Among the first of these, he placed the provision made by the state for the instruction of the poor, by means of an established Church. He said they would doubtless hear this wise and pious deed of their forefathers attacked also by unprincipled men; and falsehood and ridicule would be invoked to aid in the assault; but that he was a witness on its behalf, from the distant wilderness of North America, where the voice of gratitude was raised to England, whose missionaries had planted a church there similar to their own, and had proclaimed the glad tidings of salvation to those who would otherwise have still continued to live without its pale.

He then pourtrayed in a rapid and most masterly manner the sin and the disastrous consequences of rebellion; pointed out the necessity that existed for vigilance and defined their respective duties to God, and to those who, by his permission, were set in authority over them; and concluded with the usual benediction, which, though I had heard it on similar occasions all my life, seemed now more efficacious, more paternal, and more touching than ever, when uttered by him, in his peculiarly patriarchal manner.

The abstract I have just given, I regret to say, cannot convey any adequate idea of this powerful, excellent, and appropriate sermon. It was listened to with intense interest by the congregation, many of whom were affected to tears. In the afternoon we attended church again, when we heard a good, plain, and practical discourse from the rector; but, unfortunately, he had neither the talent, nor the natural eloquence of our friend, and, although it satisfied the judgment, it did not affect, the heart like that of the "Old Minister."

At the door we met, on our return, Mrs. Hodgins. "Ah! my dear," said Mr. Hopewell, "how do you do? I am going to your cottage; but I am an old man now; take my arm—it will support me in my walk."

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 morning. She said it had convinced her William of the sin of the Chartist agitation, and that he had firmly resolved never to meet them again. It had saved him from ruin, and made her a happy woman.

"Glad to hear it has done him good, my dear," said he; "it does me good, too, to hear its effect. Now, never remind him of past errors, never allude to them: make his home cheerful, make it the pleasantest place he can find any where, and he won't want to seek amusement elsewhere, or excitement either; for these seditious meetings intoxicate by their excitement. Oh! I am very glad I have touched him; that I have prevented these seditious men from 'stealing his heart.'"

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 honeysuckles and flowers."

"Wouldn't a pipe be better, Minister?" said Mr. Slick. "For my part, I don't think any thing equal to the flavour of rael good 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 awhile, for they seem as natural to each other, as eating and drinking do."

As soon as these were produced, Mr. Slick and I retired, and requested Mrs. Hodgins to leave the Minister and her husband together for a while, for as Mr. Slick observed, "The old man will talk it into him like a book; for if he was possessed of the spirit of a devil, instead of a Chartist, he is jist the boy to drive it out of him. Let him be awhile, and he'll tame old uncle there, like a cossit sheep; jist see if he don't, that's all."

We then walked up and down the shady lane, smoking our cigars, and Mr. Slick observed, "Well, there is a nation sight of difference, too, ain't there, atween this country church, and a country meetin' house our side of the water; I won't say in your country or my country; but I say our side of the water—and then it won't rile 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 leetle behind the enlightment of the age like, with its queer old fixin's and what not; but still it looks solemcoly' don't it, and the dim light seems as if we warn't expected to be a lookin' about, and as if outer world was shot out, from sight and thort, and it warn't man's house nother.

"I don't know whether it was that dear old man's preachin', and he is a brick ain't he? or, whether it's the place, or the place and him together; but somehow, or somehow else, I feel more serious to-day than common, that's a fact. The people too are all so plain dressed, 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 too. I thought it was some noble, or aid's, or big bug's family; but Mrs. Hodgins says they are the people of the Squire's about here, the butlers and ladies' maids; and superfine uppercrust lookin' folks they be too.

"Then every body walks here, even Squire Merton and his splendiriferous galls walked like the poorest of the poor, there was no carriage to the door, nor no hosses hitched to the gate, or tied to the back of waggons, or people gossipin' outside; but all come in and minded their business, as if it was worth attendin' to; and then arter church was finished off, I liked the way the big folks talked to the little folks, and enquired arter their families. It may he actin', but if it is, it's plaguy good actin', I 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 Britisher. 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 teetotally different they be! bean't they? A great big, handsome wooden house, chock full of winders, painted so white as to put your eyes out, and so full of light within, that inside seems all out-doors, and no tree nor bush, nor nothin' near it but the road fence, with a man to preach in it, that is so strict and straight-laced he will do any thing of a week day, and nothin' of a Sunday. Congregations are rigged out in their spic and span bran new clothes, silks, satins, ribbins, leghorns, palmetters, kiss-me-quicks, and all sorts of rigs, and the men in their long-tail-blues, pig-skin pads calf-skin boots and sheep-skin saddle-cloths. Here they publish a book of fashions, there they publish 'em in meetin'; and instead of a pictur, have the rael naked truth.

"Preacher there don't preach morals, because that's churchy, and he don't like neither the church nor its morals; but he preaches doctrine, which doctrine is, there's no Christians but themselves. Well, the fences outside of the meetin' house, for a quarter of a mile or so, each side of the house, and each side of the road, ain't to be seen for hosses and waggons, and gigs hitched there; poor devils of hosses that have ploughed, or hauled, or harrowed, or logged, or snaked, or somethin' or another all the week, and rest of a Sunday by alterin' their gait, as a man rests on a journey by a alterin' of his sturup, a hole higher or a hole lower. Women that has all their finery on can't walk, and some things is ondecent. It's as ondecent for a woman to be seen walkin' to meetin', as it is to be caught at—what shall I say?—why caught at attendin' to her business to home.

"The women are the fust and the last to meetin'; fine clothes cost sunthin', and if they ain't showed, what's the use of them? The men folk remind me of the hosses to Sable Island. It's a long low sand-bank on Nova Scotia coast, thirty miles long and better is Sable Island, and not much higher than the water. It has awful breakers round it, and picks up a shockin' sight of vessels does that island. Government keeps a super-intender there and twelve men to save wracked people, and there is a herd of three hundred wild hosses kept there for food for saved crews that land there, when provision is short, or for super-intender to catch and break for use, as the case may be.

"Well, if he wants a new hoss, he mounts his folks on his tame hosses, and makes a dash into the herd, and runs a wild feller down, lugs him off to the stable-yard, and breaks him in, in no time. A smart little hoss he is too, but he always has an eye to natur' arterwards; the change is too sudden, and he'll off, if he gets a chance.

"Now that's the case with these country congregations, we know where. The women and old tame men folk are, inside; the young wild boys and ontamed men folk are on the fences, outside a settin' on the top rail, a speculatin' on times or marriages, or markets, or what not, or a walkin' round and studyin' hoss flesh, or a talkin' of a swap to be completed of a Monday, or a leadin' off of two hosses on the sly of the old deacon's, takin' a lick of a half mile on a bye road, right slap a-head, and swearin' the hosses had got loose, and they was just a fetchin' of them back.

"'Whose side-saddle is this?'

"'Slim Sall Dowdie's.'

"'Shift it on to the deacon's beast, and put his on to her'n and tie the two critters together by the tail. This is old Mother Pitcher's waggon; her hoss kicks like a grasshopper. Lengthen the breechin', and when aunty starts, he'll make all fly agin into shavin's, like a plane. Who is that a comin' along full split there a horseback?'

"'It's old Booby's son, Tom. Well, it's the old man's shaft hoss; call out whoh! and he'll stop short, and pitch Tom right over his head on the broad of his back, whap.

"Tim Fish, and Ned Pike, come scale up here with us boys on the fence.' The weight is too great; away goes the fence, and away goes the boys, all flyin'; legs, arms, hats, poles, stakes, withes, and all, with an awful crash and an awful shout; and away goes two or three hosses that have broke their bridles, and off home like wink.

