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THE    ATTACHE; 


SAM  SLICK   IN    ENGLAND. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF 

THE  CLOCKMAKER;  OR,  SAYINGS  AND  DOINGS  OF  SAM  SLICK, 

&c.  &c.  &c. 


Duplex  libelli  dos  est ;  quod  risum  movet, 
Et  quod  prudenti  vitam  consilio  monet. 


SECOND  AND  LAST  SERIES. 

IN  TWO  VOLUMES. 
VOL.  I. 


LONDON: 

RICHARD  BENTLEY,  NEW  BURLINGTON  STREET. 

1844. 


London : 

Printed  by  S.  &  J.  Bentley,  Wilson,  and  Flet, 

Bangor  House,  Shoe  Lane. 


^  ^  .-  <•>*■  »*.4  **•  *       ""     •     **'•     ••;■-•■'■.       "■     "^  !  •  . "'  i    I. 


^1  3  5' 


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CONTENTS 


THE    FIRST    VOLUME. 


C-} 

CI 

CHAPTER    I. 

THE  OLD  AND 

NEW  WORLD 

CHAPTER  11. 

PAGE 
.              1 

BOARDING-SCHOOLS 

.     23 

CHAPTER  III. 

p. 

THE  REVOLUTIONAKT  HERO 

.     44 

1 

CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  EYE 

CHAPTER  V. 

.     58 

THE  QUEEN 

CHAPTER  VI. 

.     78 

SMALL  TALK 

CHAPTER  VII. 

.     93 

WHITE  BAIT 

. 

lOfi. 

:S3G01 


PAGE 

115 


128 


145 


iv  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  CURLING  WAVE 

CHAPTER.  IX. 

NATIONAL  CUARACTER       . 

CHAPTER  X. 

THE    PULPIT    AND   THE    PRESS 

CHAPTER  XL 

WATERLOO  AND  BUNKER  HILL         .  .  .160 

CHAPTER  XXL 

HOOKS  AND  EYES. — PART  I.  .  .  .183 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

HOOKS    AND    EYES. PART  II.  .  .  .    198 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

RESPONSIBLE  GOVERNMENT. — PART  I.  .  .211 

CHAPTER  XV. 

RESPONSIBLE  GOVERNMENT. — PART  II.         .  .    227 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE  DUKE  OF  KENT  AND  HIS  TRUMPETER  .  .    243 

•CHAPTER  XVII. 

REPEAL  .  .  •  .261 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE  HORSE  STEALER  .  .  .  .273 


THE   ATTACHE; 


SAM     SLICK    IN    ENGLAND. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  OLD  AND  THE  NEW  WORLD. 

The  first  series  of  this  work  had  scarcely 
issued  from  the  press,  when  I  was  com- 
pelled to  return  to  Nova  Scotia,  on  urgent 
private  affairs.  I  was  fortunately  not  de- 
tained long,  and  arrived  again  at  Liver- 
pool after  an  absence  of  three  months. 
To  my  surprise,  I  found  Mr.  Slick  at  the 
Liner's  Hotel.  He  was  evidently  out  of 
spirits,   and   even   the  excitement  of  my 

VOL.  I.  B 


THE    OLD    AND 


unexpected  return  did  not  wholly  dissi- 
j)ate  his  gloom.  ]\Iy  fears  were  at  first 
awakened  for  the  safety  of  my  excellent 
friend  Mr.  Hopewell,  but  I  was  delighted 
to  find  that  he  was  in  good  health,  and  in 
no  way  the  cause  of  Mr.  Slick's  anxiety. 
I  pushed  my  enquiries  no  further,  but 
left  it  to  him  to  disclose,  as  I  knew  he 
would  in  due  time,  the  source  of  his 
grief.  His  outer  man  was  no  less  changed 
than  his  countenance.  He  wore  a  dress- 
coat  and  pantaloons,  a  gaudy-figured  silk 
waistcoat,  black  satin  stock,  and  Parisian 
hat.  A  large  diamond  brooch  decorated 
his  bosom,  and  a  heavy  gold  chain,  sus- 
pended over  his  waistcoat,  secured  his 
watch ;  while  one  of  very  delicate  tex- 
ture and  exquisite  workmanship  supported 
an  eye-glass.  To  complete  the  meta- 
morphos,  he  had  cultivated  a  very  mi- 
litary moustache,  and  an  imperial  of  the 
most  approved  size  finished  the  picture. 


THE   NEW   WORLD.  3 

I  was  astonished  and  grieved  beyond 
measure  to  find  that  three  short  months 
had  effected  such  a  total  change  in  him. 
He  had  set  up  for  a  man  of  fashion,  and 
in  his  failure  had  made  himself,  what  he 
in  his  happier  days  would  have  called  "  a 
caution  to  sinners."  His  plain  unpre- 
tending attire,  frank  rough  manners,  and 
sound  practical  good  sense,  had  hereto- 
fore always  disarmed  criticism,  and  ren- 
dered his  peculiarities,  if  not  attractive, 
at  least  inoffensive  and  amusing,  inas- 
much as  altogether  they  constituted  a 
very  original  and  a  very  striking  charac- 
ter. He  had  now  rendered  himself  ridi- 
culous. It  is  impossible  to  express  the 
pain  with  which  I  contemplated  this  awk- 
ward, over-dressed,  vulgar  caricature  ;  and 
the  difficulty  with  which  I  recognised  my 
old  friend  the  Clockmaker  in  dandy  Slick. 
Dress,  however,  can  be  put  on  or  laid 
aside  with  ease,  but  fortunately  a  man's 

u   2 


4  THE    OLD    AND 

train  of  thinking  is  not  so  readily  changed. 
It  was  a  source  of  great  satisfaction  to 
me,  therefore,  to  find,  as  soon  as  he  be- 
gan to  converse,  that,  with  the  exception 
of  a  very  great  increase  of  personal  vanity, 
he  was  still  himself. 

"  Well,  I  am  glad  to  see  you  again,  too, 
Squire,"  he  said,  "  it  railly  makes  me  feel 
kinder  all-overish  to  shake  hands  along 
with  you  onct  more  ;  and  won't  Minister 
feel  hand-over-foot  in  a  twitteration  when 
he  hears  you  Ve  come  back.  Poor  dear 
old  critter,  he  loves  you  like  a  son ;  he 
says  you  are  the  only  man  that  has  done 
us  justice,  and  that  though  you  rub  us 
pretty  hard  sometimes,  you  touch  up  the 
blue  noses,  and  the  British,  too,  every  mite 
and  mossel  as  much, .  and  that  it  is  all 
done  good-natured,  and  no  spite  or  pre- 
judice in  it  nother.  There  is  no  abuse 
in  your  books,  he  says.  Yes,  I  am  glad 
to  see  you,  'cause  now  I  have  got  some 


i 

THE    NEW    WORLD.  5 

one  to  talk  to,  that  has  got  some  sense, 
and  can  understand  me,  for  the  English 
don't  actilly  know  nothin  out  of  their 
own  diggins.  There  is  a  great  contrast 
at  ween  the  Old  and  the  New  World, 
ain't  there?  I  was  talking  to  John  Russel 
the  other  day  about  it." 

"  Who  is  he  f "  T  said ;  "  is  he  a  skipper 
of  one  of  the  liners  ?" 

"  Lord  love  you,  no ;  lie  is  the  great 
noble  —  Lord  Russel — the  leadin'  Whig 
statesman.  It's  only  about  a  week  ago 
I  dined  with  him  to  Norfolk's — no,  it 
warn't  to  Norfolk's,  it  was  to  Normanby's." 

"  Is  that  the  way,"  I  again  asked,  "  that 
you  speak  of  those  persons  ?" 

"  Isn't  it  the  way  they  speak  to  each 
other?"  said  he;  "doesn't  Wellington 
say,  '  Stanley,  shall  I  take  wine  with 
you?'  and  if  they  do,  why  shouldn't  I? 
It  mayn't  be  proper  for  a  common  Bri- 
tisher to  say  so,  because  they  ain't  equal ; 


6  THE    OLD    AND 

but  it 's  proper  for  us,  for  we  are,  that 's 
a  fact ;  and  if  it  wa'n't  boastin',  superior 
too,  (and  look  at  here,  who  are  these  big 
bugs  now,  and  what  was  they  originally?) 
for  we  have  natur's  nobility.  Lord,  I  wish 
you  could  hear  Steverman  talk  of  them 
and  their  ceremonies." 

