"The captain havin' his boat histed, and thinkin' the hoss would swim ashore of hisself, kept right straight on; and the hoss swam this way, and that way, and every way but the right road, jist as the eddies took him. At last, he got into the ripps off of Johnston's pint, and they wheeled him right round and round like a whip-top. Poor pony! he got his match at last. He struggled, and jumpt, and plunged and fort, like a man, for dear life. Fust went up his knowin' little head, that had no ears; and he tried to jump up and rear out of it, as he used to did out of a mire hole or honey pot ashore; but there was no bottom there; nothin' for his hind foot to spring from; so down he went agin ever so deep: and then he tried t'other eend, and up went his broad rump, that had no tail; but there was nothin' for the fore feet to rest on nother; so he made a summerset, and as he went over, he gave out a great long end wise kick to the full stretch of his hind legs.

"Poor feller! it was the last kick he ever gave in this world; he sent his heels straight up on eend, like a pair of kitchen tongs, and the last I see of him was a bright dazzle, as the sun shined on his iron shoes, afore the water closed over him for ever.

"I railly felt sorry for the poor old 'grave-digger,' I did upon my soul, for hosses and ladies are two things, that a body can't help likin'. Indeed, a feller that hante no taste that way ain't a man at all, in my opinion. Yes, I felt ugly for poor 'grave-digger,' though I didn't feel one single bit so for that cantin' cheatin', old Elder. So when I turns to go, sais I, 'Elder,' sais I, and I jist repeated his own words—'I guess it's your turn to laugh now, for you have got the best of the bargain, and no mistake. Goodish and the old mare are jist alike, all tongue, ain't they? But these French is a simple people, so they be; they don't know nothin', that's a fact. Their priests keep 'em in ignorance a puppus.

"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.'"



CHAPTER XIII. 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 detain him long in this country, unless his attention should be kept fully occupied by a constant change of scene.

Mr. Slick expressed to me the same fear, and, knowing that I had been talking of going to Scotland, entreated me not to be long absent, for he felt convinced that as soon as he should be left alone, his thoughts and wishes would at once revert to America.

"I will try to keep him up," said he, "as well as I can, but I can't do it alone. If you do go, don't leave us long. Whenever I find him dull, and can't cheer him up no how I can fix it, by talk, or fun, or sight seein' or nothin', I make him vexed, and that excites him, stirs him up with a pot stick, and is of great sarvice to him. I don't mean actilly makin' him wrathy in airnest, but jist rilin of him for his own good, by pokin' a mistake at him. 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 country, and expressed a wish to return, as soon as possible, to Slickville.

"Come, Minister," said Mr. Slick, tapping him on the shoulder, "as father used to say, we must 'right about face' now. When we are at home let us think of home, when we are here, let us think of this place. Let us look a-head, don't let's look back, for we can't see nothin' there."

"Indeed, Sam," said he, with a sad and melancholy air, "it would be better for us all if we looked back oftener than we do. From the errors of the past, we might rectify our course for the future. Prospective sin is often clothed in very alluring garments; past sin appears in all its naked deformity. Looking back, therefore—"

"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 have lived to see the day when you, my son, would dare to speak of a Divine judgment as a funny story, and that you should presume so to address me."

"A judgment, Sir?"

"Yes, a judgment, Sir."

"Do you call the story of Lot's wife a judgment?"

"Yes, I do call the story of Lot's wife a judgment; a monument of the Divine wrath for the sin of disobedience."

"What! Mrs. Happy Lot? Do you call her a monument of wrath? Well, well, if that don't beat all, Minister. If you had a been a-tyin' of the night-cap last night I shouldn't a wondered at your talkin' at that pace. But to call that dear little woman, Mrs. Happy Lot, that dancin', laughin' tormentin', little critter, a monument of wrath, beats all to immortal smash."

"Why who are you a-talkin' of, Sam?"

"Why, Mrs. Happy Lot, the wife of the Honourable Cranbery Lot, of Umbagog, to be sure. Who did you think I was a-talkin' of?"