"Out comes Elder Sourcrout. 'Them as won't come in had better stay to home,' sais he. And when he hears that them as are in had better stay in when they be there, he takes the hint and goes back agin. 'Come, boys, let's go to Black Stump Swamp and sarch for honey. We shall be back in time to walk home with the galls from night meetin', by airly candle-light. Let's go.'

"Well, when they want to recruit the stock of tame ones inside meetin', they sarcumvent some o' these wild ones outside; make a dash on 'em, catch 'em, dip 'em, and give 'em a name; for all sects don't always baptise 'em as we do, when children, but let 'em grow up wild in the herd till they are wanted. They have hard work to break 'em in, for they are smart ones, that's a fact, but, like the hosses of Sable Island, they have always an eye to natur' arterwards; the change is too sudden, you can't trust 'em, at least I never see one as I could, that's all.

"Well, when they come out o' meetin', look at the dignity and sanctity, and pride o' humility o' the tame old ones. Read their faces. 'How does the print go?' Why this way, 'I am a sinner, at least I was once, but thank fortin' I ain't like you, you onconverted, benighted, good-for-nothin' critter you.' Read the ontamed one's face, what's the print there? Why it's this. As soon as he sees over-righteous stalk by arter that fashion, it says, 'How good we are, ain't we? Who wet his hay to the lake tother day, on his way to market, and made two tons weigh two tons and a half? You'd better look as if butter wouldn't melt in your mouth, hadn't you, old Sugar-cane?'

"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 for ever 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.

"Sourcrout gig goggles again, as if he was swallerin' shelled corn whole. 'That trick of wettin' the hay,' says he, 'to make it weigh heavy, warn't cleverly done; it ain't pretty to be caught; it's only bunglers do that.'

"'He is so fond of temperance,' says Coldslaugh, 'he wanted to make his hay jine society, and drink cold water, 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 finds coughing no joke no more. Oh dear, dear convarted men, though they won't larf themselves, make others larf the worst kind, sometimes; don't they?

"I do believe, on my soul, if religion was altogether left to the voluntary in this world, it would die a nateral death; not that men wouldn't support it, but because 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 times, when I was an ontamed one too. Yes, I like an English church; but as for Minister pretendin' for to come for to go for to preach agin that beautiful long-haired young rebel, Squire Absalom, for 'stealin' the hearts of the people,' why it's rather takin' the rag off the bush, ain't it?

"Tell you what, Squire; there ain't a man in their whole church here, from Lord Canter Berry that preaches afore the Queen, to Parson Homily that preached afore us, nor never was, nor never will be equal to Old Minister hisself for 'stealin' the hearts of the people.'"



CHAPTER XIII. NATUR'.

In the course of our journey, the conversation turned upon the several series of the "Clockmaker" I had published, and their relative merits. Mr. Slick appeared to think they all owed their popularity mainly to the freshness and originality of character incidental to a new country.

"You are in the wrong pew here, Squire," said he; "you are, upon my soul. If you think to sketch the English in a way any one will stop to look at, you have missed a figur', that's all. You can't do it nohow; you can't fix it. There is no contrasts here, no variation of colours, no light and shade, no nothin'. What sort of a pictur' would straight lines of any thing make? Take a parcel of sodjers, officers and all, and stretch 'em out in a row, and paint 'em, and then engrave 'em, and put it into one of our annuals, and see how folks would larf, and ask, 'What boardin'-school gall did that? Who pulled her up out of standin' corn, and sot her up on eend for an artist? they'd say.

"There is nothin' here to take hold on. It's so plaguy smooth and high polished, the hands slip off; you can't get a grip of it. Now, take Lord First Chop, who is the most fashionable man in London, dress him in the last cut coat, best trowsers, French boots, Paris gloves, and grape-vine-root cane, don't forget his whiskers, or mous-stache, or breast-pins, or gold chains, or any thing; and what have you got?—a tailor's print-card, and nothin' else.

"Take a lady, and dress her in a'most a beautiful long habit, man's hat, stand-up collar and stock, clap a beautiful little cow-hide whip in her hand, and mount her on a'most a splendiferous white hoss, with long tail and flowin' mane, a rairin' and a cavortin' like mad, and a champin' and a chawin' of its bit, and makin' the froth fly from its mouth, a spatterin' and white-spottin' of her beautiful trailin', skirt like any thing. And what have you got?—why a print like the posted hand-bills of a circus.

"Now spit on your fingers, and rub Lord First Chop out of the slate, and draw an Irish labourer, with his coat off, in his shirt-sleeves, with his breeches loose and ontied at the knees, his yarn stockings and thick shoes on; a little dudeen in his mouth, as black as ink and as short as nothin'; his hat with devilish little rim and no crown to it, and a hod on his shoulders, filled with bricks, and him lookin' as if he was a singin' away as merry as a cricket:

When I was 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 Sall used to say. And because why? You have got sunthin' nateral.

"Well, take the angylyferous dear a horseback, and rub her out, well, I won't say that nother, for I'm fond of the little critturs, dressed or not dressed for company, or any way they like, yes, I like woman-natur', I tell you. But turn over the slate, and draw on t'other side on't an old woman, with a red cloak, and a striped petticoat, and a poor pinched-up, old, squashed-in bonnet on, bendin' forrard, with a staff in her hand, a leadin' of a donkey that has a pair of yaller willow saddle-bags on, with coloured vegetables and flowers, and red beet-tops, a goin' to market. And what have you got? Why a pictur' worth lookin' at, too. Why?—because it's natur'.

"Now, look here, Squire; let Copley, if he was alive, but he ain't; and it's a pity too, for it would have kinder happified the old man, to see his son in the House of Lords, wouldn't it? Squire Copley, you know, was a Boston man; and a credit to our great nation too. P'raps Europe never has dittoed him since.

"Well, if he was above ground now, alive, and stirrin', why take him and fetch him to an upper crust London party; and sais you, 'Old Tenor,' sais you, 'paint all them silver plates, and silver dishes, and silver coverlids, and what nots; and then paint them lords with their stars, and them ladies' (Lord if he would paint them with their garters, folks would buy the pictur, cause that's nateral) 'them ladies with their jewels, and their sarvants with their liveries, as large as life, and twice as nateral.'

"Well, he'd paint it, if you paid him for it, that's a fact; for there is no better bait to fish for us Yankees arter all, than a dollar. That old boy never turned up his nose at a dollar, except when he thought he ought to get two. And if he painted it, it wouldn't be bad, I tell you.

"'Now,' sais you, 'you have done high life, do low life for me, and I will pay you well. I'll come down hansum, and do the thing genteel, you may depend. Then,' sais you, 'put in for a back ground that noble, old Noah-like lookin' wood, that's as dark as comingo. Have you done?' sais you.

"'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,' sais 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 covered carts near it. Let an old hoss drink at the stream, and two donkeys make a feed off a patch of thistles. Have-you stuck that in?'

"'Stop a bit,' says he, 'paintin' an't quite as fast done as writin'. Have a little grain of patience, will you? It's tall paintin', makin' the brush walk at that price. Now there you are,' sais he. 'What's next? But, mind I've most filled my canvass; it will cost you a pretty considerable penny, if you want all them critters in, when I come to cypher all the pictur up, and sumtotalize the whole of it.'

"'Oh! cuss the cost!' sais you. 'Do you jist obey 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; mind their different coloured clothes, and different attitudes, and different occupations. Here a man mendin' a harness, there a woman pickin' a stolen fowl, there a man skinnin' a rabbit, there a woman with her petticoat up, a puttin' of a patch in it. Here two boys a fishin', and there a little gall a playin' with a dog, that's a racin' and a yelpin', and a barkin' like mad.'

"'Well, when he's done,' sais you, 'which pictur do you reckon is the best now, Squire Copely? speak candid for I want to know, and I ask you now as a countryman.'