"  Don't  you  follow  Steverman's  exam- 
ple, my  good  friend,"  I  said ;  "  he  has 
rendered  himself  very  ridiculous  by  as- 
suming this  familiar  tone.  It  is  very  bad 
taste  to  talk  that  way,  and  no  such  ab- 
surd ceremony  exists  of  creating  peers, 
as  I  understand  he  says  there  is ;  that  is 
a  mere  invention  of  his  to  gratify  de- 
mocratic prejudice.  Speak  of  them  and 
to  them  as  you  see  well-bred  people  in 
this  country  do,  neither  obsequiously  nor 
familiarly,  but  in  a  manner  that  shows 
you  respect  both  them  and  yourself." 

«  Come,  I  like  that  talk,"  said  Mr. 
Slick  ;  "  I  'm  a  candid  man,  I  am  indeed, 


THE    NEW    WORLD.  7 

and  manners  is  a  thing  I  rather  pride  my- 
self on.  I  ha'n't  had  no  great  schoolin"' 
that  way  in  airly  days,  but  movin'  in  high 
life,  as  I  do,  I  want  to  sustain  the  ho- 
nour of  our  great  nation  abroad ;  and  if 
there  is  a  wrong  figur'  I  'm  for  spitten' 
on  the  slate,  rubbin'  it  out  and  puttin"*  in 
a  right  one.  I  '11  ask  Minister  what  he 
thinks  of  it,  for  he  is  a  book ;  but  you, 
('xcuse  me,  Squire,  no  offence  I  hope, 
for  I  don't  mean  none,)  but  you  are 
nothin"*  but  a  colonist  you  see,  and  don't 
know  everything.  But,  as  I  was  a  sayin', 
there  is  a  nation  sight  of  difference  too, 
ain't  there,  atween  an  old  and  a  new 
country?  but  come,  let's  go  into  the 
coffee-room  and  sit  down,  and  talk,  for 
sitten'  is  just  as  cheaj)  as  standin'  in  a 
general  way." 

This  spacious  apartment  was  on  the 
right  hand  of  the  entrance  hall,  furnished 
and  fitted  in  the  usual  manner.     Imme- 


o  THE    OLD    AND 

diately  behind  it  was  the  bar-room,  which 
communicated  with  it  in  one  corner  by 
an  open  window,  and  with  the  hall  by 
a  similar  a])erture.  In  this  corner  sat 
or  stood  the  bar-maid  for  the  purpose  of 
receiving  and  communicating"  orders. 

"  Look  at  that  gall,"  said  Mr.  Slick, 
"  ain't  she  a  smasher?  What  a  tall,  well- 
made,  handsome  piece  of  furniture  she 
is,  ain't  she  ?  Look  at  her  hair,  ain't  it 
neat?  and  her  clothes  fit  so  well,  and 
are  so  nice,  and  her  cap  so  white,  and 
her  complexion  so  clear,  and  she  looks 
so  good-natured,  and  smiles  so  sweet,  it 
does  one  good  to  look  at  her.  She  is  a 
whole  team  and  a  horse  to  spare,  that 
gall, — that 's  a  fact.  I  go  and  call  for 
two  or  three  glasses  of  brandy-cocktail 
more  than  1  want  every  day,  just  for  the 
sake  of  talking  to  her.  She  always  says, 
'  What  will  you  be  pleased  to  have,  sir?' 
'  Somethin','  says  I,  '  that  I   can't  have,' 


THE    NEW    WORLD.  9 

lookin'  at  her  pretty  mouth  about  the 
wickedest ;  well,  she  laughs,  for  she  knows 
what  I  mean  ;  and  says,  '  P'r'aps  you  will 
have  a  glass  of  bitters,  sir  ? '  and  she  goes 
and  gets  it.  Well,  this  goes  on  three  or 
four  times  a  day,  every  time  the  identical 
same  tune,  only  with  variations. 

"  About  an  hour  afore  you  come  in 
I  was  there  agin.  '  What  will  you  be 
pleased  to  have,  sir  ?'  says  she  agin, 
laughin'.  '  Somethin'  I  can't  get,'  says  I, 
a  laughin'  too,  and  a  smackin'  of  my  lips 
and  a  lettin'  off  sparks  from  my  eyes  like 
a  blacksmith's  chimney.  '  You  can't  tell 
that  till  you  try,'  says  she ;  '  but  you  can 
have  your  bitters  at  any  rate,'  and  she 
drawed  a  glass  and  gave  it  to  me.  It 
tan'te  so  bad  that,  is  it  ?  Well,  now  she 
has  seed  you  before,  and  knows  you  very 
well ;  go  to  her  and  see  how  nicely  she 
will  courtshy,  how  pretty  she  will  smile, 
and  how  lady-like  she  will  say,  '  How  do 


10  THE    OLD    AND 

you  do,  sir?  I  hope  you  are  quite  well, 
sir ;  have  you  just  arrived  ? — Here,  cham- 
bermaid, show  this  gentleman  to  No.  200. 
— Sorry,  sir,  we  are  so  full,  but  to-morrow 
we  will  move  you  into  a  better  room. — 
Thomas,  take  up  this  gentleman's  lug- 
gage ;'  and  then  she'd  courtshy  agin,  and 
smile  handsome.  Don't  that  look  well 
now  ?  do  you  want  anything  better  nor 
that,  eh  ?  if  you  do,  you  are  hard  to  please, 
that's  all.  But  stop  a  bit,  don't  be  in  such 
an  everlastin'  almighty  hurry  ;  think  afore 
you  speak;  go  there  agin  —  set  her  a 
smilin'  once  more,  and  look  close.  It 's 
only  skin  deep — just  on  the  surface,  like 
a  cat's  paw  on  the  water,  it's  nothin'  but  a 
rimple  like,  and  no  more  ;  then  look  closer 
still  and  you  will  desearn  the  color  of  it. 

"  I  see  you  laugh  at  the  color  of  a 
smile,  but  still  watch  and  you  '11  see  it. 
Look  now,  don't  you  see  the  color  of  the 
shilling  there,  it 's  white,  and   cold,  and 


THE   NEW    WORLD.  11 

silvery, — it  ''s  a  bought  smile,  and  a  bought 
smile,  like  an  artificial  flower,  has  no 
sweetness  in  it.  There  is  no  natur — it's 
a  cheat — it 's  a  pretty  cheat — it  don't  ryle 
you  none,  but  still  it 's  a  cheat.  It 's  like 
whipt  cream ;  open  your  mouth  wide,  take 
it  all  in,  and  shut  your  lips  down  on  it 
tight,  and  it 's  nothin' — it 's  only  a  mouth- 
ful of  moonshine ;  yes,  it 's  a  pretty  cheat, 
that 's  a  fact.  This  ain't  confined  to  the 
women  nother.  Petticoats  have  smiles 
and  courtshys,  and  the  trowsers  bows 
and  scrapes,  and  my-lords  for  you,  there 
ain't  no  great  difference  that  way;  so 
send  for  the  landlord.  '  Lardner,'  says 
you,  '  Sir,'  says  he,  and  he  makes  you  a 
cold,  low,  deep,  formal  bow,  as  much  as 
to  say,  '  Speak,  Lord,  for  thy  sarvent  is  a 
dog.'  '  I  want  to  go  to  church  to-morrow,' 
says  you ;  '  what  church  do  you  recom- 
mend?' Well,  he  eyes  you  all  over, 
careful,  afore  he  answers,   so    as   not   to 


12  THE    OLD    AND 

back  up  a  wrong  tree.  He  sees  you  are 
from  t'  other  side  of  the  water ;  he 
guesses,  therefore,  you  can't  be  a  church- 
man, and  must  be  a  radical :  and  them 
that  calculate  that  way  miss  a  figure  as 
often  as  not,  I  can  tell  you.  So  he  takes 
his  cue  to  please  you.  '  St.  Luke's,  sir, 
is  a  fine  church,  and  plenty  of  room,  for 
there  ain't  no  congregation ;  M'Neil's 
church  has  no  congregation,  nother,  in 
a  manner ;  you  can  only  call  it  a  well- 
dressed  mob,  —  but  it  has  no  room  ;  for 
folks  go  there  to  hear  politics.'  '  Why 
what  is  he?'  says  you.  'Oh,  a  church- 
man,' says  he,  with  a  long  face  as  if  he 
was  the  devil.  '  No,'  says  you,  '  I  don't 
mean  that;  but  what  is  his  politics?' 
'  Oh,  sir,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  violent  — ' 
'Yes;  but  what  are  they?"  'Oh,'  says 
he,  lookin'  awful  shocked,  '  tory,  sir.' 
'  Oh,  then,'  says  you,  '  he  's  just  the  boy 
that  will  suit  me,   for  I  am  tory  too,  to 


THE    NEW    WORLD.  13 

the  back-bone.'  Lardner  seems  wham- 
ble-cropt,  scratches  his  head,  looks  as  if 
he  was  delivered  of  a  mistake,  bows,  and 
walks  off,  a  say  in'  to  himself — '  Well,  if 
that  don't  pass,  I  swear ;  who  'd  a  thought 
that  cursed  long-backed,  long-necked, 
punkin-headed  colonist  was  a  churchman 
and  a  tory  ?  The  ugly  devil  is  worse  than 
he  looks,  d — n  him.' 

