But he didn't make no answer. Sais I, ' that's a likely beast of yourn, Elder,' and 1 opened her mouth, and took a look 270 THE ATTACHK. 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. ^ " ' But she'll jist suit the French,' sais he. " 'It's lucky she don't speak French then,' sais I, 'or they'd soon Ond 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 corner of his eye, as if her age warn't no secret to him. ' I was a thinkin' it's time to put her oflf, and she'll jist suit the French. They hante much for bosses to do, in a giniral way, but to ride about j and you won't say nothin' about her age, will you? it might endamnify a sale.' '"Not I,' sais I, ' skin my own foxes, and let other folks skin their'n. I have enough to do to mind my own business, without interferin' with other people's.' " ' She'll jist suit the French,' sais he ^ ' they don't know nothin' about bosses, or any thing else. They are a simple people, and always will be, for their priests keep 'em in ignorance. It's an awful thing to see them kept in the outer porch of darkness that way, ain't it?' " ' I guess you'll put a new pane o' glass in their porch,' sais I, 'and help some o' them to see better^ for whoever gets that mare, will have his eyes opened, sooner nor he bargains for, I know.' "Sais be, 'she ain't a bad mare-, and if she could eat bay, might do a good deal of work yet,' and be gave a kinder chuckle laugh at his own joke, thul sounded like the rattles in his throat, it was so dismal and deep, for bo THE ATTACHE. 271 was one o' them kind of fellers that's too good to iarf , was Steve. " Well, the horn o' grog he took, began to onloosou his tongue; and I got out of him, that she come near dyin' the winter afore, her teeth was so bad, and that ho 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 shincd agin, in the sun. " * She'll jist suit the French', said he, ' they are a simple people and don't know nothin', and if they don't like the mare, they must blume their priests for not teachin' 'em better. I shall keep wilhin 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 himself and me a walkin' into him ; and we jogged along till we came to Charles Tarrio's to Montagon, and there was the matter of a thousand French people gathered there, a chatterin', and laughin', and jawin', and quar- rellin', and racin', and wrastlin', and all a givin' tongue, like a pack of village dogs, when an Indgian com^s to town. It was town meetin' day. " Well, there was critter there, called by nickname, ' Goodish Greevoy,' a mounted on a white pony, one o' the scariest ittle 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 i 272 THE ATTACHE. high and narrer, shevvin' only a long strip o' tawny skin, in a line with his nose, the rest bein' covered with hair, as black as ink, and as iley as a seal's mane. His brows was thick, bushy and overhangin', like young brushwood on a cliff, and onderneath, was two black peerin' little eyes, that kept ainovin' 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 atone eend, and down at the other, shewed, if his dander was raised, he could be a jumping 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 hankercher was tied round his neck, slack like a sailor's. He wore a round jacket and loose trowsers of homespun with no waistcoat, and his trowsers was held up by a gallus of leather on one side, and of old cord on the other. Either Goodish had growed since bb clothes was made, or his jacket and trowsers warn't on speakin' tarms, for they didn't meet by three or lour inches, and the shirt shewed alween them t'l THE ATTACHE. 273 liUu a ydller militia sash round him. His feet was covered Willi 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 witho 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 slump, which squared up his rump, and made him look awful strong in the hind quarters. His mane was "hogged" which fulled out the swell and crest of the neck, and his ears being cropped, the critter had a game look about him. There was a proper good onderstandin' between him and his rider : they looked as if they had growed to- gether, 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 fashion, that was quite cautionary, callin' out, 'Here comes "the grave- digger." Don't be skeered, if any of you get killed, here is the hoss that will dig his grave for nolhin'. Who'll run a lick of a quarter of a mile, for a pint of rum. "Will you run?' said he, a spunkin' up to the Elder, 'come, let's run, and whoever wins, shall go the treat.' " The Elder smiled as sweet as sugar candy, but backed out 5 he was too old, he said, now to run. " ' Will you swap bosses, old broad cloth then?' said the other, ' because if you will, here's at you.* " Steve took a squint at pony, to see whether that cat IS I M 1 ^ 'I 274 THE ATTACHE. would jump or iiu, but llie cropteurs, the stump of a tail, the rakish look of the horse, didn't jisl altogether convene to the taste or the sanctified habits of the preacher. Ttio word no, hung on his lips, like a wormy apple, jist ready to drop the fust shake ; but before it let go, the great strength, the spryness, and the oncommon obedience of pony to the bit, seemed to kinder balance the objections ; while the sartan and ontimely eend that hung over his own mare, during the comin' winter, death by starvation, turned the scale. " *WelI,' 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 1 dun't care to raise colls, havin' plenty of hoss 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 be- lieve, brought her to our parts.' " ' How old do 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, ' depens on use, not on years. A hoss at five, if ill used, is old , a hoss 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' THE ATTACHE. 275 hard uf me. 1 didn't raise it. You can see what condition she is ill ^ old hosses ain't commonly su fut as that, at least 1 never see one that was.' " A long banter then growed out of the ' boot money.' The Elder asked 11. \Qs. 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 prudent man, resolved to take a look at the old mare's mouth, and make some kind of a guess at her age^ but the critter knowed how to keep her own secrets, and it was ever so long, afore he forced her jaws open^ and when he did, lie came plaguy near losin' of a finger, for his curiosity *, and as he hopped and danced about with pain, he let fly such a string of oaths, and sacry-cussed the Elder and his mare, in such an all-fired passion, that Steve put both his hands up to his ears, and said, ' Oh, my dear friend, don't swear, don't swear ; it's very wicked. I'll take your pony. Til ask no boot, if you will only pro- mise not to swear. You shall have the mare as she stands. I'll give up and swap even \ and there shall be no after claps, nor ruin bargains, nor recantin', nor nother, only don't swear.' " Well, the trade was made, the saddles and bridles was shifted, and both parties mounted their new hosses. 