"'Well' he'll jist up and tell you, 'Mr. Poker,' sais he, 'your fashionable party is the devil, that's a fact. Man made the town, but God made the country. Your company is as formal, and as stiff, and as oninterestin' as a row of poplars; but your gipsy scene is beautiful, because it's nateral. It was me painted old Chatham's death in the House of Lords; folks praised it a good deal; but it was no great shakes, there was no natur' 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 feller skiverd the speaker with a bowie knife as happened to Arkansaw, if I was to paint it, it would be beautiful. Our free and enlightened people is so different, so characteristic and peculiar, it would give a great field to a painter. To sketch the different style of man of each state, so that any citizen would sing right out; Heavens and airth if that don't beat all! Why, as I am a livin' sinner that's the Hoosier of Indiana, or the Sucker of Illinois, or the Puke of Missouri, or the Bucky of Ohio, or the Red Horse of Kentucky, or the Mudhead of Tennesee, or the Wolverine of Michigan or the Eel of New England, or the Corn Cracker of Virginia! That's the thing that gives inspiration. That's the glass of talabogus that raises your spirits. There is much of elegance, and more of comfort in England. It is a great and a good country, Mr. Poker, but there is no natur in it.'

"It is as true as gospel," said Mr. Slick, "I'm tellin' you no lie. It's a fact. If you expect to paint them English, as you have the Blue-Noses and us, you'll pull your line up without a fish, oftener than you are a-thinkin' on; that's the reason all our folks have failed. 'Rush's book is jist molasses and water, not quite so sweet as 'lasses, and not quite so good as water; but a spilin' of both. And why? His pictur was of polished life, where there is no natur. Washington Irving's book is like a Dutch paintin', it is good, because it is faithful; the mop has the right number of yarns, and each yarn has the right number of twists, (altho' he mistook the mop of the grandfather, for the mop of the man of the present day) and the pewter plates are on the kitchen dresser, and the other little notions are all there. He has done the most that could be done for them, but the painter desarves more praise than the subject.

"Why is it every man's sketches of America takes? Do you suppose it is the sketches? No. Do you reckon it is the interest we create? No. Is it our grand experiments? No. They don't care a brass button for us, or our country, or experiments nother. What is it then? It is because they are sketches of natur. Natur in every grade and every variety of form; from the silver plate, and silver fork, to the finger and huntin' knife. Our artificials Britishers laugh at; they are bad copies, that's a fact; I give them up. Let them laugh, and be darned; but I stick to my natur, and I stump them to produce the like.

"Oh, Squire, if you ever sketch me, for goodness gracious sake, don't sketch me as an Attache to our embassy, with the Legation button, on the coat, and black Jube Japan in livery. Don't do that; but paint me in my old waggon to Nova Scotier, with old Clay before me, you by my side, a segar in my mouth, and natur all round me. And if that is too artificial; oh, paint me in the back woods, with my huntin' coat on, my leggins, my cap, my belt, and my powder-horn. Paint me with my talkin' iron in my hand, wipin' her, chargin' her, selectin' the bullet, placin' it in the greased wad, and rammin' it down. Then draw a splendid oak openin' so as to give a good view, paint a squirrel on the tip top of the highest branch, of the loftiest tree, place me off at a hundred yards, drawin' a bead on him fine, then show the smoke, and young squire squirrel comin' tumblin' down head over heels lumpus', to see whether the ground was as hard as dead squirrels said it was. Paint me nateral, I besech you; for I tell you now, as I told you before, and ever shall say, there is nothin' worth havin' or knowin', or hearin', or readin', or seein', or tastin', or smellin', or feelin' and above all and more than all, nothin' worth affectionin' but Natur.



CHAPTER XIV. THE SOCDOLAGER.

As soon as I found my friend Mr. Hopewell comfortably settled in his lodgings, I went to the office of the Belgian Consul and other persons to obtain the necessary passports for visiting Germany, where I had a son at school. Mr. Slick proceeded at the same 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 "the Socdolager," and was most graciously and cordially received; but still, I could not fail to observe that there was an evident air of disappointment about him.

"Pray, what is the meaning of the Socdolager?" I asked. "I never heard of the term before."

"Possible!" said he, "never heerd tell of 'the Socdolager,' why you don't say so! The Socdolager is the President of the lakes—he is the whale of the intarnal seas—the Indgians worshipped him once on a time, as the king of fishes. He lives in great state in the deep waters, does the old boy, and he don't often shew himself. I never see'd him myself, nor any one that ever had sot eyes on him; but the old Indgians have see'd him and know him well. He won't take no bait, will the Socdolager; he can't be caught, no how you can fix, he is so 'tarnal knowin', and he can't be speared nother, for the moment he sees aim taken, he ryles the water and is out of sight in no tune. 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 diplomaters were never known to be hooked once yet, and actilly beat all natur' for knowin' the soundin's, smellin' the bait, givin' the dodge, or rylin' the water; so no soul can see thro' it but themselves. Yes, he is 'a Socdolager,' or a whale among diplomaters.

"Well, I rigs up this morning, full fig, calls a cab, and proceeds in state to our embassy, gives what Cooper calls a lord's beat of six thund'rin' raps of the knocker, presents the legation ticket, and was admitted to where ambassador was. He is a very pretty man all up his shirt, and he talks pretty, and smiles pretty, and bows pretty, and he has got the whitest hand you ever see, it looks as white, as a new bread and milk poultice. It does indeed.

"'Sam Slick,' sais he, 'as I'm alive. Well, how do you do, Mr. Slick? I am 'nation glad to see you, I affection you as a member of our legation. I feel kinder proud to have the first literary man of our great nation as my Attache.'

"'Your knowledge of human natur, (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 he winced at that poke at his soft sawder like any thing, and puckered a little about the mouth, but he didn't say nothin', he only bowed. He was a Unitarian preacher once, was Abednego, but he swapt preachin' for politics, and a good trade he made of it too; that's a fact.

"'A great change,' sais I, 'Abednego, since you was a preachin' to Connecticut and I was a vendin' of clocks to Nova Scotia, ain't it? Who'd a thought then, you'd a been "a Socdolager," and me your "pilot fish," eh!'

"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 each eend on it, the weight makes it grow twice as long in a minute. 'Sam,' said he, 'don't call me that are, except when we are alone here, that's a good soul; not that I am proud, for I am a true Republican;' and he put his hand on his heart, bowed and smiled hansum, 'but these people will make a nickname of it, and we shall never hear the last of it; that's a fact. We must respect ourselves, afore others will respect us. You onderstand, don't you?'

"'Oh, don't I,' sais I, 'that's all? It's only here I talks this way, because we are at home now; but I can't help a thinkin' how strange things do turn up sometimes. Do you recollect, when I heard you a-preachin' about Hope a-pitchin' of her tent on a hill? By gosh, it struck me then, you'd pitch, your tent high some day; you did it beautiful.'

"He know'd I didn't like this change, that Mr. Hopewell had kinder inoculated me with other guess views on these matters, so he began to throw up bankments and to picket in the ground, all round for defence like.

"'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; now if our great nation is backed by principal and interest here, I guess its credit is kinder well built. And atween you and me, Abednego, that's more than the soft-horned British will ever see from all our States. Some on 'em are intarmined to pay neither debt nor interest, and give nothin' but lip in retarn.'

"'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 voluntary also. He can preach or lot it alone, as he likes. It's voluntary all through. It's a bad rule that won't work both ways.'

"'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 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 minister to Saint Jimses, and sarvin' our great Republic and its thirteen millions? Why, no reasonable man can doubt; so I give up preachin'.'

"'Well,' sais I, 'Abednego, you are a Socdolager, that's a fact; you are a great man, and a great scholard. 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, get pay for an old steamer burnt to Canada, and uphold the slave trade for the interest of the States.'