"  Arter  takin'  these  two  samples  out  of 
the  bulk,  now  go  to  Halifax,  Nova  Scotia, 
and  streak  it  off  to  Windsor,  hot  foot. 
First  stage  is  Bedford  Basin.  Poor,  dear 
old  Marm  Bedford,  the  moment  she  sets 
eyes  on  you,  is  out  to  meet  you  in  less 
than  half  no  time.  Oh,  look  at  the  colour 
of  that  smile.  It 's  a  good  wholesome 
reddish-colour,  fresh  and  warm  from  the 
heart,  and  it 's  more  than  skin-deep,  too, 
for  there  is  a  laugh  walking  arm-in-arm 
with  it,  lock  and  lock,  that  fetches  her 
sides  up  with  a  hitch   at   every  jolt  of  it. 


14  THE   OLD   AND 

Then  that  hand  ain't  a  ghost's  hand,  I 
can  tell  you,  it  's  good  solid  flesh  and 
blood,  and  it  gives  you  a  shake  that  says, 
'  I  'ra  in  rail,  right  down  airnest."'  '  Oh, 
Squire,  is  that  you? — well,  I  am  glad  to 
see  you ;  you  are  welcome  home  agin  : — 
we  was  most  afeered  you  was  goin'  to 
leave  us;  folks  made  so  much  of  you 
t'other  side  of  the  water.  Well,  travellin' 
agrees  with  you — it  does  indeed — you  look 
quite  hearty  agin.' 

" '  But,  come,'  says  you,  '  sit  down,  my 
old  friend,  and  tell  me  the  news,  for  I 
have  seen  nobody  yet  ;  I  only  landed 
two  hours  ago.  '  Well,'  she  '11  say, 
*  the  Admiral's  daughter 's  married,  and 
the  Commissioner's  daughter  is  married  :' 
and  then,  shuttin'  the  door,  '  they  do 
say  Miss  A.  is  to  be  married  to  Colo- 
nel B.  and  the  widow  X.  to  lawyer  V. 
but  I  don't  believe  the  last,  for  she  is 
too  good  for   him  :    he 's  a  low,   radical 


THE    NEW    WORLD.  15 

fellow,  that,  and  she  has  too  much  good 
sense  to  take  such  a  creature  as  him.' 
'  What  bishoj)  was  that  I  saw  here  just 
now  ? '  says  you.  '  A  Westindgy  bishop,' 
says  she ;  '  he  left  half-an-hour  ago,  with 
a  pair  of  bosses,  two  servants,  three 
pounds  of  butter,  a  dozen  of  fresh  eggs, 
and  a  basket  of  blue  berries.'  But  Miss 
M.,  what  do  you  think.  Squire?  she  has 
given  Captain  Tufthunt  the  mitten,  she 
has  indeed,  uj^on  my  word  !  —  fact,  I 
assure  you.  Ain't  it  curious.  Squire,  wed- 
din's  is  never  out  of  women's  heads.  They 
never  think  of  nothin'  else.  A  young 
gall  is  always  thinkin'  of  her  own ;  as 
soon  as  she  is  married,  she  is  a  match 
makin'  for  her  companions,  and  when  she 
is  a  little  grain  older,  her  darter's  weddin' 
is  uppermost  agin.  Oh,  it  takes  great 
study  to  know  a  woman,  —  how  cunnin' 
they  are  !  Ask  a  young  gall  the  news, 
she  '11  tell  you  of  all  the  deaths  in   the 


16  THE    OLD   AND 

place,  to  make  you  think  she  don't  trou- 
ble herself  about  marriages.  Ask  an  old 
woman,  she  '11  tell  you  of  all  the  marriages 
to  make  you  think  she  is  takiu'  an  in- 
terest in  the  world  that  she  ain't.  They 
sartainly  do  beat  all,  do  women.  Well, 
then,  Marm  will  jump  up  all  of  a 
sudden,  and  say,  'But,  dear  me,  while 
I  am  a  sitten'  here  a  talkin',  there  is  no 
orders  for  your  lunch ;  what  will  you 
have,  Squire.'  '  What  you  can't  get 
anywhere  in  first  chop  style,'  says  you, 
'  but  in  Nova  Scotia,  and  never  here  in 
perfection  but  at  your  house — a  broiled 
chicken  and  blue-nose  potatoes.'  'Ah!' 
says  she,  puttin'  up  her  finger  and  lookin' 
arch,  '  now  you  are  makin'  fun  of  us, 
Squire?'  'Upon  my  soul  I  am  not,' 
says  you,  and  you  may  safely  swear  to 
that  too,  I  can  tell  you;  for  that  house 
has  a  broiled  chicken  and  a  potatoe  for  a 
man  that 's  in  a  hurry  to  move  on,  that 


THE  NEW    WORLD.  17 

may  stump  the  world.  Well,  then  you  '11 
light  a  cigar,  and  stroll  out  to  look  about 
the  location,  for  you  know  every  tree, 
and  stone,  and  brook,  and  hill,  about 
there,  as  well  as  you  know  beans,  and 
they  will  talk  to  the  heart  as  plain  as 
if  they  was  gifted  with  gab.  Oh,  home 
is  home,  however  homely,  I  can  tell  you. 
And  as  you  go  out,  you  see  faces  in  the 
bar-room  you  know,  and  it 's  '  Oh,  Squire, 
how  are  you  ? — Welcome  home  agin, — 
glad  to  see  you  once  more ;  how  have 
you  had  your  health  in  a  general  way  ? — 
Saw  your  folks  driven  out  yesterday — 
they  are  all  well  to  home.' 

"  They  don't  take  their  hats  off,  them 
chaps,  for  they  ain't  dependants,  like 
tenants  here  :  most  of  them  farmers  are 
as  well  off  as  you  be,  and  some  on  'em 
better ;  but  they  jist  up  and  give  you  a 
shake  of  the  daddle,  and  ain't  a  bit  the  less 
pleased ;  your  books  have  made  'em  better 


18  THE   OLD    AND 

known,  I  can  tell  you.  They  are  kinder 
proud  of  'em,  that's  a  fact.  Then  the  mo- 
ment your  back  is  turned,  what  's  their 
talk  ?  —  why  it 's,  '  Well  it 's  kinder  na- 
teral  to  see  him  back  here  again  among 
us,  ain't  it ;  he  is  lookiu'  well,  but  he  is 
broken  a  good  deal,  too ;  he  don't  look  so 
cheerful  as  he  used  to  did,  and  don't  you 
mind,  as  he  grows  older,  he  looks  more 
like  his  father,  too  V  '  I  've  heered  a  good 
many  people  remark  it,'  says  they.  — 
'  Where  on  airth,'  says  one,  '  did  he  get 
all  them  queer  stories  he  has  sot  down  in 
his  books,  and  them  Yankee  words,  don't 
it  beat  all  natur  ?'  '  Get  them,'  says  an- 
other ;  '  why  he  is  a  sociable  kind  of  man, 
and  as  he  travels  round  the  circuits,  he 
happens  on  a  purpose,  accidentally  like, 
with  folks,  and  sets  'em  a  talkin',  or  makes 
an  excuse  to  light  a  cigar,  goes  in,  sets 
down  and  hears  all  and  sees  all.  I  mind, 
I  drove  him  to  Liverpool,  to  court  there 