'Mr. Slick,' sais Steve, 'who was afraid he would lose the pony, if he staid any longer, ' Mr. SlicU,' sais he, ' the IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) // 1.0 I.I ■^ Itt 12.2 » 1^ 12.0 u& • L25 1 u u^ ^ 4// ► Sciences Corporalion 23 WBT turn ^T«I!:?T WnSTIR,N.Y. USM (716)873-4503 ^\ m ;V ^ •<* ^ *^% ^l^ ^^' ■ 276 THE ATTACHE. least said is the soonest mended, let's be a movin', lliis scene of noise and riot is shockin' to a religious man, ain't it? and he let go a groan, as long as the embargo a'most. " Well, we had no sooner turned to go, than the French people sot up a cheer that made all ring again ^ and they sung out, " La Fossy Your." " La Fossy Your,"^ and shouted it agin and agin ever so loud. " 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 tind 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 ofThis hat, and makes them a low bow, and they lurfs wus than ever, and calls out again, "La Fossy Your," "La Fossy Your." He was kinder ryled, was the Elder. His honey had begun to farment, and smell vinegery. ' May be, next Christmas,' sais he, ' you won't larf so loud, when you find the mare is dead. Goodish and the old mare are jist alike, they are ail tongue them critters. I rather think it's me,' sais he, ' has the right to larf, for I've got the best of this bar- gain, and no mistake. This is as smart a little boss as ever I see. I know where I can put him off to great ad- vantage. 1 shall make a good day's work of this. It is aljout us good a boss trade as 1 ever made. The French :he attache. 277 don't know nothin' about hosses ; they ore a simple peo- ple, their priests keep 'em in ignorance on purpose, and they don't know nothin'.' " He cracked and bragged considerable, and as wc progressed we came to Montagon Bridge. The moment pony sot foot on it, he stopped short, pricked up the latter eends of his ears, snorted, squeeled and refused to budge an inch. The Elder got mad. He first coaxed and patted, and soft sawdered him, and then whipt and spurred, and thrashed him like any thing. Pony got mad too, for hosses has tempers as well as Elders j so he turned to, and kicked right straight up on eend, like Old Scratch, and kept on without sloppin' till he sent the Elder right slap over his head slantendicularly, on the broad of his back into the river, and he floated down thro' the bridge and scrambled out at t'other side. " 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 boots went squish, squash, like an old woman churnin' butter; and his wet trowsers chafed with a noise like a wet flappin' sail. He was a shew, and when he got up to his 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 lon- ger, but laid back and larfed till I thought on my soul Fd fall off into the river too. " ' Elder,' says I, ' I thought when a man jined your sect, * he could never " fall off agin,^' but I see you ain't no safer than other folks arter all.' 278 THE ATTACHE. " ' Come,' says he, ' let me be, that's a good soul, it's bad enough, without beinr, larfed at, that's a fact. I can't account for this caper, no how.' " * It's very sti*ange 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 warnU agoin' for (o let on to him about it. I wanted to see the sport. Well, he took bis boss by the bridle and led him over the bridge, and he follered kindly, then he mounted, and no boss could go better. Arler a little, we came to another bridge agin, and the same play wasacted anew, same coaxin', same threatenin', and same thrash in' •, 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, ' jou must lam 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 5 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 .V THE ATTACHE. 279 home, and cut 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 pnhlic-house on the bay, and I galloped up to the door, and went as close as I cleverly could on purpose, and then reined up short and sudden, when whap goes the pony right gin 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 !' sals he, and he cut himself with the broken glass quite ridikilous. (( t-why,' sais Everett, ' as I am a livin* sinner this is <' the Grave-digger," he'll kill you, man, as sure as you are born, he is the wickedest boss that ever was seen in these clearins here ; and he is as blind as a bat too. No man in Nova Scotia can manage that boss but Goodish Greevoy, and he'd manage the devil that feller, for h'* 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 afterwards * 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 sqninchedhis face properly ; and 280 THE ATTACH K. said the glass in his hands hurt him. Well, artcr wc sot all to rights, wo 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 was ! His new hat was smashed down like a cap on the crown of his head, his white cravat was bloody, his face all scratched, as if he had been clapper-clawed by a woman, and his hands was bound up with rags, where the glass cut 'em. The white sand of the floor or Everett's parlour had stuck to his damp clothes, and he looked like an old half corned miller, that was a returnin' to his wife, arter a spree. A leetle crest fallen for what he had got, a leetle mean for the way he looked, and a leetle skeered for what he'd catch, when he got to home. The way he sloped warn't no matter. He was a pictur, and a pictur I must say^ I '.iked to look at. " And now, Squire, do you lake him o(T too, ingrave him, and bind him up in your book, and let others look at it, and put ondcr it ^t/ie Elder and the Grave-dif/- fjcr: " " Well, when wo got to town, the tide was high, and the vessel jist ready to cast ofl*-, and Steve, knowin' how skeer'd pony was of the water, got off to lead him, but the critter guessed it \yarn'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 THK ATTACHK. 281 back agin with his heels, and it was a drawd fight. Then they goes to the fence and gets a great strong pole, and puts it across his hams, two men at each eend of the pole, and shoved away, and shoved away, till they progressed a yard or so ; when pony squatted right down on the pole, throwd over the men, and most broke their legs, with his weight. " At last, the captain fetched a rope, and fixes it round his neck, with a slip knot, fastens it to the windlas, 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 I sot down on the wharf, for it was a beautiful day, and looked at them driftin' out in the stream, and hystin' sail, while the folks was gettin* some- thin' ready for us to the inn. *• When they had got out into the middle of the chan- nel, took the breeze, and was all under way, and we was about turnin' (o go back, I saw the pony loose, he had slipped his bridle, and not likin' the motion of the vessel, he jist walked overboard, head fust, with a most a beau- tiful splunge. " ' y^ 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 I done to be jobed, that way? Didn't I keep within the strict line o' truth? Did I tell that Frenchman one mossel of a lie? Answer me that, will you? I've been cheated awful ; but I scorn to take the advantage of any iiian. You had better look to your own dealin's, 282 THE ATTACHE. and let me alone, you pedlin, cheatin' Yankee clock- maker you.' *' * Elder,' sais I, " if you warn't too mean to rile a man, I'd give you a kick on your pillion, that would send you a divin' arter your lioss ; 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 s waller 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 aint •, you are angry wilh 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- freshin' time,'' and ** outpourin' of spirit*' and ** ma- kin' profession " and what not 5 and you know you showd yourself an everlaslin* rogue, a meditatin' of cheatin' that Frenchman all summer. It's biter bit, and I don't pity you one mossel ; it sarves you right. But look at the grave-digger •, he looks to me as if he was a diggin' of his own grave in rael right down airnest.' '' 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 tho 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 hisknowin' 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 THE ATTACHE. 