"'That's specious, but not true,' said he; 'but it's a matter rather for my consideration than your'n,' and he looked as a feller does when he buttons his trowsers' pocket, as much as to say, you have no right to be a puttin' of your pickers and stealers in there, that's mine. 'We will do better to be less selfish,' said he, 'and talk of our great nation.'

"'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 hands onder his coat-tails, for ever so long, without a sayin' of a word. At last, sais he, with a beautiful smile that was jist skin deep, for it played on his face as a cat's-paw does on the calm waters, 'What was you a sayin.' of, Mr. Slick?' saw he.

"'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, cypherin' like to himself; and then says he, 'I'll tell you; that word Socdolager, and the trade of preachin', and clockmakin', it would be as well to sink here; neither on 'em convene with dignity. Don't you think so?'

"'Sartainly,' sais I; 'it's only fit 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 me parson, and ask me to crave a blessin', jist to raise the larf agin me for havin' been a preacher.'

"'If he does,' sais I,' jist say, my Attache does that, and I'll jist up first and give it to him 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 we made on the right of sarch, raised us about the toploftiest?'

"'Oh,' says he 'right of sarch! right of sarch! I've been tryin' to sarch my memory, but can't find it. I don't recollect that sarmont about Hope pitchin' her tent on the hill. When was it?'

"'It was afore the juvenile-united-democratic-republican association to Funnel Hall,' sais I.

"'Oh,' says he, 'that was an oration—it was an oration that.'

"Oh!" sais I, "we won't say no more about that; I only meant it as a joke, and nothin' more. But railly now, Abednego, what is the state of our legation?"

"'I don't see nothin' ridikilous,' sais he, 'in that are expression, of Hope pitchin' her tent on a hill. It's figurativ' and poetic, but it's within the line that divides taste from bombast. Hope pitchin' her tent on a hill! What is there to reprehend in that?'

"Good airth and seas,' sais I, 'let's pitch Hope, and her tent, and the hill, all to Old Nick in a heap together, and talk of somethin' else. You needn't be so perkily ashamed of havin' preached, man. Cromwell was a great preacher all his life, but it didn't spile him as a Socdolager one bit, but rather helped him, that's a fact. How 'av we 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 more than a battle. Jackson by hanging Arbuthnot and Anbristher, gained his election. M'Kennie for havin' hanged them three citizens will be made an admiral of yet, see if he don't. Now if Captain Tyler had said, in his message to Congress, 'Any State that repudiates its foreign debts, we will first fine it in the whole amount, and then cut it off from our great, free, enlightened, moral and intellectual republic, he would have gained by the dash his next election, and run up our flag to the mast-head in Europe. He would have been popular to home, and respected abroad, that's as clear as mud,'

"'He would have done right, Sir, if he had done that,' said Abednego, 'and the right thing is always approved of in the eend, and always esteemed all through the piece. A dash, as a stroke of policy,' said he, 'has sometimes a good effect. General Jackson threatening France with a war, if they didn't pay the indemnity, when he knew the King would make 'em pay it whether or no, was a masterpiece; and General Cass tellin' France if she signed the right of sarch treaty, we would fight both her and England together single-handed, was the best move on the political chess-board, this century. All these, Sir, are very well in their way, to produce an effect; but there's a better policy nor all that, a far better policy, and one, too, that some of our States and legislators, and presidents, and Socdolagers, as you call 'em, in my mind have got to larn yet, Sam.'

"'What's that?' sais I. "For I don't believe in my soul there is nothin' a'most our diplomaters don't know. They are a body o' men that does honour to our great nation. What policy are you a indicatin' of?'

"'Why,' sais he, 'that honesty is the best policy.'

"When I heerd him say that, I springs right up on eend, like a rope dancer. 'Give me your hand, Abednego,' sais I; 'you are a man, every inch of you,' and I squeezed it so hard, it made his eyes water. 'I always knowed you had an excellent head-piece,' sais I, 'and now I see the heart is in the right place too. If you have thrown preachin' overboard, you have kept your morals for ballast, any how. I feel kinder proud of you; you are jist a fit 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 win if I can. Good bye. But mind, Sam, our dignity is at stake. Let's have no more of Socdolagers, or Preachin', or Clockmakin', or Hope pitchin' her tent. A word to the wise. Good bye.'

"Yes," said Mr. Slick, "I rather like Abednego's talk myself. I kinder think that it will be respectable to be Attache to such a man as that. But he is goin' out of town for some time, is the Socdolager. There is an agricultural dinner, where he has to make a conciliation speech; and a scientific association, where there is a piece of delicate brag and a bit of soft sawder to do, and then there are visits to the nobility, peep at manufactures, and all that sort of work, so he won't be in town for a good spell, and until then, I can't go to Court, for he is to introduce me himself. Pity that, but then it'll give me lots o' time to study human natur, that is, if there is any of it left here, for I have some doubts about that. Yes, he is an able lead horse, is Abednego; he is a'most a grand preacher, a good poet, a first chop orator, a great diplomater, and a top sawyer of a man, in short—he is a Socdolager."



CHAPTER XV. DINING OUT.

My visit to Germany was protracted beyond the period I had originally designed; and, during my absence, Mr. Slick had been constantly in company, either "dining out" daily, when in town, or visiting from one house to another in the country.

I found him in great spirits. He assured me he had many capital stories to tell me, and that he rather guessed he knew as much of the English, and a leetle, jist a leetle, grain more, p'raps, than they knew of the Yankees.

"They are considerable large print are the Bull family," said he; "you can read them by moonlight. Indeed, their faces ain't onlike the moon in a gineral way; only one has got a man in it, and the other hain't always. It tante a bright face; you can look into it without winkin'. It's a cloudy one here too, especially in November; and most all the time makes you rather sad and solemncoly. Yes, John is a moony man, that's a fact, and at the full a little queer sometimes.

"England is a stupid country compared to our'n. There it no variety where there it 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.

"Dinin' out here, is both heavy work, and light feedin'. It's monstrous stupid. One dinner like one rainy day (it's rained ever since I been here a'most), is like another; one drawin'-room like another drawin'-room; one peer's entertainment, in a general way, is like another peer's. The same powdered, liveried, lazy, idle, good-for-nothin', do-little, stand-in-the-way-of-each-other, useless sarvants. Same picturs, same plate, same fixin's, same don't-know-what-to-do-with-your-self-kinder-o'-lookin'-master. Great folks are like great folks, marchants like marchants, and so on. It's a pictur, it looks like life, but' it tante. The animal is tamed here; he is fatter than the wild one, but he hante the spirit.

"You have seen-Old Clay in a pastur, a racin' about, free from harness, head and tail up, snortin', cavortin', attitudinisin' of himself. Mane flowin' in the wind, eye-ball startin' out, nostrils inside out a'most, ears pricked up. A nateral hoss; put him in a waggon, with a rael spic and span harness, all covered over with brass buckles and brass knobs, and ribbons in his bridle, rael jam. Curb him up, talk Yankee to him, and get his ginger up. Well, he looks well; but he is 'a broke hoss.' He reminds you of Sam Slick; cause when you see a hoss, you think of his master: but he don't remind you of the rael 'Old Clay,' that's a fact.

"Take a day here, now in town; and they are so identical the same, that one day sartificates for another. You can't get out a bed afore twelve, in winter, the days is so short, and the fires ain't made, or the room dusted, or the breakfast can't be got, or sunthin' or another. And if you did, what's the use? There is no one to talk to, and books only weaken your understandin', as water does brandy. They make you let others guess for you, instead of guessin' for yourself. Sarvants spile your habits here, and books spite your mind. I wouldn't swap ideas with any man. I make my own opinions, as I used to do my own clocks; and I find they are truer than other men's. The Turks are so cussed heavy, they have people to dance for 'em; the English are wus, for they hire people to think for 'em. Never read a book, Squire, always think for yourself.