THE    NEW    WORLD.  19 

onct,  and  on  our  way  we  stopt  at  Saw- 
away  village.  Well,  I  stays  out  to  mind 
the  horse,  and  what  does  he  do  but  goes 
in,  and  scraj^es  acquaintance  with  Marm, 
— for  if  there  is  a  man  and  a  woman  in 
the  room,  petticoats  is  sartain  to  carry  the 
day  with  him.  Well,  when  I  come  back, 
there  was  him  and  JMarm  a  standin'  up 
by  the  mantel-piece,  as  thick  as  two 
thieves,  a  chattin'  away  as  if  they  had 
knowed  each  other  for  ever  a'most. 
When  she  come  out,  says  she,  '  Who  on 
airth  is  that  man  ?  he  is  the  most  sociable 
man  I  ever  seed.'  'That,'  says  I,  'why 
it 's  Lawyer  Poker,'  '  Poker  !'  says  she,  in 
great  fright,  and  a  rasin'  of  her  voice, 
'  which  Poker,  for  there  is  two  of  that 
name,  one  that  lives  to  Halifax,  and  one 
that  lives  to  Windsor;  which  is  it?'  says 
she,  '  tell  me  this  minnit.'  '  Why,'  says 
I,  '  him  that  wrote  the  "  Clockmaker." ' 
'  What,   Sam  Slick  V    says  she,  and    she 


20  THE    OLD    AND 

screamed  out  at  the  tip  eend  of  her 
tongue,  '  Oh,  my  goodies !  if  I  had  know- 
ed  that  I  wouldn't  have  gone  into  the 
room  on  no  account.  They  say,  though 
he  appears  to  take  no  notice,  nothin'  never 
escapes  him  ;  he  hears  everything,  and 
sees  everything,  and  has  his  eye  in  every 
cubby-hole.  Oh,  dear,  dear,  here  I  am  with 
the  oldest  gownd  on  I  have,  with  two 
buttons  off  behind,  and  my  hair  not  curl- 
ed, and  me  a  talkin'  away  as  if  he  was 
only  a  common  man  !  It  will  be  all  down 
in  the  next  book,  see  if  it  ain't.  Lord 
love  you,  what  made  you  bring  him  here, 
— I  am  frighten  to  death ;  oh,  dear  !  oh, 
dear !  only  think  of  this  old  gownd  !' — 
That  's  the  way  he  gets  them  stories,  he 
gets  them  in  travellin'/ 

"  Oh,  Squire,  there  's  a  vast  difference 
atween  a  thick  peopled  and  a  thin  peo- 
pled country.  Here  you  may  go  in  and 
out  of  a  bar-room  or  coffee-room  a  thou- 


THE    NEW    WORLD.  21 

sand  times  and  no  one  will  even  ax  who 
you  are.  They  don't  know,  and  they  don't 
want  to  know.  Well  then,  Squire,  just 
as  you  are  a  leaven'  of  Bedford -house  to 
progress  to  Windsor,  out  runs  black  Jim, 
(you  recollect  Jim  that  has  been  there  so 
long,  don't  you?)  a  grinnin' from  ear  to 
ear  like  a  catamount,  and  opens  carriage- 
door.  '  Grad  to  see  you  back,  massa ;  miss 
you  a  travellin'  shocking  bad,  sar.  I  like 
your  society  worry  much,  you  worry  good 
company,  sar.'  You  give  him  a  look  as 
much  as  to  say,  '  Wliat  do  you  mean,  you 
black  rascal  ?'  and  then  laugh,  'cause  you 
know  he  tried  to  be  civil,  and  you  give 
him  a  shilling,  and  then  Jim  shows  you 
two  rows  of  ivory,  such  as  they  never 
seed  in  this  country,  in  all  their  born 
days.  Oh,  yes,  smile  for  smile,  heart  for 
heart,  kindness  for  kindness,  welcome  for 
welcome — give  me  old  Nova  Scotia  yet ; 
— there  ain't  nothin'  like  it  here." 


22  OLD    AND   NEW    WORLD- 

There  was  much  truth  in  the  observa- 
tions of  Mr.  Slick,  but  at  the  same  time 
they  are  not  free  from  error.  Strangers 
can  never  expect  to  be  received  in  any 
country  with  the  same  cordiality  friends 
and  old  patrons  are ;  and  even  where  the 
disposition  exists,  if  crowds  travel,  there 
is  but  little  time  that  can  be  spared  for 
congratulations.  In  the  main,  however, 
the  contrast  he  has  drawn  is  correct,  and 
every  colonist,  at  least,  must  feel,  that 
this  sort  of  civility  is  more  sincere  and 
less  mercenary  in  the  new  than  in  the  old 
wmid. 


BOARDING-SCHOOLS.  23 


CHAPTER  II. 


THE    BOARDING-SCHOOLS. 


While  strolling  about  the  neighbour- 
hood of  the  town  this  afternoon,  we  passed 
what  Colonel  Slick  would  have  called 
"  several  little  detachments  of  young  la- 
dies," belonging  to  a  boarding-school,  each 
detachment  having  at  its  head  an  officer 
of  the  establishment.  Youth,  innocence, 
and  beauty,  have  always  great  attractions 
for  me ;  I  like  young  people,  I  delight  in 
talking  to  them.  There  is  a  joyousness 
and  buoyancy  about  them,  and  they  are 
so  full  of  life  and  hope,  it  revives  my 
drooping  spirits,  it  awakens  agreeable  re- 


24  BOARDING-SCHOOLS. 

collections,  and  makes  me  feel,  for  the 
time  at  least,  that  I  am  young  myself. 
"  Look  at  those  beautiful  creatures,"  I 
said,  "  JNlr.  Slick.  They  seem  as  happy 
as  birds  just  escaped  from  a  cage." 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  and  what  a  cussed 
shame  it  is  to  put  'em  into  a  cage  at  all. 
In  the  West  Indgies,  in  old  times,  every 
plantation  had  a  cage  for  the  little  nig- 
gers, a  great  large  enormous  room,  and 
all  the  little  darkies  was  put  in  there 
and  spoon-fed  with  meal-vittals  by  some 
old  granny,  and  they  were  as  fat  as 
chickens  and  as  lively  as  crickets,  (you 
never  see  such  happy  little  imps  of  dark- 
ness since  you  was  born,)  and  their  mo- 
thers was  sent  off  to  the  fields  to  work. 
It  saved  labor  and  saved  time,  and  la- 
bor and  time  is  money,  and  it  warn't  a 
bad  contrivance.  Well,  old  Bunton,  .Joe 
Sturgc,  and  such  sort  of  cattle  of  the 
Abolition  breed,  when  they  heerd  of  this. 


BOARDING-SCHOOLS.  25 

went  a  roarin''  and  a  bellowin''  about  all 
over  England,  like  cows  that  had  lost 
their  calves,  about  the  horrid  cruelty  of 
these  nigger  coops. 

"  Now,  these  boardin' -schools  for  gals 
here  is  a  hundred  thousand  times  wuss 
than  the  nigger  nurseries  was.  Mothers 
send  their  children  here  'cause  they  are 
too  lazy  to  tend  'em,  or  too  ignorant  to 
teach  'em  themselves,  or  'cause  they  want 
'em  out  o'  the  way  that  they  may  go 
into  company,  and  not  be  kept  to  home 
by  kickin',  squeelin',  gabblin'  brats ;  and 
what  do  they  larn  here  ?  why,  nothin'  that 
they  had  ought  to,  and  everything  that 
they  had  ought  not  to.  They  don't  love 
their  parents,  'cause  they  haint  got  that 
care,  and  that  fondlin',  and  protection, 
and  that  habit  that  breeds  love.  Love 
won't  grow  in  cold  ground,  I  can  tell 
you.  It  must  be  sheltered  from  the  frost, 
and  protected   from  the  storm,   and  wa- 

VOL.  I.  c 


26  BOARDING-SCHOOLS. 

tered  with  tears,  and  warmed  with  the 
heat  of  the  heart,  and  the  soil  be  kept 
free  from  weeds ;  and  it  must  have  sup- 
port to  lean  on,  and  be  tended  with  care 
day  and  night,  or  it  pines,  grows  yaller, 
fades  away,  and  dies.  It 's  a  tender  plant 
is  love,  or  else  I  don't  know  human  na- 
tur,  that 's  all.  Well,  the  parents  don't 
love  them  nother.  Mothers  can  get  nieaned 
as  well  as  babies.  The  same  causes  a'most 
makes  folks  love  their  children,  that  makes 
their  children  love  them.  Who  ever  liked 
another  man's  flower-garden  as  well  as 
his  own  ?  Did  you  ever  see  one  that  did, 
for  I  never  did  ?  He  haint  tended  it, 
he  haint  watched  its  growth,  he  haint 
seed  the  flowers  bud,  unfold,  and  bloom. 
They  haint  growed  ujj  under  his  eye  and 
hand,  he  haint  attached  to  them,  and  donH 
care  who  inlucks  'em. 