283 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 j but there was nothin' for the fore feet to rest on nother ; so he made a summerset, and as he went over, he gave out a great long end wise kick to the full stretch of his hind legs. " Poor feller ! it was the last kick he ever gave in this world ,- he sent his heels straight up on eend, like a pair of kitchen tongs, and the last I see of him was a bright dazzle, as the sun shined on his iron shoes, afore the water closed over him forever. ** I railly felt sorry for the poor old * grave-digger,' I did upon my soul, for bosses and ladies are two things, that a body can't help likin*. Indeed^ a feller that hante no taste that way ain't a man at all, in my opinion. Yes, I felt ugly for poor '* grave-digger," though I didn't feel one single bit so for that cantin' cheatin', old Elder. So when T turns to go, saisi, *Elder,' saisi, and I jist re- peated his own words — ' I guess it's your turn to laugh now, for you have got the best of the bargain, and no mistake. Goodish and the old mare are jist alike, all tongue, ain't they? But these French is a simple people, so they be, they don't know nothin', that's a fact Their priests keep 'em in ignorance a puppus. " 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.' " " 284 THE ATTACHE. 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 not be able to de- tain 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, know- ing 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 no- thin', I make him vexed, and^that excites him, stirs him up with a pot stick, and is of great sarvice to him. I don't mean actilly makin' him wrathy in airnest, but jist rilin of him for his own good, by pokin' a mistake at him. I'll shew you, presently, how I do it." As soon as Mr. Hopewell rejoined us, he began to inquire into the probable duration of our visit to this THE ATTACIIK. 285 country, and expressed a wish to return, as soon us pos- sible, to Slickville. " Come, Minister," said Mr. Slick, tapping him on the shoulder, " us father used to say, we must *■ right about face' now. When we are at home let us think of home, when we are here, let us think of this place. Let us look a-head, don't let's look back, for wc 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 of- tener than we do. From the errors of the past, we might rectify our course for the future. Prospective sin is often clothed in very alluring garments*, past sin appears in all its naked deformity. Looking back, therefore — " "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 call that a funny story, Sir?" "I do. Sir." "You do. 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 liave lived to see the day when you, my son, would dare to speak of a Divine judgment as a funny story, and that you should presume so to address me." " A judgment. Sir?" " Yes, a judgment, Sir." 286 THE ATTACHE. ** Do you call llio slory of Lot's wife a judgment?" " Yos, I do call the stury of Lot's wife a judgment^ a monument of the Divine wrath for the sin of disobe- dience." " What! Mrs. Happy Lot? Do you call her a moru- ment of wrath? Weil, well, if that don't beat all. Minis- ter. If you had a been a-tyio' of the night-cap last night 1 shouldn't a wondered at your talkin' at that pace. But to cull that dear Uttle woman, Mrs. Happy Lot, that dancin', laughin' tormentin', little critter, a monument of wralh, beats all to immortal smash." " Why who are you a-talkin' of, Sam?" " Why, Mrs. Happy Lot, the wife of the Honourable Cranbery Lot, of Umbagog, to bo sure. Who did you think I was a-talkin' of?" " Well, 1 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 \ 1 did you injustice. Give me your hand, my boy. It's better for me to mistake and apo- logize, than for you to sin and repent. I don't think I ever heard «f Mr. Lot, of Umbagog, or of his wi*"" either. Sil down here, and tell me the story, for * with thee con- versing, I forget all time.' " " Well, Minister," said Mr. Slick, '^I'll tell you the ins and outs of it ; and a droll story it is too. Miss Lot was the darter of Enoch Mosher, the rich miser of Goshen ; as beautiful a little critter too, as ever stept in shoe-leather. She looked fOT all the world like one of the Paris fashion prints, for she was a parfect piclur', that's a fact. Her complexion was made of white and red roses, mixed so beautiful, you couldn't tell where the THE ATTACHE. 287 white eended, or the red hegun, iialur' had used the blendin' brush so delicate. Her eyes were screw auyurs, 1 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 nolhin' 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 ^ and when she hated, she hated about the wickedest you ever see. Her lips were like heart cherries of the carnation kind; so plump, and full, and hard, you felt as if you could ^dM io and eat *em right up. Hei voice was Hke a g-^nd piany, all sorts o' power in it; canary- birds' notes at one eend, and thunder at t'other, accord in* to the humour she was in, for she was a'most a grand bit of stufl'was Happy, she'd put an edge on a knife a most. She was a rael steel. Her figur' was as light as a fairy's, and her waist was so taper and tiny, it seemed jist made for puttin' an arm round in walkin'. She was as active and springy on her feet as a catamount, and near about as touch me-Qot a sort of customer too. She actiliy did seem as if she was made out of steel springs and chicken- hawk. If old Cran. was to sHp off the handle, I think I should make up to hcfr, for she is ' a salt/ that's a fact, a most a heavenly splice. " Well, the Honourable Cranbery Lot put in for her, won her, aud married her. A good speculation it turned out too, for he got the matter of one hundred thousand of dollars by her, if he got a cent. As soon as they were fairly welded, off they sot to take the tour of Europe, and they larfed and cried, and kissed and quarrelled, and •288 THE 4TTACHji:. fit and made up all over Ihe Continent, for her temper was as onsartain as the climate here— rain one minit and sun the next j but more rain nor sun. *' He was a fool, was Cranbery. He didn't know how to manage her. His bridle hand warn't good, I tell you. A spry, mettlesome boss, and a dull critter with no action, don't mate well in harness, that's a fact. ** After goin' every where, and every where else amost, where should they get to but the Alps. One arternoon, a sincerely cold one it was too, and the weather, violent slippy, dark overtook them before they reached the top of one of the highest and steepest of them mountains, and they had to spend the night at a poor squatter's shanty. " Well, next niornin', jist at day-break, and sun-rise on them everlaslin' 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 otf quite. Well, she was an cnterprisin' 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 pur- pose; go she would, and 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 statr, marm,' sais he; (a sort of walkin'-stick with a spike to the eend of it), ' for you can't get either THE ATTACHE. 