"Well, arter breakfast, it's on hat and coat, ombrella in hand, (don't never forget that, for the rumatiz, like the perlice, is always on the look out here, to grab hold of a feller,) and go somewhere where there is somebody, or another, and smoke, and then wash it down with a sherry-cobbler; (the drinks ain't good here; they hante no variety in them nother; no white-nose, apple-jack, stone-wall, chain-lightning, rail-road, hail-storm, ginsling-talabogus, switchel-flip, gum-ticklers, phlem-cutters, juleps, skate-iron, cast-steel, cock-tail, or nothin', but that heavy stupid black fat porter;) then down to the coffee-house, see what vessels have arrived, how markets is, whether there is a chance of doin' any thin' in cotton or tobacco, whose broke to home, and so on. Then go to the park, and see what's a goin' on there; whether those pretty critturs, the rads are a holdin' a prime minister 'parsonally responsible,' by shootin' at him; or whether there is a levee, or the Queen is ridin' out, or what not; take a look at the world, make a visit or two to kill time, when all at once it's dark. Home then, smoke a cigar, dress for dinner, and arrive at a quarter past seven.

"Folks are up to the notch here when dinner is in question, that's a fact, fat, gouty, broken-winded, and foundered as they be. It's rap, rap, rap, for twenty minutes at the door, and in they come, one arter the other, as fast as the sarvants can carry up their names. Cuss them sarvants! it takes seven or eight of 'em to carry a man's name up stairs, they are so awful lazy, and so shockin' full of porter. If a feller was so lame he had to be carried up himself, I don't believe on my soul, the whole gang of them, from the Butler that dresses in the same clothes as his master, to Boots that ain't dressed at all, could make out to bowse him up stairs, upon my soul I don't.

"Well, you go in along with your name, walk up to old aunty, and make a scrape, and the same to old uncle, and then fall back. This is done as solemn, as if a feller's name was called out to take his place in a funeral; that and the mistakes is the fun of it. There is a sarvant at a house I visit at, that I suspicion is a bit of a bam, and the critter shows both his wit and sense. He never does it to a 'somebody,' 'cause that would cost him his place, but when a 'nobody' has a droll name, he jist gives an accent, or a sly twist to it, that folks can't help a larfin', no more than Mr. Nobody can feelin' like a fool. He's a droll boy, that; I should like to know him.

"Well, arter 'nouncin' is done, then comes two questions—do I know anybody here? and if I do, does he look like talk or not? Well, seein' that you have no handle to your name, and a stranger, it's most likely you can't answer these questions right; so you stand and use your eyes, and put your tongue up in its case till it's wanted. Company are all come, and now they have to be marshalled two and two, lock and lock, and go into the dinin'-room to feed.

"When I first came I was nation proud of that title, 'the Attache;' now I am happified it's nothin' but 'only an Attache,' and I'll tell you why. The great guns, and big bugs, have to take in each other's ladies, so these old ones have to herd together. Well, the nobodies go together too, and sit together, and I've observed these nobodies are the pleasantest people at table, and they have the pleasantest places, because they sit down with each other, and are jist like yourself, plaguy glad to get some one to talk to. Somebody can only visit somebody, but nobody can go anywhere, and therefore nobody sees and knows twice as much as somebody does. Somebodies must be axed, if they are as stupid as a pump; but nobodies needn't, and never are, unless they are spicy sort o' folks, so you are sure of them, and they have all the fun and wit of the table at their eend, and no mistake.

"I wouldn't take a title if they would give it to me, for if I had one, I should have a fat old parblind dowager detailed on to me to take in to dinner; and what the plague is her jewels and laces, and silks and sattins, and wigs to me? As it is, I have a chance to have a gall to take in that's a jewel herself—one that don't want no settin' off, and carries her diamonds in her eyes, and so on. I've told our minister not to introduce me as an Attache no more, but as Mr. Nobody, from the State of Nothin', in America, that's natur agin.

"But to get back to the dinner. Arter you are in marchin' order, you move in through two rows of sarvants in uniform. I used to think they was placed there for show, but it's to keep the air off of folks a goin' through the entry, and it ain't a bad thought, nother.

"Lord, the first time I went to one o' these grand let offs I felt kinder skeery, and as nobody was allocated to me to take in, I goes in alone, not knowin' where I was to settle down as a squatter, and kinder lagged behind; when the butler comes and rams a napkin in my hand, and gives me a shove, and sais he, 'Go and stand behind your master, sir,' sais he. Oh Solomon! how that waked me up. How I curled inwardly when he did that. 'You've mistaken the child,' sais I mildly, and I held out the napkin, and jist as he went to take it, I gave him a sly poke in the bread basket, that made him bend forward and say 'eugh.' 'Wake Snakes, and walk your chalks,' sais I, 'will you?' and down I pops on the fust empty chair. Lord, how white he looked about the gills arterwards; I thought I should a split when I looked at him. Guess he'll know an Attache when he sees him next time.

"Well, there is dinner. One sarvice of plate is like another sarvice of plate, any one dozen of sarvants are like another dozen of sarvants, hock is hock, and champaigne is champaigne—and one dinner is like another dinner. The only difference is in the thing itself that's cooked. Veal, to be good, must look like any thing else but veal; you mustn't know it when you see it, or it's vulgar; mutton must be incog. too; beef must have a mask on; any thin' that looks solid, take a spoon to; any thin' that looks light, cut with a knife; if a thing looks like fish, you may take your oath it is flesh; and if it seems rael flesh, it's only disguised, for it's sure to be fish; nothin' must be nateral, natur is out of fashion here. This is a manufacturin' country, everything is done by machinery, and that that ain't must be made to look like it; and I must say, the dinner machinery is parfect.

"Sarvants keep goin' round and round in a ring, slow, but sartain, and for ever, like the arms of a great big windmill, shovin' dish after dish, in dum show, afore your nose, for you to see how you like the flavour; when your glass is empty it's filled; when your eyes is off your plate, it's off too, afore you can say Nick Biddle.

"Folks speak low here; steam is valuable, and noise onpolite. They call it a "subdued tone." Poor tame things, they are subdued, that's a fact; slaves to an arbitrary tyrannical fashion that don't leave 'em no free will at all. You don't often speak across a table any more nor you do across a street, but p'raps Mr. Somebody of West Eend of town, will say to a Mr. Nobody from West Eend of America: 'Niagara is noble.' Mr. Nobody will say, 'Guess it is, it got its patent afore the "Norman Conquest," I reckon, and afore the "subdued tone" come in fashion.' Then Mr. Somebody will look like an oracle, and say, 'Great rivers and great trees in America. You speak good English.' And then he will seem surprised, but not say 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, as if she was a goin' through a gate, and then they all come to their feet, and the goslins come to their feet, and they all toddle off to the drawin' room together.

"The decanters now take the "grand tour" of the table, and, like most travellers, go out with full pockets, and return with empty ones. Talk has a pair of stays here, and is laced up tight and stiff. 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 nothin' is put up, and you get back to where you started. Uncle Gander looks at next oldest gander hard, bobs his head, and lifts one leg, all ready for a go, and says, 'Will you take any more wine?' 'No, sais he, 'but I take the hint, let's jine the ladies.'

"Well, when the whole flock is gathered in the goose pastur, the drawin'-room, other little flocks come troopin' in, and stand, or walk, or down on chairs; and them that know each other talk, and them that don't twirl their thumbs over their fingers; and when they are tired of that, twirl their fingers over their thumbs. I'm nobody, and so I goes and sets side-ways on an ottarman, like a gall on a side-saddle, and look at what's afore me. And fust I always look at the galls.