"Well, I thought you was a-talkin' of—of—ahem—of subjects too serious to be talked of in that manner; but I did you wrong, Sam; I did you injustice. Give me your hand, my boy. It's better for me to mistake and apologize, than for you to sin and repent. I don't think I ever heard of Mr. Lot, of Umbagog, or of his wife either. Sit down here, and tell me the story, for 'with thee conversing, I forget all time.'"

"Well, Minister," said Mr. Slick, "I'll tell you the ins and outs of it; and a droll story it is too. Miss Lot was the darter of Enoch Mosher, the rich miser of Goshen; as beautiful a little critter too, as ever slept in shoe-leather. She looked for all the world like one of the Paris fashion prints, for she was a parfect pictur', that's a fact. Her complexion was made of white and red roses, mixed so beautiful, you couldn't tell where the white eended, or the red begun, natur' had used the blendin' brush so delicate. Her eyes were screw augurs, I tell 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 nothin' like 'em. When lit up, they sparkled like lamp reflectors; and at other tunes, they was as soft, and mild, and clear as dew-drops that hang on the bushes at sun-rise. When she loved, she loved; and when she hated, she hated about the wickedest you ever see. Her lips were like heart cherries of the carnation kind; so plump, and fall, and hard, you felt as if you could fall to and eat 'em right up. Her voice was like a grand piany, all sorts o' power in it; canary-birds' notes at one eend, and thunder at t'other, accordin' to the humour she was in, for she was a'most a grand bit of stuff was Happy, she'd put an edge on a knife a'most. She was a rael steel. Her figur' was as light as a fairy's, and her waist was so taper and tiny, it seemed jist made for puttin' an arm round in walkin'. She was as active and springy on her feet as a catamount, and near about as touch me-not a sort of customer too. She actilly did seem as if she was made out of steel springs and chicken-hawk. If old Cran, was to slip off the handle, I think I should make up to her, for she is 'a salt,' that's a fact, a most a heavenly splice.

"Well, the Honourable Cranbery Lot put in for her, won her, and married her. A good speculation it turned out too, for he got the matter of one hundred thousand of dollars by her, if he got a cent. As soon as they were fairly welded, off they sot to take the tour of Europe, and they larfed and cried, and kissed and quarrelled, and fit and made up all over the Continent, for her temper was as onsartain as the climate here—rain one minit and sun the next; but more rain nor sun.

"He was a fool, was Cranbery. He didn't know how to manage her. His bridle hand warn't good, I tell you. A spry, mettlesome hoss, and a dull critter with no action, don't mate well in harness, that's a fact.

"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 mornin', jist at day-break, and sun-rise on them everlastin' hills is tall sun-rise, and no mistake, p'rhaps nothin was ever seen so fine except the first one, since creation. It takes the rag off quite. Well, she was an enterprisin' little toad, was Miss Lot too, afeered of nothin' a'most; so nothin' would sarve her but she must out and have a scramb up to the tip-topest part of the peak afore breakfast.

"Well, the squatter there, who was a kind o' guide, did what he could to dispersuade her, but all to no purpose; go she would, and a headstrong woman and a runaway hoss are jist two things it's out of all reason to try to stop; The only way is to urge 'em on, and then, bein' contrary by natur', they stop of themselves.

"'Well,' sais the guide, 'if you will go, marm, do take this pike staff, marm,' sais he; (a sort of walkin'-stick with a spike to the eend of it), 'for you can't get either up or down them slopes without it, it is so almighty slippy there.' So she took the staff, and off she sot and climbed and climbed ever so far, till she didn't look no bigger than a snowbird.