289 up or down them slopes without it, it is so almighty slippy there.' So she took the staflf, 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 5 and jist as she hove-to, up went her little heels, and away went her stick, right over a big parpendicular cliff, hundreds and hundreds, and thousands of feet deep. So deep, you couldn't see the bottom for the shadows, for the very snow looked black down there. There is no way in, it is so steep, but over the cliff-, and no way out, but one, and that leads to t'other world. I can't describe it to you, though I have see'd it since myself. There are some things too big to lift ; some loo big to carry after they be lifted j and some too grand for the tongue to describe too. There's a notch where dictionary can't go no farther, as well as every other created thing, that's a fact. P'rhaps if I was to say it looked like the mould that that 'are very peak was cast in, afore it was cold and stiff, and sot up on eend, I should come as near the mark as any thing I know on. " 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 never gave nothin' up, till she couldn't hold on no longer. She was one 0' them critters that go to bed mistress, and rise master ; and just as she got to the edge 49 290 THE ATTACHE. of the precipice, her head hangin' over, and her eyes lookiii' down, and she all but ready to shoot out ^nd launch away into ^otlomless space, the ten command- ments brought her right short up. Oh, she sais, the sudden joy of that sudden stop swelled her heart so big, she thought it would have bust like a byler -, and, as it lYas, the great endurin' long breath she drew, arter such an alfired escape, almost killed her at the ebb, it hurt her so." ^' But," said Mr. Hopewell, "how did the ten eom^ mandments save her ? Do you mean that figuratively, or literally. Was it her reliance on providence, arising from a conscious observance of the decalogue all her life, or was it a book containing them, that caught against some thing, and stopt her descent. It is very interesting. Many a person, Sam, has been saved when at the brink of destruction, by laying fast hold on the bible. Who ean doubt, that the commandments had a Divine origin? Short, simple and yet comprehensive *, the first four point to our duty to our Maker, the last six, towards our sor cial duties. In this respect there is a great similarity of structure, to that excellent prayer given us— ^" "Oh, Minister," said Mr. Slick, " I beg your pardon, I do, indeed, I don't mean that at ajl; and I do decIar/9 and vow now, I wasn't a playin' possum with you, na- ther. I won't do it no more, I won't, indeed." *' Well, what did you mean then?" " Why I meant her ten fingers, to be sure. When a woman clapper claws her husband, we have a cant tarm with us boys of Slickvitle, sayin' she gave him her tisn oommandments." a \n THE ATTACHK. 291 "And a very improper expression loo, Sir," suid Mr. Hopewell i "a very irreverent, indecent, and I may say profane expression j I am quite shocked. But as you didn't mean it, are sorry for it, and will not repeat it again, I accept your apology, and rely on your promise. Go on. Sir." " Well, as I was a sayin', the moment she found her- self a coasting of it that way, flounder fashion, she hung on by her ten com — I mean her ten fmgers, and her t^i toes, like grim death to a dead nigger, and it brought her up jist in time. But how to get back was the question ? To let go the hold of any one hand was sartain death, and there was nobody to help her, and yet to hold on long that way, she couldn't, no how she could fix it. "So what does she do, (for nothin' equals a woman for contrivances), but move one finger at a time, and then one toe at a time, till she gets a new hold, and then crawls backward, like a span worm, an inch at a hitch. Well, she works her passage this way, wrong eend fore- most, by backin' of her paddles for the matter of half an hour or so, till she gets to where it was roughish, and somethin' like standin' ground, when who should come by but a tall handsome man, with a sort of a half coat, half cloak-like coverin' on, fastened round the waist with a belt, and bavin' a hood up, to ambush the head. "The moment she clapteyes on him, she called to him for help. * Oh,' sais she> ' for heaven's sake, good man, help me up ! Jist take hold of my leg and draw me back, will you, that's a good soul.' And then she held up fust one leg for him, and then the other, most beseechin', •a 292 THE ATTACHE. but nothin' would move him. He jist slopl, looked back for a moment and then progressed agin. " Well, it ryled her considerable. Her eyes actilly snapped with fire, like a hemlock log at Christmas : (for nothin' makes a woman so mad as a parsonal slight, and them little ankles of hern were enough to move the heart of a stone, and make it jump out o' the ground, that's a fact, they were such finespun glass ones), it made her so mad, it gave her fresh strength j and makin' two or three onnateral efforts, she got clear back to the path, and sprung right up on eend, as wicked as a she-bear with a sore head. But when she got upright agin, she then see'd what a beautiful frizzle of a fix she was in. She couldn't hope to climb far^ and, indeed, she didn't ambi- tion to ; she'd had enough of that, for one spell. But ciimbin' up was ..othin', compared to goin' down hill without her stafT^ so what to do, she didn't know. "At last, a thought struck her. She intarmined to make that man help her, in spite of him. So she sprung forward for a space, like a painter, for life or death, and caught right hold of his cloak. ' Help — help me ! ' said she, ' or I shall go for it, that's sartain. Here's my puss, my rings, my watch, and all I have got ; but oh, help me! for the love of God, help me, or my flint is fixed for good and all.' *^\Vilh that, the man turned round, and took one glance at her, as if he kinder relented, and then, all at once, wheeled back again, as amazed as if he was jist born, gave an awful yell, and started off as fast as ho could clip, though that warn't very tall runnin' nother, THE ATTACHE. 