"Now, this I will say, they are amazin' fine critters are the women kind here, when they are taken proper care of. The English may stump the univarse a'most for trainin' hosses and galls. They give 'em both plenty of walkin' exercise, feed 'em regular, shoe 'em well, trim 'em neat, and keep a beautiful skin on 'em. They keep, 'em in good health, and don't house 'em too much. They are clippers, that's a fact. There is few things in natur, equal to a hoss and a gall, that's well trained and in good condition. I could stand all day and look at 'em, and I call myself a considerable of a judge. It's singular how much they are alike too, the moment the trainin' is over or neglected, neither of 'em is fit to be seen; they grow out of shape, and look coarse.

"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 practised. The mark o' mouth is kept up in a hoss here by the file, and a hay-cutter saves his teeth, and helps his digestion. Well, a dentist does the same good turn for a woman; it makes her pass for several years younger; and helps her looks, mends her voice, and makes her as smart as a three year old.

"What's that? It's music. Well, that's artificial too, it's scientific they say, it's done by rule. Jist look at that gall to the piany: first comes a little Garman thunder. Good airth and seas, what a crash! it seems as if she'd bang the instrument all to a thousand pieces. I guess she's vexed at somebody and is a peggin' it into the piany out of spite. Now comes the singin'; see what faces she makes, how she stretches her mouth open, like a barn door, and turns up the white of her eyes, like a duck in thunder. She is in a musical ecstasy is that gall, she feels good all over, her soul is a goin' out along with that ere music. Oh, it's divine, and she is an angel, ain't she? Yes, I guess she is, and when I'm an angel, I will fall in love with her; but as I'm a man, at least what's left of me, I'd jist as soon fall in love with one that was a leetle, jist a leetle more of a woman, and a leetle, jist a leetle less of an angel. But hullo! what onder the sun is she about, why her voice is goin' down her own throat, to gain strength, and here it comes out agin as deep toned as a man's; while that dandy feller along side of her, is singin' what they call falsetter. They've actilly changed voices. The gall sings like a man, and that screamer like a woman. This is science: this is taste: this is fashion; but hang me if it's natur. I'm tired to death of it, but one good thing is, you needn't listen without you like, for every body is talking as, loud as ever.

"Lord, how extremes meet sometimes, as Minister says. Here, how, 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 rael thing. Look at the women kind, now. An Indgian gall, down South, goes most naked. Well, a splendiferous company gall, here, when she is full dressed is only half covered, and neither of 'em attract you one mite or morsel. We dine at two and sup at seven; here they lunch at two, and dine at seven. The words are different, but they are identical the same. Well, the singin' is amazin' like, too. Who ever heerd them Italian singers recitin' their jabber, showin' their teeth, and cuttin' didoes at a great private consart, that wouldn't take his oath he had heerd niggers at a dignity ball, down South, sing jist the same, and jist as well. And then do, for goodness' gracious' sake, hear that great absent man, belongin' to the House o' Commons, when the chaplain says 'Let us pray!' sing right out at once, as if he was to home, 'Oh! by all means,' as much as to say, 'me and the powers above are ready to hear you; but don't be long about it.'

"Ain't that for all the world like a camp-meetin', when a reformed ring-tail roarer calls out to the minister, 'That's a fact, Welly Fobus, by Gosh; amen!' or when preacher says, 'Who will be saved?' answers, 'Me and the boys, throw us a hen-coop; the galls will drift down stream on a bale o' cotton.' Well then, 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; the flock is a thinnin' off agin; and as I want a cigar most amazin'ly, let's go to a divan, and some other time, I'll tell you what a 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 etarnity, don't you think you'd get a leetle—jist a leetle more tired of it every day, and wish for natur once more. If you wouldn't I would, that's all."



THE SECOND VOLUME.



CHAPTER I. THE NOSE OF A SPY

"Squire." said Mr. Hopewell, "you know Sam well enough, I hope, to make all due allowances for the exuberance of his fancy. The sketch he has just given you of London society, like the novels of the present day, though founded on fact, is very unlike the reality. There may be assemblages of persons in this great city, and no doubt there are, quite as insipid and absurd as the one he has just pourtrayed; but you must not suppose it is at all a fair specimen of the society of this place. My own experience is quite the reverse. I think it the most refined, the most agreeable, and the most instructive in the world. Whatever your favourite study or pursuit may be, here you are sure to find well-informed and enthusiastic associates. If you have merit, it is appreciated; and for an aristocratic country, that merit places you on a level with your superiors in rank in a manner that is quite incomprehensible to a republican. Money is the great leveller of distinctions with us; here, it is talent. Fashion spreads many tables here, but talent is always found seated at the best, if it thinks proper to comply with certain usages, without which, even genius ceases to be attractive.

"On some future occasion, I will enter more at large on this subject; but now it is too late; I have already exceeded my usual hour for retiring. 'Excuse me, Sam,' said he. 'I know you will not be offended with me, but Squire there are some subjects on which Sam may amuse, but cannot instruct you, and one is, fashionable life in London. You must judge for yourself, Sir. Good night, my children.'"

Mr. Slick rose, and opened the door for him, and as he passed, bowed and held out his hand. "Remember me, your honour, no man opens the door in this country without being paid for it. Remember me, Sir."

"True, Sam," said the Minister, "and it is unlucky that it does not extend to opening the mouth, if it did, you would soon make your fortune, for you can't keep yours shut. Good night."

The society to which I have subsequently had the good fortune to be admitted, fully justifies the eulogium of Mr. Hopewell. Though many persons can write well, few can talk well; but the number of those who excel in conversation is much greater in certain circles in London, than in any other place. By talking well, I do not mean talking wisely or learnedly; but agreeably, for relaxation and pleasure, are the principal objects of social assemblies. This can only be illustrated by instancing some very remarkable persons, who are the pride and pleasure of every table they honour and delight with their presence But this may not be. For obvious reasons, I could not do it if I would; and most assuredly, I would not do it if I could. No more certain mode could be devised of destroying conversation, than by showing, that when the citadel is unguarded, the approach of a friend is as unsafe as that of an enemy.

Alas! poor Hook! who can read the unkind notice of thee in a late periodical, and not feel, that on some occasions you must have admitted to your confidence men who were as unworthy of that distinction as, they were incapable of appreciating it, and that they who will disregard the privileges of a table, will not hesitate to violate even the sanctity of the tomb. Cant may talk of your "inter pocula" errors with pious horror; and pretension, now that its indulgence is safe, may affect to disclaim your acquaintance; but kinder, and better, and truer men than those who furnished your biographer with his facts will not fail to recollect your talents with pride, and your wit and your humour with wonder and delight.

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 Varginy. He is a brick, that's a fact. Still, for all that, he ain't jist altogether a citizen of this world nother. He fishes in deep water, with a sinker to his hook. He can't throw a fly as I can, reel out his line, run down stream, and then wind up, wind up, wind up, and let out, and wind up again, till he lands his fish, as I do. He looks deep into things, is a better religionist, polititioner, and bookster than I be: but then that's all he does know. If you want to find your way about, or read a man, come to me, that's all; for I'm the boy that jist can do it. If I can't walk into a man, I can dodge round him; and if he is too nimble for that, I can jump over him; and if he is too tall for that, although I don't like the play, yet I can whip him.

"Now, Squire, I have been a good deal to England, and crossed this big pond here the matter of seven times, and know a good deal about it, more than a great many folks that have writtin' books on it, p'raps. Mind what I tell you, the English ain't what they was. I'm not speakin' in jeest now, or in prejudice. I hante a grain of prejudice in me. I've see'd too much of the world for that I reckon. I call myself a candid man, and I tell you the English are no more like what the English used to be, when pigs were swine, and Turkey chewed tobacky, than they are like the Picts or Scots, or Norman, French, or Saxons, or nothin'."