"  And  then  who  can  teach  religion  but 
a  mother?  religion  is  a  thing  of  the  af- 


BOARDING-SCHOOLS.  27 

fections.  Lord  !  parsons  may  preach,  and 
clerks  may  make  'sponses  for  ever,  but 
they  won't  reach  the  little  heart  of  a 
little  child.  All  /got,  I  got  from  mo- 
ther, for  father  was  so  almighty  impa- 
tient ;  if  I  made  the  leastest  mistake  in 
the  world  in  readin'  the  Bible,  he  used 
to  fall  to  and  swear  like  a  trooper,  and 
that  spiled  all.  Minister  was  always  kind 
and  gentle,  but  he  was  old,  and  old  age 
seems  so  far  off  from  a  child,  that  it  lis- 
tens with  awe,  scary  like,  and  runs  away 
screamin'  with  delight  as  soon  as  it 's 
over,  and  forgets  all.  Oh !  it 's  an  on- 
natural  thing  to  tear  a  poor  little  gal 
away  from  home,  and  from  all  she  knows 
and  loves,  and  shove  her  into  a  house 
of  strangers,  and  race  off  and  leave  her. 
Oh !  what  a  sight  of  little  chords  it  must 
stretch,  so  that  they  are  never  no  good 
arterwards,  or  else  snaj)  'em  right  short 
off.     IIow  it  must  harden  the  heart  and 

c  2 


28  BOARDING-SCHOOLS. 

tread  down  all  the  young  sproutin'  feelin's, 
so  that  they  can  never  grow  up  and  ripen. 
"  Why,  a  gall  ought  be  nothin'  but  a 
lump  of  aiFection,  as  a  JNIother  Carey's 
chicken  is  nothin'  but  a  lump  of  fat ;  not 
that  she  has  to  love  so  much,  but  to  en- 
dure so  much ;  not  that  she  has  to  bill 
and  coo  all  day,  for  they  plaguy  soon  get 
tired  of  that ;  but  that  she  has  to  give 
up  time  and  give  up  inclination,  and 
alter  her  likes  and  alter  her  dislikes,  and 
do  everythin'  and  bear  everythin',  and 
all  for  affection.  She  ought  to  love,  so 
that  duty  is  a  pleasure,  for  where  there  is 
no  lorn  there  will  he  no  duty  done  right. 
You  wouldn't  hear  of  so  many  runaway 
matches  if  it  warn't  for  them  cussed 
boardin'-schools,  I  know.  A  young  chap 
sees  one  of  these  angeliferous  galls  a  goin' 
a  walkin',  and  enquires  who  she  is  and 
what  she  is.  He  hears  she  has  a  great 
forten',  and  he  knows  she  has  great  beauty 


BOARDING-SCHOOLS.  29 

— splendid  gall  she  is,  too.     She  has  been 
taught   to   stand  strait   and   walk   strait, 
like  a  drill-sarjeant.     She  knows  how  to 
get   into  a   carriage   and   show  no   legs, 
and  to  get  out  o'  one  as  much  onlike  a 
bear  and  as  much  like  a  lady  as  possible, 
never  starn  fust,  but  like  a  diver,  head 
fust.     She  can  stand  in  fust,  second,  or 
third   position   to  church,   and   hold   her 
book  and  her  elbous  graceful, — very  im- 
portant church  lessons  them   too,    much 
more  than  the  lessons  parsons  reads.     Then 
she  knows  a  little  tiny  prayer-book  makes 
a  big  hand  look  hugeaceous,  and  a  big 
one  makes  it  look  small ;    and,  besides, 
she  knows  all  about  smiles,  the  smile  to 
set  with  or  w^alk  with,  the  smile  to  talk 
with,   the    smile    o'    surprise,    the    smile 
scorny,  and  the  smile  piteous.     She  is  a 
most  accomplished  gal,  that 's  a  fact,  how 
can  it  be  otherwise  in  natur?     Aint  she 
at  a  female  seminary,  where,  though  the 


30  BOARDING-SCHOOLS. 

mistress  don't  know  nothin',  she  can  teach 
everything  'cause  it 's  a  fashionable  school, 
and  very  aristocratic  and  very  dear.  It 
must  be  good,  it  costs  so  much ;  and  you 
can't  get  nothin'  good  without  a  good 
price,  that 's  a  fact. 

"  Well,  forten'  -  hunter  watches  and 
watches  till  he  attracts  attention,  and  the 
moment  she  looks  at  him  his  eye  tells  her 
he  loves  her.  Creation,  man  !  you  might 
as  well  walk  over  a  desert  of  gunpowder, 
shod  with  steel  soles  and  flint  heels,  as 
to  tell  that  to  a  gal  for  the  fust  time, 
whose  heart  her  school-mistress  and  her 
mother  had  both  made  her  feel  was  empty, 
and  that  all  her  education  went  to  write 
on  a  paper  and  put  in  its  window  '  Lodg- 
in's  to  let  here  for  a  single  man.'  She 
is  all  in  a  conflustugation  in  a  minute — 
a  lover ! — a  real  lover  too,  not  a  school- 
boy, but  an  elegant  young  man,  just  such 
a  one  as  she  had  heered  tell  of  in  novels. 


BOARDING-SCHOOLS.  31 

How  romantic  aint  it  ?  and  yet,  Squire, 
how  nateral  too,  for  this  poor  desarted 
gal  to  think  like  a  fool  fust,  and  act  like 
a  fool  arterwards,  aint  it?  She  knows 
she  warn't  made  to  grow  alone,  and 
that  like  a  vine  she  ought  to  have  sun- 
thin'  to  twine  round  for  support;  and 
when  she  sees  this  man,  the  little  tendrils 
of  her  heart  incline  right  that  way  at 
oncet. 

"  But  then  love  never  runs  smooth. 
How  in  the  world  are  they  ever  to  meet, 
seein'  that  there  is  a  great  high  brick 
wall  atween  them,  and  she  is  shot  up 
most  o'  the  time  ?  Ah  !  there  is  the  rub. 
Do  you  know,  dear  ?  There  is  but  one 
safe  way,  loveliest  of  women,  only  one, 
— run  away.  Run  away !  that 's  an  awful 
word,  it  frightens  her  'most  to  death ;  she 
goes  right  off  to  bed  and  cries  like  any- 
thing, and  that  clears  her  head  and  she 
thinks  it  all  over,  for  it  won't  do  to  take 


32  BOARDING-SCHOOLS. 

such  a  step  as  that  without  consider] n\  will 
it  ?  '  Let  me  see/  says  she,  '  suppose  I 
do  go,  what  do  I  leave  ?  A  cold,  formal, 
perlite  mistress,  horrid  pitikelar,  and  hor- 
rid vexed  when  men  admire  her  boarders 
more  than  her ;  a  taunten'  or  a  todyin' 
assistant,  and  a  whole  regement  of  dancin' 
masters,  musick  masters,  and  French  mas- 
ters. Lessons,  lessons,  lessons,  all  for  the 
head  and  nothin'  for  the  heart ;  hard  work 
and  a  prison-house,  with  nothin'  to  see 
but  feller  prisoners  a  pinin'  through  the 
bars  like  me.  And  what  do  I  run  for  f 
Why,  an  ardent,  passionate,  red-hot  lover, 
that  is  to  love  me  all  my  life,  and  more 
and  more  every  day  of  my  life,  and  who 
will  shoot  himself  or  drown  himself  if  I 
don't,  for  he  can't  live  without  me,  and 
who  has  glorious  plans  of  happiness,  and 
is  sure  of  success  in  the  world,  and  all 
that.  It  taint  racin'  off  from  father  and 
mother  nother,   for  they  ain't  here  ;    an' 


BOARDING-SCHOOLS.  33 

besides,  I  am  sure  and  sartain  tl^y  will 
be  reconciled  in  a  minute,  when  they 
hear  what  a  splendid  match  I  have  made, 
and  what  a  dear  beautiful  man  I  have 
married,'    It  is  done. 