293 considerin' the ; ound. Kut she warn't to be shook off that way. She held fast to his cloak, like a burr to a sheep's tail, and raced arter him, screamin' and scree- chin' like mad ; and the more she cried, the louder he yelled, till the mountains all echoed it and re-echoed it, so that you would have thought a thousand devils had broke loose, a'most. l! : I Sach a gcttin' up stairs you never did see. " Well, they kept up this tantrum for the space of two or three hundred yards, when they came to a small, low, dismal-Iookin' house, when the man gave the door a kick, (hat sent the latch a flyin' off to the t'other eend of the room, and fell right in on the floor, on his face, as flat as a flounder, a groanin' and a moanin' like any thing, and lookin' as mean as a critter that was sent for, and couldn't come, and as obstinate as a pine stump. '* ' What ails you?' sais she, ' to act like Old Scratch that way? You ought to be ashamed of yourself, to behave so to a woman. What on airth is there about me to frighten you so, you great onmannerly, onmarciful, coward, you. Come, scratch up, this minute.' " Well, tl ' '^'iiv) she talked, the more he groaned; but the devil « word, good or bad, could she get out of of him at all. With, that she stoops down, and catches up his staff, and says she, ' I have as great a mind to give you a jab with this here toothpick, where your mother used to spank you, as ever I had in all my life. But if you want it, my old 'coon, you must come and get it •, for if you won't help nie, I shall help myself.' 194 THE ATTACHE. '' Jist at that moment, her eyes being better accus- tomed to the dim light of the place, she see'd a man, a sit- tin' at the fur eend of the room, with his back to the wall, larfm' ready to kill himself. He grinned so, he showed his cornkcrack-ers from ear to ear. She said, he stript his teeth like a catamount^ he look'd so all mouth. *' Well, that encouraged her, for there ain't much harm in a larfin' man ; it's only them that never larf that's fear- fulsome. So sais she ' My good man, will you be so kind as to lend me your arm down this awful peak, and I will reward you handsomely, you may depend.' " Well, he made no answer, nother •, and thinkin' he didn't onderstand English, she tried him in Italian, and then in broken French, and then bungled out a little German \ but no, still no answer. He took no more no- tice of her and her mister, end senior, and mountsheer, and mynheer, than if he never heerd them titles, but jist larfed on. '* She stopped a minit, and looked at him full in the face, to see what he meant by all this ongentoel behaviour, when all of a sudden, jist as she moved one step nearer to him, she saw he was a dead man, and had been so long there, part of the flesh had dropt off or dried ofi" his face ; and it was that that made him grin that way, like a fox- trap. It was the bone house they was in. The place where poor, benighted, snow-squalled stragglers, that perish on the mountains, are located, for their friends to come and get them, if they want 'em ; and if there ain't any body that knows 'em or cares for 'em, why they are left there for ever, to dry into nothin' but parciimenl and atomy, as it's no joko diggin' a grave in thai frozen region. THE ATTACHE. 895 Aft ftdoti as she see*d this, she never Said another blessed word, but jist walked off with the lifin* man'^ pike, and began to poke her way down the mountain as careful as she cleverly could, dreadful tired, and awful frighted. *' Well, she hadn't gone far, afore she heard her natne echoed all round her-^Happy! Happy! Happy! It seemed from the echoes agin, its if there was a hundred people a yelling it out all at once. " Ohi Very happy,' said she,' very happy, indedd ; guess you'd And it so if you was here. I know I should feel very happy if I was out of it, that's all -, for I believe, on my soul, this is harnted ground^ and the people in it are possessed. Ob, if I was only to home, to dear Umbagog agin^ no soul should ever ketch me in this outlandish place Any more, /know.' " Well, the sound inci'easdd and increased so, liko young thuhder, she Was e'en a'most skeared to death, flhd in k twitteration all over, and kneeS began to shake SO, she expected to go for it every nlinute *, when a sudden tui'U of the path show'd her husband and the poor squatter a sarchin' for her. ** She was so overcome with fright ahd joy, she could hardly speak—and it warn't a trifle that would toggle her tongue, that's a fact. It was some time after she arrived at the house afore she could up and tell the story onder- standable ; and when she did, she had to tell it twide over, first in short hand, and then in long metre, afore she could make out the whole bill o' parcels. Indeed, she hahte done tellin'ityet, and wherever she is, she works round, and works round till she gets Europe spoke of, and then 296 THE ATTACHE. she begins, ' That reminds me of a most remarkable fact. Jist after I was married to Mr. Lot, we was to the Alps.' ** If ever you see her, and she begins that way, up hat and cut stick, doable quick, or you'll find the road over the Alps to Umbagog, a little the longest you've ever tra- velled, I know. " Well, she had no sooner done than Cranbery jumps up on eend, and sais he to the guide, * Uncle,' sais he, jist come along with me, that's a good feller, will you ? We must return that good Samaritan's cane to him ; and as he must be considerable cold thx.re, I'll jist warm his bide a bit for him, to make his blood sarculate. If he thinks I'll put that treatment to my wife, Miss Lot, into my pocket, and walk ofT with it, he's mistaken in the child, that's all. Sir. He may be stubbeder than I be. Uncle, that's a fact ^ but if he was twice as stubbed, I'd walk into him like a thousand of bricks. I'll give him a taste of my breed. Insultin' a lady is a weed we don't suffer to grow in our fields to Umbagog. Let him be who the devil he will, log-leg or leather-breeches— -green- shirt or blanket-coat— land-trotter or river-roller, I'll let him know there is a warrant out arter him, I know." " ' Why,' sais the guide, ' he couldn't help himself, no how he could work it. He is a friar^ or a monk, or a her- mit, or a pilgrim, or somethin' or another of that kind, for there is no eend to them, they are so many different sorts ^ but the breed he is of, have a vow never to look at a woman, or talk to a woman, or touch a woman, and if they do, there is a penance, as long as into the middle of next week.' " ' Not look at a woman ?' sais Cran, * why, what sort wmmimmimmmmimmimmmm TZ THE ATTACIIK. 297 of a guess world would this be without pettic6at8?^what a superfine superior tarnation fool he must be, to jine such a tee-total society as that. Mint julip I could give up, I do suppose, though I had a plaguy sight sooner not do it, that's a fact : but as for womankind, why theangeli- ferous little torments, there is no livin* without them: What do you think, stranger?' " 'Sarlainly,' said Squatter ; 'but seein* that the man had a vow, why it warn't his fault, for he couldn't do nothin' else. Where he did wrong, was to look back ,• if he hadn't a looked back, he wouldn't have sinned.' " * Well, well,' sais Cran, ' if that's the case, it is a boss of another colour, that. 1 won't lookback nother, then. Let him be. But he is erroneous considerable.' "So you see, Minister," said Mr. Slick, " where, there, is nothin' to be gained , and harm done, by this retrospec- tion, as you call it, why I think lookin' a-head is far belter ihm—lookin' back.'' 298 Tite ATTACH^. CHAPTER XXIX. CROSSING THK BORDER. The time had now ilrrived tvhen it was necessary for me (0 go to Scotland^ for a few days. I had two yery powerful reasons for this excursion: — first, because ati old and valued friend of mine was there, whom I had not met for many years, and whom I could not think of leaT- jng this country without seeing again ; and secondly^ because I was desirous Of visiting the residence of my forefathers on the Tweed, which, although it had passed out of their possession many years agOj was still endeared to me as their home, as the scene of the family traditions ; and above all, as their burial place. The grave is the first stage on the journey, from this to the other world. We are permitted to escort our friends so far, and no further; it is there we part for ever. It is there the human form is deposited, when mortality is changed for immortality. This burial place contains no one that I have ever seen or known •, but it contains the remains of those from whom I derived my lineage and my name. I therefore naturally desired to see it. Having communicated my intention to my two Ameri- can companions, I was very much struck with the differ- ent manner in which they received the announcement. "■ Come back soon, Squire," said Mr. Slick ; " go and JLUi THE ATTACHE. i99 sec your old friend^ if you must, and go to the old campin' grounds of your folks j though the wigWam I expect has gone long ago, but don't look at anythin' else. I want yte should visit the country together. I have an idea from what little I have seed of it, Scotland is over-rated. I guess there is a good deal of romance about their old times \ and that, if we knowed all* their old lairds warn't much belter, or much richer than our Ingian chiefs ^ much of a muchness. Kinder sorter so, and kinder sor- ter not so, no great odds. Both hardy, both flerce^ both as poor as Job's Turkey, and both tarnation proud, at least, that's my idea to a notch. " I have often axed myself what sort of a gall that slenderiferous, 'Lady of the Lake' of Scott's was, and I kinder guess she was a red-headed Scotch heifer, with her hair filled with heather^ and feather, and lint, with no shoes and stockings to her feet, and that " Her lips apart Like monument of Grecian art" meant that she stared with her eyes and mouth wide open like other county galls that never see'd nothing before— a regilar screelch owl in petticoats. And I suspicion, that Mr. Rob Roy was a sort of thievin' devil of a white Mo- hawk, that found it easier to steal cattle, than raise them himself; and that Loch Katrin, that they make such a touss about, is jist about equal to a good sizeable duck pond in our country ; atleast, that'smy idea. Fori tell you it does not do to follow arter a poet, and take all he says for gospel. 300 THE ATTACHE. ** Yes, let's go and see Sawney in his '* Ould Reeky.'" Airth and seas ! if I have any nose at all, there never was a place so well named as that. Phew ! let me light a cigar to get rid of the fogo of it. " Then let's cross over and see " Pat at Home^" let's look into matters and things there, and see what " Big Dan" is about, with his " association" and " agitation'* and " repail" and " teetotals. '* Let's see whether it's John Bull or Patlander that's to blame, or both on 'em \ six of one and half-a-dozen of tother. By Gosh ! Minister would talk more sense in one day to Ireland, than has been talked there since the rebellion ; for common sense is a word that don't grow like Jacob's ladder, in them diggins, I guess. It's about as stunted as Gineral Nichodemus Ott's corn was. *' The Gineral was takin' a ride with a southerner one day over his farm to Bangor in Maine, to see his crops, fixin mill privileges and what not, and the southerner was a turning up his nose at every thing amost, proper scor- ney, and braggin' how things growed on his estate down south. At last the Gineral's ebenezer began to rise, and he got as mad as a hatter, and was intarmed to take a rise out of him. " ' So,* says he, 'stranger,' says he, 'you talk about your Indgian corn, as if nobody else raised any but your- self. Now I'll bet you a thousand dollars, 1 have corn that's growd so wonderful, you can't reach the top of it a standin' on your horse. ' Done,' sais Southener, and ' Done,' sais the General, and done it was. " * Now,' sais the Giniral, ' stand up on your saddle zlZ THE ATTACHE. 301 like a circus rider, for the field is round that corner of the wood there.' And the entire stranger stood up as stiff as a poker. ' Tall corn, I guess,' sais he, ' if I can't reach it, any how, for I can e'en a'most reach the top o' them trees. I think I feel them thousand dollars of y )urn, a marchin' quick step into my pocket, four deep. Reach your corn, to he sure I will. Who the plague, ever see'd corn so tall, that a man couldn't reach it a horseback.' " * Try it,' sais the Gineral, as he led him into the field, where the corn was only a foot high, the land was so monstrous mean, and so beggarly poor. " ' Reach it,' sais the Gineral. ^' ' What a damned Yankee trick,' sais the Southener. ' What a take in this is, ain't it?' and he leapt, and hopt, and jumped like a snappin' turtle, he was so mad. Yes, common sense to Ireland, is like Indgian corn to Bangor, it ain't overly tall giowin', that's a fact. We must see both these countries together. It is like the nigger's pig to the West Indies " little and dam old." " Oh, come back soon. Squire, I have a thousand things, I want to tell you, and I shall forget one half o' them, if you don't ; and besides," said he in an onder tone, "/ic," (nodding his head towards Mr. Hopewell,) *'w'ill miss you shockingly. He frets horridly about his flock. He says, "Mancipation and Temperance have superseded the Scriptures in the States. That formerly they preached religion there, but now they only preach iibout niggers and rum.' Good bye, Squire." " You do right. Squire," said Mr. Hopewell, " to go. That which has to be done, should be done soon, for we have not always the command of our time. See your 302 THE ATTACHE. friend, for the claims of friendship are sacred; and see your family tomb-stones also, for the sight of Ihem will awaken a train of reflections in a mind like yours, at once melancholy and elevating ^ but I will not deprive you of the pleasure you will derive from first impressions, by stripping them of their novelty. You will be pleased with the Scotch ■, they are a frugal, industrious, moral and in- tellectual people. I should like to see their agriculture, I am told it is by far the best in Europe. '' Squire, I shall hope to see you soon, for I sometimes think duty calls my home again. Although me little Rock has chosen other shepherds and quitted my fold, some of them may have seen their error, and wish to return. And ought I not to be there to receive them ? It is true, I am no longer a labourer in the vineyard, but my heart is there. I should like to walk round and round the wall that encloses it, and climb up, and look into it, and talk to them that are at work there. I might give some advice that would be valuable to them. The blossoms require shelter, and the fruit requires heat, and the roots need covering in winter. The vine too is Iu:(unant, and must be pruned, or it will pro^UOe nothing but wood. It demands constant care an4 ponstant labour*, I had de- corated