"Not what they used to be?" I said. "Pray, what do you mean?"

"I mean," said he, "jist what I say. They ain't the same people no more. They are as proud, and overbearin', and concaited, and haughty to foreigners as ever; but, then they ain't so manly, open-hearted, and noble as they used to be, once upon a time. They have the Spy System now, in full operation here; so jist take my advice, and mind your potatoe-trap, or you will be in trouble afore you are ten days older, see if you ain't."

"The Spy System!" I replied. "Good Heavens, Mr. Slick, how can you talk such nonsense, and yet have the modesty to say you have no prejudice?"

"Yes, the Spy System," said he, "and I'll prove it. You know Dr. Mc'Dougall to Nova Scotia; well, he knows all about mineralogy, and geology, and astrology, and every thing a'most, except what he ought to know, and that is dollar-ology. For he ain't over and above half well off, that's a fact. Well, a critter of the name of Oatmeal, down to Pictou, said to another Scotchman there one day, 'The great nateralist Dr. Mc'Dougall is come to town.'

"'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, I say the English have the Spy System, and I'll prove it; nay, more than that, they have the nastiest, dirtiest, meanest, sneakenest system in the world. It is ten times as bad as the French plan. In France they have bar-keepers, waiters, chamber galls, guides, quotillions,—"

"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 themselves gentlemen and ladies, for spies."

"How very absurd!" I said.

"Oh yes, very absurd," said Mr. Slick; "whenever I say anythin' agin England, it's very absurd, it's all prejudice. Nothin' is strange, though, when it is said of us, and the absurder it is, the truer it is. I can bam as well as any man when bam is the word, but when fact is the play, I am right up and down, and true as a trivet. I won't deceive you; I'll prove it.

"There was a Kurnel Dun—dun—plague take 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 Attache. I was only a clockmaker then, and I suppose he wouldn't have dirtied the tip eend of his white glove with me then, any more than I would sile mine with him now, and very expensive and troublesome things them white gloves be too; there is no keepin' of them clean. For my part, I don't see why a man can't make his own skin as clean as a kid's, any time; and if a feller can't be let shake hands with a gall except he has a glove on, why ain't he made to cover his lips, and kiss thro' kid skin too.

"But to get back to the kurnel, and it's a pity he hadn't had a glove over his mouth, that's a fact. Well, he went home to England with his regiment, and one night when he was dinin' among some first chop men, nobles and so on, they sot up considerable late over their claret; and poor thin cold stuff it is too, is claret. A man may get drowned in it, but how the plague he can get drunk with it is dark to me. It's like every thing else French, it has no substance in it; it's nothin' but red ink, that's a fact. Well, how it was I don't know, but so it eventuated, that about daylight he was mops and brooms, and began to talk somethin' or another he hadn't ought to; somethin' he didn't know himself, and somethin' he didn't mean, and didn't remember.

"Faith, next mornin' he was booked; and the first thing he see'd when he waked was another man a tryin' on of his shoes, to see how they'd fit to march to the head of his regiment with. Fact, I assure you, and a fact too that shows what Englishmen has come to; I despise 'em, I hate 'em, I scorn such critters as I do oncarcumcised niggers."

"What a strange perversion of facts," I replied.

But he would admit of no explanation. "Oh yes, quite parvarted; not a word of truth in it; there never is when England is consarned. There is no beam in an Englishman's eye; no not a smell of one; he has pulled it out long ago; that's the reason he can see the mote in other folks's so plain. Oh, of course it ain't true; it's a Yankee invention; it's a hickory ham and a wooden nutmeg.

"Well, then, there was another feller got bagged t'other day, as innocent as could be, for givin' his opinion when folks was a talkin' about matters and things in gineral, and this here one in partikilar. I can't tell the words, for I don't know 'em, nor care about 'em; and if I did, I couldn't carry 'em about so long; but it was for sayin' it hadn't ought to have been taken notice of, considerin' it jist popt out permiscuous like with the bottle-cork. If he hadn't a had the clear grit in him, and showed teeth and claws, they'd a nullified him so, you wouldn't have see'd a grease spot of him no more. What do you call that, now? Do you call that liberty? Do you call that old English? Do you call it pretty, say now? Thank God, it tante Yankee."

"I see you have no prejudice, Mr. Slick," I replied.

"Not one mite or morsel," he replied. "Tho' I was born in Connecticut, I have travelled all over the thirteen united univarsal worlds of ourn and am a citizen at large. No, I have no prejudice. You say I am mistaken; p'raps I am, I hope I be, and a stranger may get hold of the wrong eend of a thing sometimes, that's a fact. But I don't think I be wrong, or else the papers don't tell the truth; and I read it in all the jarnals; I did, upon my soul. Why man, it's history now, if such nasty mean doins is worth puttin' into a book.

"What makes this Spy System to England wuss, is that these eaves-droppers are obliged to hear all that's said, or lose what commission they hold; at least so folks tell me. I recollect when I was there last, for it's some years since Government first sot up the Spy System; there was a great feed given to a Mr. Robe, or Robie, or some such name, an out and out Tory. Well, sunthin' or another was said over their cups, that might as well have been let alone, I do suppose, tho' dear me, what is the use of wine but to onloosen the tongue, and what is the use of the tongue, but to talk. Oh, cuss 'em, I have no patience with them. Well, there was an officer of a marchin' regiment there, who it seems ought to have took down the words and sent 'em up to the head Gineral, but he was a knowin' coon, was officer, and 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 hawls him right up for it.

"'Why the plague, didn't you make a fuss?' sais the General, 'why didn't you get right up, and break up the party?'

"'I didn't hear it,' sais he.

"'You didn't hear it!' sais Old Sword-belt, 'then you had ought to have heerd it; and for two pins, I'd sharpen your hearin' for you, so that a snore of a fly would wake you up, as if a byler had bust.'

"Oh, how it has lowered the English in the eyes of foreigners! How sneakin' it makes 'em look! They seem for all the world like scared dogs; and a dog when he slopes off with his head down, his tail atween his legs, and his back so mean it won't bristle, is a caution to sinners. Lord. I wish I was Queen!"

"What, of such a degraded race as you say the English are, of such a mean-spirited, sneaking nation?"

"Well, they warn't always so," he replied. "I will say that, for I have no prejudice. By natur, there is sunthin' noble and manly in a Britisher, and always was, till this cussed Spy System got into fashion. They tell me it was the Liberals first brought it into vogue. How that is. I don't know; but I shouldn't wonder if it was them, for I know this, if a feller talks very liberal in politics, put him into office, and see what a tyrant he'll make. If he talks very liberal in religion, it's because he hante got none at all. If he talks very liberal to the poor, talk is all the poor will ever get out of him. If he talks liberal about corn law, it tante to feed the hungry, but to lower wages, and so on in every thing a most. None is so liberal as those as hante got nothin'. The most liberal feller I know on is "Old Scratch himself." If ever the liberals come in, they should make him Prime Minister. He is very liberal in religion and would jine them in excludin' the Bible from common schools I know. He is very liberal about the criminal code, for he can't bear to see criminals punished. He is very liberal in politics, for he don't approbate restraint, and likes to let every critter 'go to the devil' his own way. Oh, he should be Head Spy and Prime Minister that feller.

"But without jokin' tho', if I was Queen, the fust time any o' my ministers came to me to report what the spies had said, I'd jist up and say, 'Minister,' I'd say, 'it is a cussed oninglish, onmanly, niggerly business, is this of pumpin', and spyin', and tattlin'. I don't like it a bit. I'll have neither art nor part in it; I wash my hands clear of it. It will jist break the spirit of my people. So, minister look here. The next report that is brought to me of a spy, I'll whip his tongue out and whop your ear off, or my name ain't Queen. So jist mind what I say; first spy pokes his nose into your office, chop it off and clap it up over Temple Bar, where they puts the heads of traitors and write these words over, with your own fist, that they may know the handwritin', and not mistake the meanin', This is the nose of a Spy."