"  Ah !  where  was  old  marm  then,  that 
the  little  thing  could  have  raced  back 
and  nestled  in  her  bosom,  and  throwd 
her  arms  round  her  neck,  and  put  her 
face  away  back  to  her  ears  to  hide  her 
blushes  ?  and  say  '  dear  ma',  I  am  in  love ;' 
and  that  she  agin  could  press  her  up  to 
her  heart,  and  kiss  her,  and  cry  with  her, 
and  kind  o'  give  way  at  fust,  so  as  not 
to  snub  her  too  short  at  oncet,  for  fear 
of  rearin\  or  kickin',  or  backin',  or  sulkin', 
but  gentle,  little  by  little,  jist  by  de- 
grees get  her  all  right  agin.  Oh  !  where 
was  mother's  eye  when  fortin'-hunter  was 
a  scalin'  the  brick  wall,  that  it  might  see 
the  hawk  that  was  a  threatenin'  of  her 
chicken ;  and  where  was  old  father  with 


S4  BOARDING-SCHOOLS. 

his  gun  to  scare  him  off,  or  to  wing  him 
so  he  could  do  no  harm  ?  Why,  mother 
was  a  dancin'  at  Almack's,  and  father  was 
a  huntin  ;  then  it  sarves  'em  right,  the 
poacher  has  been  into  the  presarve  and 
snared  the  bird,  and  I  don't  pity  'em  one 
mosseL 

"Well,  time  runs  away  as  well  as 
lovers.  In  nine  days  puppies  and  bride- 
grooms begin  to  get  their  eyes  open 
in  a  general  way.  It  taint  so  easy  for 
brides,  they  are  longer  about  it ;  but  they 
do  see  at  last,  and  when  they  do,  it's 
about  the  clearest.  So,  one  fine  day, 
poor  little  miss  begins  to  open  her  peep- 
ers, and  the  fust  thing  she  disarns  is  a 
tired,  lyin'  lover  —  promises  broke  that 
never  was  meant  to  be  kept, — hopes  as 
false  as  vows,  and  a  mess  of  her  own 
makin',  that's  pretty  considerable  tarna- 
tion all  over.  Oh !  how  she  sobs,  and 
cries,   and    guesses   she  was   wrong,   and 


I 


BOARDING-SCHOOLS.  35 

repents;  and  then  she  writes  home,  and 
begs  pardon,  and,  child-like,  says  she  will 
never  do  so  again.  Poor  crittur,  it 's  one 
o'  them  kind  o'  things  that  can't  be 
done  agin, — oncet  done,  done  for  ever ; 
yes,  she  begs  pardon,  but  father  won't 
forgive,  for  he  has  been  larfed  at ;  mo- 
ther won't  forgive,  'cause  she  has  to 
forgive  herself  fust,  and  that  she  can't 
do;  and  both  won't  forgive,  for  it's  settin' 
a  bad  example.  All  doors  behind  the 
poor  little  wretch  are  closed,  and  there  is 
but  one  open  before  her,  and  that  looks 
into  a  churchyard.  They  are  nice  little 
places  to  stroll  in,  is  buryin'-grounds,  when 
you  aint  nothin'  to  do  but  read  varses 
on  tomb-stones ;  but  it  taint  every  one 
likes  to  go  there  to  sleep  with  the  silent 
folks  that  's  onder  ground,  I  can  tell  you. 
It  looks  plaguy  like  her  home  that 's  pre- 
pared for  her  though,  for  there  is  a  little 
spot  on  the  cheek,  and  a  little  pain  in  the 


36  BOARDING-SCHOOLS. 

side,  and  a  little  hackin'  cough,  and  an  eye 
sometimes  watery,  and  sometimes  hectic 
bright,  and  the  sperits  is  all  gone.  Well, 
I  Ve  seed  them  signs  so  often,  I  know 
as  well  what  follows,  as  if  it  was  rain  arter 
three  white  frosts,  melancholy — consump- 
tion— a  broken  heart,  and  the  grave. — 
This  is  the  fruit  of  a  hoardiii -school ;  beau- 
tiful fruit,  aint  it  f  It  ripened  afore  its 
time,  and  dropt  off  the  tree  airly.  The  core 
was  eaten  by  a  worm,  and  that  worm  was 
bred  in  a  boardin* -school. 

"  Lord,  what  a  world  this  is!  We  have 
to  think  in  harness  as  well  as  draw  in 
harness.  We  talk  of  this  government 
being  free,  and  that  government  being 
free,  but  fashion  makes  slaves  of  us  all. 
If  we  don't  obey  we  aint  civilised.  You 
must  think  with  the  world,  or  go  out  of 
the  world.  Now,  in  the  high  life  I  've 
been  movin'  in  lately,  we  must  swear  by 
Shakspeare  whether  we  have  a  taste  for 


BOARDING-SCHOOLS.  37 

plays  or  not, — swaller  it  in  a  lump,  like 
a  bolus,  obscene  parts  and  all,  or  we  have 
no  soul.  We  must  go  into  fits  if  Milton 
is  spoke  of,  though  we  can't  read  it  if  we 
was  to  die  for  it,  or  we  have  no  tastes  ;  such 
is  high  life,  and  high  life  governs  low  life. 

"  Every  Englishman  and  every  Ameri- 
can that  goes  to  the  Continent  must  ad- 
mire Paris,  its  tawdry  theatres,  its  nasty 
filthy  parks,  its  rude  people,  its  cheaten' 
tradesmen ;  its  horrid  formal  parties,  its 
affected  politicians,  its  bombastical  brag- 
gin'  officers  and  all.  If  they  don't  they 
are  vulgar  wretches  that  don't  know  no- 
thin',  and  can't  tell  a  fricaseed  cat  from  a 
stewed  frog.  Let  'em  travel  on  and  they 
darsn't  say  what  they  think  of  them  hor- 
rid, stupid,  oncomfortable,  gamblin'  Gar- 
man  waterin'-places  nother.  Oh,  no !  fa- 
shion says  you  can't. 

"It's  just  so  with  these  cussed  boardin'- 
schools;  you  must  swear  by  'em,  or  folks 


r^GL^.an^ 


38  BOARDING-SCHOOLS. 

will  open  their  eyes  and  say,  '  Where  was 
you  raird,  young  man  ?  Does  your  mother 
know  you  are  out  ?'  Oh,  dear  !  how  many 
gals  they  have  ruined,  how  many  folks 
they  have  fooled,  and  how  many  families 
they  have  capsised,  so  they  never  was 
righted  agin.  It  taint  no  easy  matter,  I 
can  tell  you,  for  folks  of  small  forten  to 
rig  a  gal  out  for  one  o'  these  seminaries 
that  have  the  sign  '  man-traps  set  here/ 
stuck  over  the  door.  It  costs  a  consider- 
able of  a  sum,  which  in  middlin'  life  is  a 
little  forten  like.  Well,  half  the  time  a 
gal  is  allowed  to  run  wild  'till  she  is  four- 
teen years  old,  or  thereabouts,  browsin' 
here  and  browsin'  there,  and  jumpin'  out 
of  this  pastur'  into  that  pastur'  like  mad. 
Then  she  is  run  down  and  catched  :  a 
bearin'  rein  put  on  her  to  make  her  carry 
up  her  head  well ;  a  large  bit  put  atween 
her  teeth  to  give  her  a  good  mouth,  a  cer- 
single  belt  strapt  tight  round  her  waist  to 


BOARDING-SCHOOLS.  39 

give  her  a  good  figur',  and  a  dancin'-master 
hired  to  give  her  her  paces,  and  off  she  is 
sent  to  a  boardin'-school  to  get  the  finish- 
in'  touch.  There  she  is  kept  for  three,  or 
four,  or  five  years,  as  the  case  may  be,  till 
she  has  larnt  what  she  ought  to  have 
knowed  at  ten.  Her  edication  is  then 
slicked  off  complete  ;  a  manty-maker  gets 
her  up  well,  and  she  is  sent  back  to  home 
with  the  Tower  stamp  on  her,  '  edicated  at 
a  boardin'-school."*  She  astonishes  the  na- 
tives round  about  where  the  old  folks  live, 
and  makes  'em  stare  agin,  she  is  so  im- 
proved. She  plays  beautiful  on  the 
piano,  two  pieces,  they  were  crack  pieces, 
larned  onder  the  eye  and  ear  of  the  mas- 
ter ;  but  there  is  a  secret  nobody  knows 
but  her,  she  can't  play  nothin'  else.  Slie 
sings  two  or  three  songs,  the  last  lessons 
larnt  to  school,  and  the  last  she  ever  will 
larn.  She  has  two  or  three  beautiful 
drawin's,  but  there  is  a  secret  here,  too ; 


40 


BOARDING-SCHOOLS. 


the  master  finished  'em  and  she  can't  do 
another.  She  speaks  French  beautiful, 
but  its  fortunate  she  aint  in  France  now, 
so  that  secret  is  safe.  She  is  a  very  agree- 
able gal,  and  talks  very  pleasantly,  for  she 
has  seen  the  world. 