the little place with flowers too, to make it attractive and pleasant. " But, ah me ! dissent will pull all these up like weeds, and throw them out; and scepticism will raise nothing but gaudy annuals. The perennials will not flourish with- out cultivating and enriching the ground ; their roots are in the heart. The religion of our Church, which is the same as this of England, is a religion which inculcates J^ THE ATTACHE. .303 love : Ulial love towards God ; paternal love to those com- mitted to our care^ brotherly love, to our neighbour, nay, something more than is known by that term in its com- mon acceptation, for we are instructed to love our neigh- bour as ourselves. *' We are directed to commence our prayer with " Our Father." How much of love, of tenderness, of forbear- ance, of kindness, of liberality, is embodied in that word —children of the same father, members of the same great human family ! Lc;e is the bond of union— love dwelleth in the hearty and the heart must be cultivated, that the seeds of affection may germinate in it. '' Dissent is cold and sour ; it never appeals to the affections, but it scatters denunciations, and rules by terror. Scepticism is proud and self-sufiicient. It refuses to believe in mysteries and deals in rhetoric and sophistry, and flatters the vanity, by exalting hupfian reason. My poor lost flock will see the change, and I fear, feel it too. Besides, absence is a temporary death. Now I am gone from them, they will forget my frailties and inflrmities, and dwell on what little good might have been in me, and, perhaps, yearn towards me. ^' If I was to return, perhaps I could (nr^ke an impres- sion on the minds of some, and recall two or three, if not more, to a sense of duty. What a great thing that would be, wouldn't it? Ani if I did, I would get our bishop to send me a pious, zealous, humble-minded, affectionate, able young man, as a successor; and I would leave my farm, and orchard, and little matters, as a glebe for the Church. And who knows but the Lor4 may yet rescue 304 THE ATTACHE. Slickvilie from Iho inroads of ignorant fanatics, political dissenters, and wicked infidels ? " And besides, my good friend, I have much to say to you, relative to the present condition and future pros- pects of this great country. 1 have lived to see a few ambitious lawyers, restless demagogues, political preach- ers, and unemployed local ofllcers of provincial regi- ments, agitate and sever thirteen colonies at one time from the government of England. I have witnessed the struggle. It was a fearful, a bloody and an unnatural one. My opinions, therefore, are strong in proportion as my experience is great. I have abstained on account of their appearing like preconceptions from saying much to you yet, for I want to see more of this country, and to be certain, that I am quite right before I speak. " When you return, I will give you my views on some of the great questions of the day. Don't adopt them, hear them and compare them with your own. 1 would have - you think for yourself, for I am an old man now and sometimes I distruts my powers of mind. "The state of this country you, in your situation , ought to be thoroughly acquainted with. It is a very perilous one. Its prosperity, its integrity, nay its exis- tence as a first-rate power, hangs by a thread, and that thread but little better and stronger than a cotton one. Quern Deus vult perdere prius demenlat. I look in vain for that constitutional vigour, and intellectual pow- er, which once ruled the destinies of this great nation. " There is an aberration of intellect, and a want of self-possession here that alarm me. I say, alarms me, for American as I am by birth, and republican as I am from THE ATTACHE. 305 the force of circomstances, I cannot but regard England with great interest, and with great affection. What a beautiful country ! What a noble constitution ! What a high-minded, intelligent, and generous people! When the Whigs oamc into ofiice, the Tories were not a parly, they were the people of England. Where and what are they now? Will they ever have a lucid interval, or again recognise the sound of their own name? And yet, Sam, doubtful as the prospect of their recovery is, and fearful as the consequences of a continuance of their malady appear to be, one thing is most certain, a Tory govern- ment is the proper government for a monarchy, a suitable one for any country, but it is the only one for England. I do not mean an ultra one, for I am a moderate man, and all extremes are equally to be avoid- ed. I mean a temperate, but firm one : steady to its friends, just to its enemies, and inflexible to all. When compelled to yield, it should be by the force of reason, and never by the power of agitation. Its measures should he actuated by a sense of what is right, and not what is expedient, for to concede is to recede — to recede is to evince weakness — and to betray weakness is to invite attack. •' I am a stranger here. I do not understand this new word, Conservatism. 1 comprehend the other two, To- ryism and Liberalism. The one is a monarchical, and the other a republican word. The term. Conserva- tism, I suppose, designates a party formed out of the moderate men of both sides, or rather, composed of Low-toned Tories and High Whigs. I do not like to express a decided opinion yet, but my first impression is 306 THE ATTACHE. always adverse to mixtures, for a mixture renders im- pure the elements of which it is compounded. Every thing will depend on the preponderance of the whole- some over the deleterious ingredients. I will analyse it carefully. See how one neutralizes or improves the other, and what the effect of the compound is likely to be on the constitution. I will request our Ambassador, Eve- rett, or Sam's friend, the Minister Extraordinary, Abed- pego Layman, to introduce me to Sir Robert Peel, and will endeavour to obtain all possible information from the best possible source. " On yourreturn I will give you a candid and deliberate opinion." After a silence of some minutes, during which he walked up and down the room in a fit of abstraction, ho suddenly paused, and said, as if thinking aloud — *' Hem, hem — ^so you are going to cross the border, eh? That northern intellect is strong. Able men the Scotch, a little too radical in politics, and a little too liberal, as it is called, in a matter of much greater conse- quence *, but a superior people, on the whole. They will give you a warm reception, will the Scotch. Your name will insure that ; and they are clannish ; and another warm reception will, I assure you, await you here, when, returning, you again Cross the Border. iisiiaia^sssff ^■nwwii" • 1 1 11 PW^P^^piV^^HH^ViqHipHqBiHiapiwq^^qHI ■^fwp THE ATTACH K. 307 CHAPTER XXX. THE IRISH PREFACK. Gentle Reader, If an Irishman were asked what a preface was, he would, without hesitation reply, that it was the last chapter of a book, and we should unquestionably pronounce that answer to be a bull ; for how can prefatory remarks be valedictory ones? A few moments' consideration, how- ever, would induce us to withdraw such a hasty opinion, and convince us that his idea is, after all, a correct one! It is