CHAPTER II. THE PATRON; OR, 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 forefathers.

It is a long time before a stranger can fully appreciate the extent of population and wealth of this vast metropolis. At first, he is astonished and confused; his vision is indistinct. By degrees he begins to understand its localities, the ground plan becomes intelligible and he can take it all in at a view. The map is a large one; it is a chart of the world. He knows the capes and the bays; he has sailed round them, and knows their relative distance, and at last becomes aware of the magnitude of the whole. Object after object becomes more familiar. He can estimate the population; he compares the amount of it with that of countries that he is acquainted with, and finds that this one town contains within it nearly as great a number of souls as all British North America. He estimates the incomes of the inhabitants, and finds figures almost inadequate to express the amount. He asks for the sources from whence it is derived. He resorts to his maxims of political economy, and they cannot inform him. He calculates the number of acres of land in England, adds up the rental, and is again at fault. He inquires into the statistics of the Exchange, and discovers that even that is inadequate; and, as a last resource, concludes that the whole world is tributary to this Queen of Cities. It is the heart of the Universe. All the circulation centres here, and hence are derived all those streams that give life and strength to the extremities. How vast, how populous, how rich, how well regulated, how well supplied, how clean, how well ventilated, how healthy!—what a splendid city! How worthy of such an empire and such a people!

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 perfection, 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 occupied the whole day, and though much gratified, we were no less fatigued. On returning to our lodgings, I found letters from Nova Scotia. Among others, was one from the widow of an old friend, enclosing a memorial to the Commander-in-Chief, setting forth the important and gratuitous services of her late husband to the local government of the province, and soliciting for her son some small situation in the ordnance department, which had just fallen vacant at Halifax. I knew that it was not only out of my power to aid her, but that it was impossible for her, however strong the claims of her husband might be, to obtain her request. These things are required for friends and dependants in England; and in the race of competition, what chance of success has a colonist?

I made up my mind at once to forward her memorial as requested, but pondered on the propriety of adding to it a recommendation. It could do no good. At most, it would only be the certificate of an unknown man; of one who had neither of the two great qualifications, namely, county or parliamentary interest, but it might do harm. It might, by engendering ridicule from the insolence of office, weaken a claim, otherwise well founded. "Who the devil is this Mr. Thomas Poker, that recommends the prayer of the petition? The fellow imagines all the world must have heard of him. A droll fellow that, I take it from his name: but all colonists are queer fellows, eh?"

"Bad news from home?" said Mr. Slick, who had noticed my abstraction. "No screw loose there, I hope. You don't look as if you liked the flavour of that ere nut you are crackin' of. Whose dead? and what is to pay now?"

I read the letter and the memorial, and then explained from my own knowledge how numerous and how valuable were the services of my deceased friend, and expressed my regret at not being able to serve the memorialist.

"Poor woman!" said Mr. Hopewell, "I pity her. A colonist has no chance for these things; they have no patron. In this country merit will always obtain a patron—in the provinces never. The English are a noble-minded, generous people, and whoever here deserves encouragement or reward, is certain to obtain either or both: but it must be a brilliant man, indeed, whose light can be perceived across the Atlantic."

"I entertain, Sir," I said, "a very strong prejudice against relying on patrons. Dr. Johnson, after a long and fruitless attendance on Lord Chesterfield, says: 'Seven years, my Lord, have now past, since I waited in your outward rooms, or was repulsed from your door; during which time I have been pushing on my work, through difficulties, of which it is useless to complain, and have brought it at last to the verge of publication, without one act of assistance, one word of encouragement, or one smile of favour. Such treatment I did not expect, for I never bad a patron before."

"Ah!" said Mr. Hopewell, "a man who feels that he is wrong, is always angry with somebody else. Dr. Johnson, is not so much to be admired for the independence that dictated that letter, as condemned for the meanness and servility of seven years of voluntary degradation. It is no wonder he spoke with bitterness; for, while he censured his Lordship, he must have despised himself. There is a great difference between a literary and a political patron. The former is not needed, and a man does better without one; the latter is essential. A good book, like good wine, needs no bush; but to get an office, you want merits or patrons;—merits so great, that they cannot be passed over, or friends so powerful, they cannot be refused."

"Oh! you can't do nothin', Squire," said Mr. Sick, "send it back to Old Marm; tell her you have the misfortin to be a colonist; that if her son would like to be a constable, or a Hogreave, or a thistle-viewer, or sunthin' or another of that kind, you are her man: but she has got the wrong cow by the tail this time. I never hear of a patron, I don't think of a frolic I once had with a cow's tail; and, by hanging on to it like a snappin' turtle, I jist saved my life, that's a fact.

"Tell you what it is, Squire, take a fool's advice, for once. Here you are; I have made you considerable well-known, that's a fact; and will introduce you to court, to king and queen, or any body you please. For our legation, though they can't dance, p'raps, as well as the French one can, could set all Europe a dancin' in wide awake airnest, if it chose. They darsent refuse us nothin', or we would fust embargo, and then go to war. Any one you want to know, I'll give you the ticket. Look round, select a good critter, and hold on to the tail, for dear life, and see if you hante a patron, worth havin'. You don't want none yourself, but you might want one some time or another, for them that's a comin' arter you.

"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,' says he, 'keep a stirrin', Sam, go ahead right away, and be out of the bushes afore sun-set, on account of the bears, for that's about the varmints' supper-time.'

"Well, I looks to the sky, and I sees it was a considerable of a piece yet to daylight down, so I begins to pick strawberries as I goes along, and you never see any thing so thick as they were, and wherever the grass was long, they'd stand up like a little bush, and hang in clusters, most as big and twice as good, to my likin', as garden ones. Well, the sun, it appears to me, is like a hoss, when it comes near dark it mends its pace, and gets on like smoke, so afore I know'd where I was, twilight had come peepin' over the spruce tops.

"Off I sot, hot foot, into the bushes, arter the cows, and as always eventuates when you are in a hurry, they was further back than common that time, away ever so fur back to a brook, clean off to the rear of the farm, so that day was gone afore I got out of the woods, and I got proper frightened. Every noise I heerd I thought it was a bear, and when I looked round a one side, I guessed I heerd one on the other, and I hardly turned to look there before, I reckoned it was behind me, I was e'en a'most skeered to death.

"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 the leadin' men, and makin' acquaintance with the political big bugs when I growed up and havin' a patron, and so on. Thinks I, I'll take the leadin' cow for my patron. So I jist goes and cuts a long tough ash saplin, and takes the little limbs off of it, and then walks along side of Mooley, as meachin' as you please, so she mightn't suspect nothin', and then grabs right hold of her tail, and yelled and screamed like mad, and wallopped away at her like any thing.

"Well, the way she cut dirt was cautionary; she cleared stumps, ditches, windfalls and every thing, and made a straight track of it for home as the crow flies. Oh, she was a dipper: she fairly flow again, and if ever she flagged, I laid it into her with the ash saplin, and away we started agin, as if Old Nick himself was arter us.

"But afore I reached home, the rest of the cows came a bellowin', and a roarin' and a-racin' like mad arter us, and gained on us too, so as most to overtake us, jist as I come to the bars of the cow yard, over went Mooler, like a fox, brought me whap up agin 'em, which knocked all the wind out of my lungs and the fire out of my eyes, and laid me sprawlin on the ground, and every one of the flock went right slap over me, all but one—poor Brindle. She never came home agin. Bear nabbed her, and tore her most ridiculous. He eat what he wanted, which was no trifle, I can tell you, and left the rest till next time.