"  She  was  to  London  for  a  few  weeks  ; 
saw  the  last  play,  and  knows  a  great  deal 
about  the  theatre.  She  has  been  to  the 
opera  oncet,  and  has  seen  Celeste  and 
Fanny  Estler,  and  heard  La  Blache  and 
Grisi,  and  is  a  judge  of  dancin'  and  sing- 
in'.  She  saw  the  Queen  a  horseback  in 
the  Park,  and  is  a  judge  of  ridin' ;  and 
was  at  a  party  at  Lady  Syllabub's,  and 
knows  London  life.  This  varnish  lasts  a 
whole  year.  The  two  new  pieces  wear 
out,  and  the  songs  get  old,  and  the  draw- 
in's  everybody  has  seed,  and  the  London 
millinery  wants  renewin',  and  the  Queen 
has  another  Princess,  and  there  is  another 
singer  at  the  Opera,  and  all  is  gone  but  the 


BOARDING-SCHOOLS.  41 

credit,    'slie  was   edicated  at  a  boardin"'- 
school.' 

"  But  that  aint  the  wust  nother,  she  is 
never  no  good  arterwards.  If  she  has  a 
great  forten,  it  aint  so  much  matter,  for 
rich  folks  can  do  what  thej  please;  but  if 
she  aint,  why  a  head  oncet  turned  like  a 
stifle-joint  oncet  put  out  in  ahorse,  it  aint 
never  quite  right  agin.  It  will  take  a 
sudden  twist  agin  when  you  least  expect 
it.  A  taste  for  dress — a  taste  for  com- 
pany— a  taste  for  expense,  and  a  taste  for 
beaux  was  larnt  to  boardin' -school,  and 
larnt  so  well  it's  never  forgot.  A  taste  for 
no  housekeepin',  for  no  domestic  affairs, 
and  for  no  anythin'  good  or  useful,  was 
larnt  to  boardin'-school  too,  and  these  two 
tastes  bein'  kind  o'  rudiments,  never  wear 
out  and  grow  rusty. 

"  Well,  when  Miss  comes  home,  when 
old  father  and  old  marm  go  to  lay  down 
the  law,  she  won't  take  it  from  'em,  and 


42  BOARDING-SCHOOLS. 

then  'there  is  the  devil  to  pay  and  no 
pitch  hot.'  She  has  been  away  three 
years,  may  be  five,  and  has  larned  *the 
rights  o'  women,'  and  the  duties  of  '  old 
fogeys'  of  fathers,  and  expects  to  be  her 
own  mistress,  and  theirn  too.  Obey,  in- 
deed !  Why  should  she  obey,  —  Haint 
she  come  of  age, — Haint  she  been  to  a 
female  seminary  and  got  her  edication 
finished.  It's  a  runnin'  fight  arter  that ; 
sometimes  she's  brought  to,  and  some- 
times, bein'  a  clipper,  she  gets  to  wind- 
ward herself,  and  larfs  at  the  chase.  She 
don't  answer  signals  no  more,  and  why? 
all  young  ladies  voted  it  a  bore  at  'the 
boardin'-school.' 

"  What  a  pretty  wife  that  critter  makes, 
don't  she  ? — She  never  heerd  that  husband 
and  wives  was  made  for  each  other,  but 
only  that  husbands  was  made  for  wives. — 
She  never  heerd  that  home  meant  any- 
thing but  a  house  to  see  company  in,  or 


BOARDING-SCHOOLS.  43 

that  a  puss  had  any  eend  to  it  but  one,  and 
that  was  for  the  hand  to  go  in.  Heavens  and 
airth  !  the  feller  she  catches  will  find  her 
a  man-trap,  I  know — and  one,  too,  that  will 
hold  on  like  grim  death  to  a  dead  nigger, 
— one  that  he  can't  lose  the  grip  of,  and 
can't  pull  out  of,  but  that's  got  him  tight 
and  fast  for  ever  and  ever.  If  the  misfor- 
tinate  wretch  has  any  children,  like  their 
dear  mamma,  they  in  their  turn  are  packed 
off  to  be  edicated  and  ruined, — to  be 
finished  and  bedeviled,  body  and  soul,  to 
*  a  hoardiri-scliooV  r 


44  THE   REVOLUTIONARY   HERO. 


CHAPTER  III. 


THE    REVOLUTIONARY    HERO. 


The  following  morning,  Mr.  Slick,  who 
always  made  much  greater  despatch  at  his 
meals  than  any  man  I  ever  saw,  called  for 
the  daily  newspaper  before  I  had  half- 
finished  my  breakfast.  "  Cotton  's  ris," 
said  he,  "  a  penny  a  pound,  and  that 's 
a'most  four  dollars  a  bale  or  so;  I'm  five 
thousand  dollars  richer  than  I  was  yester- 
day mornin.'  I  knowd  this  must  be  the 
case  in  course,  for  I  had  an  account  of 
last  year's  crop,  and  I  lamt  what  stock 
was  on  hand  here,  so  I  spekilated  the 
other  day,  and  bought  a  considerable 
passel.     I  '11  put  it  off  to-day  on  the  ene- 


THE   REVOLUTIONARY    HERO.  45 

my.  Gauli-opilus !  if  here  aiut  the  Great 
Western  a  comin'  in;"  and  he  threw 
down  the  paper  with  an  air  of  distress, 
and  sat  for  some  time  wholly  absorbed 
with  some  disagreeable  subject.  After  a 
while  he  rose  and  said,  "  Squire,  will  you 
take  a  walk  down  to  the  docks  along  with 
me,  if  you  Ve  done  breakfast.  I'll  intro- 
duce you  to  a  person  you've  often  heerd 
tell  of,  but  never  saw  afore.  Father's 
come. — I  never  was  so  mad  in  all  my  life. 
— What  on  airth  shall  I  do  with  the  old 
man  here  ? — but  it  sarves  me  right,  it  all 
comes  of  my  crackin'  and  boastin'  so,  in 
my  letters  to  sister  Sal,  of  my  great 
doings  to  London.  Dear,  dear,  how  pro- 
vokin'  this  is !  I  aint  a  critter  that's 
easy  scared  off,  but  I  swear  to  man  I  feel 
vastly  more  like  scooterin'  off  than  spunk- 
in'  up  to  face  him,  that 's  a  fact.  You 
know,  Squire,  I  am  a  man  of  fashion 
now;"  and  here  he  paused   for  a  while 


46  TPIE   REVOLUTIONARY    HERO. 

and  adjusted  his  shirt  collar,  and  then  took 
a  lingering  look  of  admiration  at  a  large 
diamond  ring  on  his  fore-finger,  before  its 
light  was  extinguished  by  the  glove — "  I  'm 
a  man  of  fashion  now;  I  move  in  first 
circles  ;  my  /position  in  society  is  about  as 
tall  as  any  citizen  of  our  country  ever  had; 
and  I  must  say  I  feel  kinder  proud  of  it. 

"  But,  heavens  and  airth  what  shall  I  do 
with  father?     I  warn't  broughten  up  to 
it  myself,  and  if  I  hadn't  a  been  as  soople 
as  moose  wood,  I  could'nt  have  gotten  the 
ins  and  outs  of  high  life  as  I  have.    As  it 
was,  I  most  gi'n  it  up  as  a  bad  job ;  but 
now  I  guess  I  am  as  well  dressed  a  man 
as  any  you  see,  use  a  silver  fork  as  if  it 
was  nothin'  but  wood,  wine  with  folks  as 
easy  as  the  best  on  'em,  and  am  as  free 
and  easy  as  if  I  was  to  home.     It 's  gini- 
rally  allowed  I  go  the  whole  figure,  and 
do  the  thing  genteel.     But  fatlier,  airth 
and    seas!    he    never    see    nothin'    but 


THE   REVOLUTIONARY    HERO.  47 

Slickville,  for  Bunkerhill  only  lasted  one 
night  and  a  piece  of  next  day,  and  conti- 
nental troops  warn't  like  Broadway  or 
west-eend  folks,  I  tell  you.  Then  he 's  con- 
siderable hard  of  heerin',  and  you  have  to 
yell  a  thing  out  as  loud  as  a  training-gun 
afore  he  can  understand  it.  He  swears, 
too,  enough  for  a  whole  court-house  when 
he's  mad.  He  larnt  that  in  the  old  war, 
it  was  the  fashion  then,  and  he  's  one  o' 
them  that  won't  alter  nothin'.  But  that 
aint  the  worst  nother,  he  has  some  o' 
them  country-fied  ways  that  ryle  the  Bri- 
tishers so  much.  He  chaws  tobaccy  like 
a  turkey,  smokes  all  day  long,  and  puts 
his  legs  on  the  table,  and  spits  like  an 
enjine.  Even  to  Slickville  these  revolu- 
tionary heroes  was  always  reckoned  be- 
hind the  age;  but  in  the  great  world,  like 
New  York,  or  London,  or  Paris,  where 
folks  go  a-liead  in  manners  as  well  as 
everything  else,  why  it  won't  go  doM^n  no 