"At last she came to a small flat place, like a table, and then she turned round to rest, get breath, and take a look at the glorious view; and jist as she hove-to, up went her little heels, and away went her stick, right over a big parpendicular cliff, hundreds and hundreds, and thousands of feet deep. So deep, you couldn't see the bottom for the shadows, for the very snow looked black down there. There is no way in, it is so steep, but over the cliff; and no way out, but one, and that leads to t'other world. I can't describe it to you, though. I have see'd it since myself. There are some things too big to lift; some, too big to carry after they be lifted; and some too grand for the tongue to describe too. There's a notch where dictionary can't go no farther, as well as every other created thing, that's a fact. P'rhaps if I was to say it looked like the mould that that 'are very peak was cast in, afore it was cold and stiff, and sot up on eend, I should come as near the mark as any thing I know on.

"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 o' them critters that go to bed mistress, and rise master; and just as she got to the edge of the precipice, her head hangin' over, and her eyes lookin' down, and she all but ready to shoot out and launch away into bottomless space, the ten commandments brought her right short up. Oh, she sais, the sudden joy of that sudden stop swelled her heart so big, she thought it would have bust like a byler; and, as it was, the great endurin' long breath she drew, arter such an alfired escape, almost killed her at the ebb, it hurt her so."

"But," said Mr. Hopewell, "how did the ten commandments save her? Do you mean that figuratively, or literally. Was it her reliance on providence, arising from a conscious observance of the decalogue all her life, or was it a book containing them, that caught against some thing, and stopt her descent. It is very interesting. Many a person, Sam, has been saved when at the brink of destruction, by laying fast hold on the bible. Who can doubt, that the commandments had a Divine origin? Short, simple and yet comprehensive; the first four point to our duty to our Maker, the last six, towards our social duties. In this respect there is a great similarity of structure, to that excellent prayer given us—"

"Oh, Minister," said Mr. Slick, "I beg your pardon, I do, indeed, I don't mean that at all; and I do declare and vow now, I wasn't a playin' possum with you, nother. I won't do it no more, I won't, indeed."

"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 Slickville, savin' she gave him her ten commandments."

"And a very improper expression too, Sir," said Mr. Hopewell; "a very irreverent, indecent, and I may say profane expression; I am quite shocked. But as you say you didn't mean it, are sorry for it, and will not repeat it again, I accept your apology, and rely on your promise. Go on, Sir."

"Well, as I was a savin', the moment she found herself a coasting of it that way, flounder fashion, she hung on by her ten com—I mean her ten fingers, and her ten toes, like grim death to a dead nigger, and it brought her up jist in time. But how to get back was the question? To let go the hold of any one hand was sartain death, and there was nobody to help her, and yet to hold on long that way, she couldn't, no how she could fix it.

"So what does she do, (for nothin' equals a woman for contrivances), but move one finger at a time, and then one toe at a time, till she gets a new hold, and then crawls backward, like a span-worm, an inch at a hitch. Well, she works her passage this way, wrong eend foremost, by backin' of her paddles for the matter of half an hour or so, till she gets to where it was roughish, and somethin' like standin' ground, when who should come by but a tall handsome man, with a sort of a half coat, half cloak-like coverin' on, fastened round the waist with a belt, and havin' a hood up, to ambush the head.

"The moment she clapt eyes on him, she called to him for help. 'Oh,' sais she, 'for heaven's sake, good man, help me up! Jist take hold of my leg and draw me back, will you, that's a good soul?' And then she held up fust one leg for him, and then the other, most beseechin', but nothin' would move him. He jist stopt, looked back for a moment and then progressed agin.

"Well, it ryled her considerable. Her eyes actilly snapped with fire, like a hemlock log at Christmas: (for nothin' makes a woman so mad as a parsonal slight, and them little ankles of hern were enough to move the heart of a stone, and make it jump out o' the ground, that's a fact, they were such fine-spun glass ones), it made her so mad, it gave her fresh strength; and makin' two or three onnateral efforts, she got clear back to the path, and sprung right up on eend, as wicked as a she-bear with a sore head. But when she got upright agin, she then see'd what a beautiful frizzle of a fix she was in. She couldn't hope to climb far; and, indeed, she didn't ambition to; she'd had enough of that, for one spell. But climbin' up was nothin', compared to goin' down hill without her staff; so what to do, she didn't know.

"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.'