almost always the part that is last written, and we perpetrate Uie bull, by placing it at the beginning instead of the end of the book, and denominating our parting words introductory remarks. The result of our arrangement is, that nobody reads it. The public do not want to hear an apology or explanation, until it first ascertains, whether the one can be accepted or the other is required. This contemptuous neglect arises from two causes, first because it is out of plaoe, and secondly because it too often contains a great deal of twaddle. Unfortunately, one half of what is said in this world is unmeaning compliment. A man who wishes to mark his respect for you, among other inconvenient methods of shewing it, offers to accompany you to the I 3(W TIIR ATTACHE. Hall. You are in consequence arrested in your progress. You are compelled to turn on your pursuer, and entreat him not to come to the door. After a good deal of lost time he is prevailed upon to return. This is not fair. Every man should be suffered to depart in peace. Now, it is my intention to adopt the Irish dcflnition- The word preface is a misnomer. What I have to say I shall put into my last chapter, and assign to it its proper place. I shall also adopt another improvement, on the usual practice. I shall make it as short as possible, and speak to the point. My intention then, gentle reader, was when 1 com- menced this work, to write but one volume, and at some future time to publish a second. The materials, however, were so abundant, that selection became very diflficult, and compression miich more so. To touch asmany topics as I designed, I was compelled to extend it to its present size, and I still feel that the work is only half done. Whether I shall ever be able to supply this deficiency I cannot say. I do not doubt your kind reception •, I have experienced too much indulgence and favour at your hands, to suppose that you will withdraw it from one whom you have honoured with repeated marks of appro- bation ^ but 1 entertain some fears that 1 shall not be able to obtain the time that is necessary for its comple- tion, and that if I can command the leisure, my health viil insist on a prior claim to its disposal. Ifj however, I shall be enabled so to do, it is my inten- tion, hereafter to add another series of the Sayings and Douigs of the Attache, so as to make the work as com- plete as possible. THE ATTACHK. 309 I am quite confident it is not necessary to add, that the sentiments uttered by Mr. Slick, are not designed either as an expression of those of the author, or of the Ameri- cans who visit this country. With respect to myself no disavowal is necessary ; but I ieel it due to my American friends, for whose kindness I can never be sufHciently grateful, and whose good opinion I value too highly to jeopardise it by any misapprehension, to state distinctly, that I have not the most remote idea of putting Mr. Slick forward, as a representative of any opinions, but his own individual ones. They are peculiar to himself. They naturally result from his shrewdness — knowledge of hu- man nature — quickness of perception and appreciation of the ridiculous on the one hand ; and on the other from his defective education, ignorance of the usages of so- ciety, and sudden elevation, from the lower walks of life, to a station for which he was wholly unqualified. I have endeavoured, as far as it was possible, in a work of this kind, to avoid all personal allusions to private per- sons, or in any way to refer to scenes that may be sup- posed to have such a bearing. Should any one imagine that he can trace any resemblance, to any private occur- rence I can only assure him that such resemblance is quite accidental. On the other hand, I have lost no opportunity of in- culcating what I conceive to be good sound constitutional doctrines. Loyal myself, a great admirer of the monar- chical form of government ; attached to British Institu- tions, and a devoted advocate for the permanent con- nexion between the parent State, and its (ransatlant!.c 310 THE ATTACHE. possessions, I have not hesitated to give utterance tu these opinions. Born a Colonist, it is natural I should have the feelings of one, and if I have obtruded local matters on the notice of the reader oftener than may be thought necessary, it must be remembered that an inhabi- tant of those distant countries has seldom an opportunity of being heard. I should feel, therefore, if I were to pass over in silence our claims or our interests, I was affording the best justification for that neglect, which for the last half century, has cramped our energies, paralyzed our efforts, and discouraged and disheartened ourselves. En- gland is liberal in concessions, and munificent in her pe- cuniary grants to us ; but is so much engrossed with do- mestic politics, that she will bestow upon us neither time nor consideration. It has been my object, therefore, to convey to the public some important truths, under a humorous cover, which, without ^the amusement afforded by the wrapper would never be even looked at. This portion of the work requires no apology. To do as I have done, is a duty incumbent on any person who has the means of doing good, afforded him by such an extensive circulation of his works, as I have been ho- noured with. I have already expressed some doubts whether I shall be enabled to furnish a second series of this work or not. In this uncertainty, I will not omit this, perhaps my only opportunity, of making my most grateful acknowledg- ments, for the very great measure of indulgence I have received, from the public on both sides of the Atlantic, " ■« > ■ " THE ATTACHE. 3^1 and Of expressing a hope that Mr. Slick, who has been so popular as a Clockmaker may prove himself equally deserving of favour as "an Attach^." I have the honour to subscribe myself, Your most obedient servant, The Author. London, July isl, 1843. THE END. U w ippp '^T^^n it "-•f^^jl^mi —•^mmmmi^mmmmi^mi'i^immmmmmm ■■VHH^ CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. Pages. UNCORKING A BOTTLR 3 CHAPTER II. A JUICY DAT IN THR COUNTRY fO CHAPTER III. TYING A NIGHT-CAP J9 CHAPTER IV. IIOMR AND THR SRA. . - 3& CHAPTER V. t'other krnd of the gun , 4 1 CHAPTER VI. SMALL POTATOES AND FEW IN A HILL 61 CHAPTER VII. A GENTLEMAN AT LARGE 53 CHAPTER VIII. SEEING LIVERPOOL 63 CHAPTER IX. CHANGING A NAME 76 CHAPTER X. THE NELSON MONUMENT 85 CHAPTER XI. COTTAGES • . 91 CHAPTER XII. "stealing the HEARTS OF THE PEOPLE." Ill CHAPTER XIII. natur' 125 CHAPTER XIV. THE socdolager ; 132 CHAPTER XV. dining out. . . 141 It 1 3H CONTENTS. CHAPTER XVI. Pages TIIH NOSB or A 8PV . , ' Ihs CHAPTER XVII. THE PATRON; OR, TIIK COW's TAll |(j^ CHAPTER XVIII. ASCOT RACES „ CHAPTER XIX. THR (iANOER PULLINO ,_. 174 CHAPTER X\. Tilt BLACK STOLE .... CHAPTER XXI. THE PRINCE DB JOINVILLB's HORSE ,97 CHAPTER XXII. LIFE IN THE COUNTRY -«_ • . . . . SO7 CHAPTER XXIII. BUNKUM 224 CHAPTER XXIV. THBOWINC THE LAVENDER . . 234 CHAPTER XXV. "AIMING HIGH." 843 CHAPTER XXVI. A SWOI-REE 261 CHAPTER XXVII. tattersall's SCO CHAPTER XXVIII. LOOKING BACK 284 CHAPTER XXIX. HOSSmc THE BORDER CHAPTER XXX. THE IRISH PREFACE END OF THE CONTENTS. 1G9 174 187 197 307 224