"With that, the man turned round, and took one glance at her, as if he kinder relented, and then, all at once, wheeled back again, as amazed as if he was jist born, gave an awful yell, and started off as fast as he could clip, though that warn't very tall runnin' nother, considerin' the ground. But she warn't to be shook off that way. She held fast to his cloak, like a burr to a sheep's tail, and raced arter him, screamin' and screechin' like mad; and the more she cried, the louder he yelled, till the mountains all echoed it and re-echoed it, so that you would have thought a thousand devils had broke loose, a'most.

"Such a gettin' 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-lookin' house, when the man gave the door a kick, that sent the latch a flyin' off to the t'other eend of the room, and fell right in on the floor, on his face, as flat as a flounder, a groanin' and a moanin' like any thing, and lookin' as mean as a critter that was sent for, and couldn't come, and as obstinate as a pine stump.

"'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, the more she talked, the more he groaned; but the devil a word, good or bad, could she get out of him at all. With that, she stoops down, and catches up his staff, and says she, 'I have as great a mind to give you a jab with this here toothpick, where your mother used to spank you, as ever I had in all my life. But if you want it, my old 'coon, you must come and get it; for if you won't help me, I shall help myself.'

"Jist at that moment, her eyes being better accustomed to the dim light of the place, she see'd a man, a sittin' at the fur eend of the room, with his back to the wall, larfin' ready to kill himself. He grinned so, he showed his corn-crackers from ear to ear. She said, he stript his teeth like a catamount, he look'd so all mouth.

"Well, that encouraged her, for there ain't much harm in a larfin' man; it's only them that never larf that's fearfulsome. So sais she 'My good man, will you he so kind as to lend me your arm down this awful peak, and I will reward you handsomely, you may depend.'

"Well, he made no answer, nother; and thinkin' he didn't onderstand English, she tried him in Italian, and then in broken French, and then bungled out a little German; but no, still no answer. He took no more notice of her and her mister, and senior, and mountsheer, and mynheer, than if he never heerd them titles, but jist larfed on.

"She stopped a minit, and looked at him full in the face, to see what he meant by all this ongenteel behaviour, when all of a sudden, jist as she moved one step nearer to him, she saw he was a dead man, and had been so long there, part of the flesh had dropt off or dried off his face; and it was that that made him grin that way, like a fox-trap. It was the bone-house they was in. The place where poor, benighted, snow-squalled stragglers, that perish on the mountains, are located, for their friends to come and get them, if they want 'em; and if there ain't any body that knows 'em or cares for 'em, why they are left there for ever, to dry into nothin' but parchment and atomy, as it's no joke diggin' a grave in that frozen region.

"As soon as she see'd this, she never said another blessed word, but jist walked off with the livin' man's pike, and began to poke her way down the mountain as careful as she cleverly could, dreadful tired, and awful frighted.

"Well, she hadn't gone far, afore she heard her name echoed all round her—Happy! Happy! Happy! It seemed from the echoes agin, as if there was a hundred people a yelling it put all at once.

"Oh, very happy,' said she, 'very happy, indeed; guess you'd find it so if you was here. I know I should feel very happy if I was out of it, that's all; for I believe, on my soul, this is harnted ground, and the people in it are possessed. Oh, if I was only to home, to dear Umbagog agin, no soul should ever ketch me in this outlandish place any more, I know.'

"Well, the sound increased and increased so, like young thunder she was e'en a'most skeared to death, and in a twitteration all over; and her knees began to shake so, she expected to go for it every minute; when a sudden turn of the path show'd her her husband and the poor squatter a sarchin' for her.

"She was so overcome with fright and joy, she could hardly speak—and it warn't a trifle that would toggle her tongue, that's a fact. It was some time after she arrived at the house afore she could up and tell the story onderstandable; and when she did, she had to tell it twice over, first in short hand, and then in long metre, afore she could make out the whole bill o' parcels. Indeed, she hante done tellin' it yet, and wherever she is, she works round, and works round, till she gets Europe spoke of, and then she begins, 'That reminds me of a most remarkable fact. Jist after I was married to Mr. Lot, we was to the Alps.'

"If ever you see her, and she begins that way, up hat and cut stick, double quick, or you'll find the road over the Alps to Umbagog, a little the longest you've ever travelled, I know.

"Well, she had no sooner done than Cranbery jumps up on eend, and sais he to the guide, 'Uncle,' sais he, 'jist come along with me, that's a good feller, will you? We must return that good Samaritan's' cane to him; and as he must be considerable cold there, I'll jist warm his hide a bit for him, to make his blood sarculate. If he thinks I'll put that treatment to my wife, Miss Lot, into my pocket, and walk off with it, he's mistaken in the child, that's all, Sir. He may be stubbeder than I be, Uncle, that's a fact; but if he was twice as stubbed, I'd walk into him like a thousand of bricks. I'll give him a taste of my breed. Insultin' a lady is a weed we don't suffer to grow in our fields to Umbagog. Let him be who the devil he will, log-leg or leather-breeches—green-shirt or blanket-coat—land-trotter or river-roller, I'll let him know there is a warrant out arter him, I know."

"'Why,' sais the guide, 'he couldn't help himself, no how he could work it. He is a friar, or a monk, or a hermit, or a pilgrim, or somethin' or another of that kind, for there is no eend to them, they are so many different sorts; but the breed he is of, have a vow never to look at a woman, or talk to a woman, or touch a woman, and if they do, there is a penance, as long as into the middle of next week.'

"'Not look at a woman?' sais Cran, 'why, what sort of a guess world would this be without petticoats?—what a superfine superior tarnation fool he must be, to jine such a tee-total society as that. Mint julip I could give up, I do suppose, though I had a plaguy sight sooner not do it, that's a fact: but as for womankind, why the angeliferous little torments, there is no livin' without them. What do you think, stranger?'

"'Sartainly,' said Squatter; 'but seein' that the man had a vow, why it warn't his fault, for he couldn't do nothin' else. Where 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 hoss of another colour, that. I won't look back nother, then. Let him he. But he is erroneous considerable.'

"So you see, Minister," said Mr. Slick, "where there is nothin' to be gained, and harm done, by this retrospection, as you call it, why I think lookin' a-head is far better than—lookin' back."



CHAPTER XIV. CROSSING THE BORDER.

The time had now arrived when it was necessary for me to go to Scotland, for a few days. I had two very powerful reasons for this excursion:—first, because an old and valued friend of mine was there, whom I had not met for many years, and whom I could not think of leaving this country without seeing again; and secondly, because I was desirous of visiting the residence of my forefathers on the Tweed, which, although it had passed out of their possession many years ago, was still endeared to me as their home, as the scene of the family traditions; and above all, as their burial place.

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 American companions, I was very much struck with the different manner in which they received the announcement.

"Come back soon, Squire," said Mr. Slick; "go and see your old friend, if you must, and go to the old campin' grounds of your folks; though the wigwam I expect has gone long ago, but don't look at anythin' else. I want we should visit the country together. I have an idea from what little I have seed of it, Scotland is over-rated. I guess there is a good deal of romance about their old times; and that, if we knowed all, their old lairds warn't much better, or much richer than our Ingian chiefs; much of a muchness. Kinder sorter so, and kinder sorter not so, no great odds. Both hardy, both fierce; both as poor as Job's Turkey, and both tarnation proud, at least, that's my idea to a notch.

"I have often axed myself what sort of a gall that splenderiferous, 'Lady of the Lake' of Scott's was, and I kinder guess she was a red-headed Scotch heifer, with her hair filled with heather, and feather, and lint, with no shoes and stockings to her feet, and that

"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 screetch owl in petticoats. And I suspicion, that Mr. Rob Roy was a sort of thievin' devil of a white Mohawk, that found it easier to steal cattle, than raise them himself; and that Loch Katrin, that they make such a touss about, is jist about equal to a good sizeable duck-pond in our country; at least, that's my idea. For I tell you it does not do to follow arter a poet, and take all he says for gospel.

"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 "tee-totals." Let's see whether it's John Bull or Patlander that's to blame, or both on 'em; six of one and half-a-dozen of tother. By Gosh! Minister would talk, more sense in one day to Ireland, than has been talked there since the rebellion; for common sense is a word that don't grow like Jacob's ladder, in them diggins, I guess. It's about, as stunted as Gineral Nichodemus Ott's corn was.

"The Gineral was takin' a ride with a southerner one day over his farm to Bangor in Maine, to see his crops, fixin mill privileges and what not, and the southerner was a turning up his nose at every thing amost, proper scorney, and braggin' how things growed on his estate down south. At last the Gineral's ebenezer began to rise, and he got as mad as a hatter, and was intarmed to take a rise out of him.

"'So,' says he, 'stranger,' says he, 'you talk about your Indgian corn, as if nobody else raised any but yourself. Now I'll bet you a thousand dollars, I have corn that's growd so wonderful, you can't reach the top of it a standin' on your horse.'

"'Done,' sais Southener, and 'Done,' sais the General, and done it was.

"'Now,' sais the Giniral, 'stand up on your saddle like a circus rider, for the field is round that corner of the wood there.' And the entire stranger stood up as stiff as a poker. 'Tall corn, I guess,' sais he, 'if I can't reach it, any how, for I can e'en a'most reach the top o' them trees. I think I feel them thousand dollars of yourn, a marchin' quick step into my pocket, four deep. Reach your corn, to be sure I will. Who the plague, ever see'd corn so tall, that a man couldn't reach it a horseback.'

"'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 growin', that's a fact. We must see both these countries together. It is like the nigger's pig to the West Indies "little and dam old."

"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, "he" (nodding his head towards Mr. Hopewell,) "will miss you shockingly. He frets horridly about his flock. He says, ''Mancipation and Temperance have superceded the Scriptures in the States. That formerly they preached religion there, but now they only preach about niggers and rum.' Good bye, Squire."

"You do right, Squire," said Mr. Hopewell, "to go. That which has to be done, should be done soon, for we have not always the command of our time. See your friend, for the claims of friendship are sacred; and see your family tomb-stones also, for the sight of them, will awaken a train of reflections in a mind like yours, at once melancholy and elevating; but I will not deprive you of the pleasure you will derive from first impressions, by stripping them of their novelty. You will be pleased with the Scotch; they are a frugal, industrious, moral and intellectual people. I should like to see their agriculture, I am told it is by far the best in Europe.

"But, Squire, I shall hope to see you soon, for I sometimes think duty calls me home again. Although my little flock has chosen other shepherds and quitted my fold, some of them may have seen their error, and wish to return. And ought I not to be there to receive them? It is true, I am no longer a labourer in the vineyard, but my heart is there. I should like to walk round and round the wall that encloses it, and climb up, and look into it, and talk to them that are at work there. I might give some advice that would be valuable to them. The blossoms require shelter, and the fruit requires heat, and the roots need covering in Winter. The vine too is luxuriant, and must be pruned, or it will produce nothing but wood. It demands constant care and constant labour; I had decorated the little place with flowers too, to make it attractive and pleasant.

"But, ah me! dissent will pull all these up like weeds, and throw them out; and scepticism will raise nothing but gaudy annuals. The perennials will not flourish without cultivating and enriching the ground; their roots are in the heart. The religion of our Church, which is the same as this of England, is a religion which inculcates love: filial love towards God; paternal love to those committed to our care; brotherly love, to our neighbour, nay, something more than is known by that term in its common acceptation, for we are instructed to love our neighbour as ourselves.

"We are directed to commence our prayer with "Our Father." How much of love, of tenderness, of forbearance, of kindness, of liberality, is embodied in that word—children: of the same father, members of the same great human family I Love is the bond of union—love dwelleth in the heart; and the heart must be cultivated, that the seeds of affection may germinate in it.

"Dissent is cold and sour; it never appeals to the affections, but it scatters denunciations, and rules by terror. Scepticism is proud and self-sufficient. It refuses to believe in mysteries and deals in rhetoric and sophistry, and flatters the vanity, by exalting human reason. My poor lost flock will see the change, and I fear, feel it too. Besides, absence is a temporary death. Now I am gone from them, they will forget my frailties and infirmities, and dwell on what little good might have been in me, and, perhaps, yearn towards me.

"If I was to return, perhaps I could make an impression on the minds of some, and recall two or three, if not more, to a sense of duty. What a great thing that would be, wouldn't it? And if I did, I would get our bishop to send me a pious, zealous, humble-minded, affectionate, able young man, as a successor; and I would leave my farm, and orchard, and little matters, as a glebe for the Church. And who knows but the Lord may yet rescue Slickville from the inroads of ignorant fanatics, political dissenters, and wicked infidels?

"And besides, my good friend, I have much to say to you, relative to the present condition and future prospects of this great country. I have lived to see a few ambitious lawyers, restless demagogues, political preachers, and unemployed local officers of provincial regiments, agitate and sever thirteen colonies at one time from the government of England. I have witnessed the struggle. It was a fearful, a bloody and an unnatural one. My opinions, therefore, are strong in proportion as my experience is great. I have abstained on account of their appearing like preconceptions from saying much to you yet, for I want to see more of this country, and to be certain, that I am quite right before I speak.

"When you return, I will give you my views on some of the great questions of the day. Don't adopt them, hear them and compare them with your own. I would have you think for yourself, for I am an old man now and sometimes I distrust my powers of mind.

"The state of this country you, in your situation, ought to be thoroughly acquainted with. It is a very perilous one. Its prosperity, its integrity, nay its existence as a first-rate power, hangs by a thread, and that thread but little better and stronger than a cotton one. Quem Deus vult perdere prius dementat. I look in vain for that constitutional vigour, and intellectual power, which once ruled the destinies of this great nation.

"There is an aberration of intellect, and a want of self-possession here that alarms me. I say, alarms me, for American as I am by birth, and republican as I am from the force of circumstances, I cannot but regard England with great interest, and with great affection. What a beautiful country! What a noble constitution! What a high minded, intelligent, and generous people! When the Whigs came into office, the Tories were not a party, they were the people of England. Where and what are they now? Will they ever have a lucid interval, or again recognise the sound of their own name? And yet, Sam, doubtful as the prospect of their recovery is, and fearful as the consequences of a continuance of their malady appear to be, one thing is most certain, a Tory government is the proper government for a monarchy, a suitable one for any country, but it is the only one for England. I do not mean an ultra one, for I am a moderate man, and all extremes are equally to be avoided. I mean a temperate, but firm one: steady to its friends, just to its enemies, and inflexible to all. "When compelled to yield, it should be by the force of reason, and never by the power of agitation. Its measures should be actuated by a sense of what is right, and not what is expedient, for to concede is to recede—to recede is to evince weakness—and to betray weakness is to invite attack.

"I am a stranger here. I do not understand this new word, Conservatism. I comprehend the other two, Toryism and Liberalism. The one is a monarchical, and the other a republican word. The term, Conservatism, I suppose, designates a party formed out of the moderate men of both sides, or rather, composed of Low-toned Tories and High Whigs. I do not like to express a decided opinion yet, but my first impression is always adverse to mixtures, for a mixture renders impure the elements of which it is compounded. Every thing will depend on the preponderance of the wholesome over the deleterious ingredients. I will analyse it carefully. See how one neutralizes or improves the other, and what the effect of the compound is likely to be on the constitution. I will request our Ambassador, Everett, or Sam's friend, the Minister Extraordinary, Abednego Layman, to introduce me to Sir Robert Peel, and will endeavour to obtain all possible information from the best possible source.

"On your return 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, he 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 consequence; but a superior people, on the whole. They will give you a warm reception, will the Scotch. Your name will insure that; and they are clannish; and another warm reception will, I assure you, await you here, when, returning, you again Cross the Border."



CHAPTER XV. THE IRISH PREFACE.

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, however, would induce us to withdraw such a hasty opinion, and convince us that his idea is, after all, a correct one. It is almost always the part that is last written, and we perpetrate the 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 place, and secondly because it too often contains a great deal of twaddle. Unfortunately, one half of what is said in this world is unmeaning compliment. A man who wishes to mark his respect for you, among other inconvenient methods of shewing it, offers to accompany you to the Hall. You are in consequence arrested in your progress. You are compelled to turn on your pursuer, and entreat him not to come to the door. After a good deal of lost time he is prevailed upon to return. This is not fair. Every man should be suffered to depart in peace.

Now, it is my intention to adopt the Irish definition. The word preface is a misnomer. What I have to say I shall put into my last chapter, and assign to it its proper place. I shall also adopt another improvement, on the usual practice. I shall make it as short as possible, and speak to the point.

My intention then, gentle reader, was when I commenced this work, to write but one volume, and at some future time to publish a second. The materials, however, were so abundant, that selection became very difficult, and compression much more so. To touch as many topics as I designed, I was compelled to extend it to its present size, and I still feel that the work is only half done. Whether I shall ever be able to supply this deficiency I cannot say. I do not doubt your kind reception; I have experienced too much indulgence and favour at your hands, to suppose that you will withdraw it from one whom you have honoured with repeated marks of approbation; but I entertain some fears that I shall not be able to obtain the time that is necessary for its completion, and that if I can command the leisure, my health will insist on a prior claim to its disposal.

If, however, I shall be enabled so to do, it is my intention, hereafter to add another series of the Sayings and Doings of the Attache, so as to make the work as complete as possible.

I am quite confident it is not necessary to add, that the sentiments uttered by Mr. Slick, are not designed either as an expression of those of the author, or of the Americans who visit this country. With respect to myself no disavowal is necessary; but I feel it due to my American friends, for whose kindness I can never be sufficiently grateful, and whose good opinion I value too highly to jeopardise it by any misapprehension, to state distinctly, that I have not the most remote idea of putting Mr. Slick forward, as a representative of any opinions, but his own individual ones. They are peculiar to himself. They naturally result from his shrewdness—knowledge of human nature—quickness of perception and appreciation of the ridiculous on the one hand; and on the other from his defective education, ignorance of the usages of society, and sudden elevation, from the lower walks of life, to a station for which he was wholly unqualified.

I have endeavoured, as far as it was possible, in a work of this kind, to avoid all personal allusions to private persons, or in any way to refer to scenes that may be supposed to have such a hearing. Should any one imagine that he can trace any resemblance, to any private occurrence I can only assure him that such resemblance is quite accidental.

On the other hand, I have lost no opportunity of inculcating what I conceive to be good sound constitutional doctrines. Loyal myself, a great admirer of the monarchical form of government; attached to British Institutions, and a devoted advocate for the permanent connexion between the parent State, and its transatlantic possessions, I have not hesitated to give utterance to these opinions. Born a Colonist, it is natural I should have the feelings of one, and if I have obtruded local matters on the notice of the reader oftener than may be thought necessary, it must be remembered that an inhabitant of those distant countries has seldom an opportunity of being heard. I should feel, therefore, if I were to pass over in silence our claims or our interests, I was affording the best justification for that neglect, which for the last half century, has cramped our energies, paralized our efforts, and discouraged and disheartened ourselves. England is liberal in concessions, and munificent in her pecuniary grants to us; but is so much engrossed with domestic politics, that she will bestow upon us neither time nor consideration.

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 honoured 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 acknowledgments, for the very great measure of indulgence I have received, from the public on both sides of the Atlantic, and of expressing a hope that Mr. Slick, who has been so popular as a Clockmaker may prove himself equally deserving of favour as "an Attache."

I have the honour to subscribe myself,

Your most obedient servant,

THE AUTHOR.

London, July 1st., 1843.

THE END.