48  THE    REVOLUTIONARY    HERO. 

longer.  I' me  a  peaceable  man  when  I  'me 
good-natured,  but  I  'me  ugly  enough  when 
I  'me  r}  led,  I  tell  you.  Now  folks  will 
stuboy  father,  and  set  him  on  to  make 
him  let  out  jist  for  a  laugh,  and  if  they 
do,  I  'me  into  them  as  sure  as  rates.  I'll 
clear  the  room,  I'll  be  switched  if  I  don't. 
No  man  shall  insult  father,  and  me  stand- 
in'  by,  without  catching  it,  I  know.  For 
old,  deaf,  and  rough  as  he  is,  he  is  father, 
and  that  is  a  large  word  when  its  spelt 
right. — Yes,  let  me  see  the  man  that  will 
run  a  rigg  on  him,  and  by  the  Tarnal" — 

Here  he  suddenly  paused,  and  turning 
to  a  man  that  was  passing,  said,  "  AVhat 
do  you  mean  by  that?"  "What?" 
"  Why  runnin'  agin  me,  you  had  better 
look  as  if  you  didn't,  hadn't  you  ?  "  You 
be  hanged,"  said  the  man,  "  I  didn't  touch 
you."  "  D— n  you,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  1 11 
knock  you  into  the  middle  of  next  week." 
"  Two  can  play  at  that  game,"  said  the 


THE    REVOLUTIONARY    HERO.  49 

stranger,"  and  in  a  moment  they  were  both 
in  attitude.  Catching  the  latter's  eye,  I 
put  my  finger  to  my  forehead,  and  shook 
my  head.  "  Ah  !"  said  he,  "  poor  fellow  ! 
I  thought  so,"  and  walked  away.  "  You 
thought  so,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  did  you  ? 
Well,  it's  lucky  you  found  it  out  afore 
you  had  to  set  down  the  figures,  I  can  tell 
you.'' 

"  Come,  come,"  I  said,  "  Mr.  Slick,  I 
thought  you  said  you  were  a  man  of 
fashion,  and  here  you  are  trying  to  pick  a 
quarrel  in  the  street.'' 

"  Fashion,  sir,"  said  he,  "  it  is  always  my 
fashion  to  fight  when  I^me  mad  ;  but  I  do 
suppose,  as  you  say,  a  street  quarrel  aint 
very  genteel.  Queen  might  hear  it,  and 
it  would  lower  our  great  nation  in  the  eyes 
of  foreigners.  When  I'm  ready  to  bust, 
tho',  I  like  to  let  off  steam,  and  them 
that's  by  must  look  out  for  scaldings, 
that's  all.    1  am  ryled,  that's  a  fact,  and 

VOL.  I.  D 


50  THE   REVOLUTIONARY    HERO. 

it's  enough  to  put  a  man  out  of  sorts  to 
have  this  old  man  come  a  trampousin' 
here,  to  set  for  a  pictur  to  Dickens  or  some 
other  print  maker,  and  for  me  to  set  by 
and  hear  folks  a  snickerin'  at  it.  If  he 
will  go  a  bull-draggin""  of  me  about,  I'll 
resign  and  go  right  off  home  agin,  for 
he'll  dress  so  like  old  Scratch,  we  shall 
have  a  whole  crowd  arter  our  heels 
whichever  way  we  go.  I 'me  a  gone 
sucker,  that's  a  fact,  and  shall  have  a 
muddy  time  of  it.  Pity,  too,  for  I  am 
gettin'  rather  fond  of  high  life ;  I  find  I 
have  a  kinder  nateral  taste  for  good  so- 
ciety. A  good  tuck  out  every  day,  for  a 
man  that  has  a  good  appetite,  aint  to  be 
sneezed  at,  and  as  much  champagne,  and 
hock,  and  madeiry  as  you  can  mtII  carry, 
and  cost  you  nothin"*  but  the  trouble  of 
eatin'  and  drinkin',  to  my  mind  is  better 
than  cuttin'  your  own  fodder.  At  first  I 
didn't  care  much  about  wine ;    it  warn't 


THE   REVOLUTIONARY    HERO.  51 

strong  enough,  and  didn't  seem  to  have 
no  flavor,  but  taste  improves,  and  I  am  a 
considerable  judge  of  it  now.  I  always 
used  to  think  champagne  no  better  nor 
mean  cider,  and  pVaps  the  imertation 
stuff  we  make  to  New  York  aint,  but  if 
you  get  the  clear  grit  there  is  no  mistake 
in  it.  Lick,  it  feels  handsome,  I  tell  you. 
Sutherland  has  the  best  I've  tasted  in 
town,  and  it's  iced  down  to  the  exact 
p'int  better  nor  most  has  it." 

"  Sutherland's,"  I  said,  "  is  that  the 
hotel  near  Mivart's  V 

"Hotel,  indeed!"  said  he,  "whoever 
heer'd  of  good  wine  at  an  hotel  ?  and 
if  he  did  hear  of  it,  what  a  fool  he'd  be 
to  go  drink  it  there  and  pay  for  it,  when 
he  can  dine  out  and  have  it  all  free 
gratis  for  nothin'.  Hotel,  indeed  !  !  —  no, 
ifs  the  great  Duke  of  Sutherland's. 
The  '  SocdolageT '  and  I  dine  there 
often." 

D  2 


52  THE  REVOLUTIONARY    HERO. 

"  Oh  !  the  Duke  of  Sutherland,"  said  I ; 
*'  now  I  understand  you." 

"  And  I,"  he  rei)lied,  "  understand  you 
now,  too,  Squire.  Why,  in  the  name  of 
sense,  if  you  wanted  to  c'rect  me,  did  you 
go  all  round  about  and  ax  so  many  ques- 
tions ?  Why  didn't  you  come  straight  up 
to  the  mark,  and  say  that  word  '  Suther- 
land' has  slipt  off  its  handle,  and  I'd  a  fixt 
the  helve  into  the  eye,  and  put  a  wedge 
into  it  to  fasten  it  in  my  memory.  I  do 
like  a  man  to  stand  up  to  his  lick  log,  but 
no  matter. 

"  Well,  as  I  was  a-sayin',  his  champagne 
is  the  toploftiest  I've  seen.  His  hock  aint 
quite  so  good  as  Bobby  Peel's  (I  mean 
Sir  Robert  Peel).  Lord,  he  has  some  from 
Joe  Hannah's, — Bug  Metternich's  vine- 
yard on  the  Rhine.  It  is  very  sound,  has 
a  tall  flavour,  a  good  body,  and  a  special 
handsome  taste.  It  beats  the  Bug's,  I  tell 
you.     High  life  is  high  life,  that's  a  fact. 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY   HERO.  53 

especially  for  a  single  man,  for  it  costs 
him  nothin"'  but  for  his  bed,  and  cab-hire, 
and  white  gloves.  He  lives  like  a  pet 
rooster,  and  actilly  saves  his  board.  To 
give  it  all  up  aint  no  joke ;  but  if  this  old 
man  will  make  a  show — for  I  shall  feel  as 
striped  as  a  rainbow — of  himself,  I'me  off 
right  away,  I  tell  you, — I  won't  stand  it, 
for  he  is  my  father,  and  what's  more,  I 
can't,  for,  (drawing  himself  up,  composing 
his  moustache,  and  adjusting  his  collar) 
/  am  '  Sam  Slick.' 

"  What  induced  him,"  I  said,  "  at  his 
advanced  age,  to  '  tempt  the  stormy  deep,' 
and  to  leave  his  comfortable  home  to  visit 
a  country  against  which  I  have  often  heard 
you  say  he  had  very  strong  prejudices." 

"  I  can't  just  'xactly  say  Avhat  it  is,"  said 
he,  "  it's  a  kind  of  mystery  to  me, — it 
would  take  a  great  bunch  of  cipherin'  to 
find  that  out, — but  I'me  afeerd  it's  my 
foolish   letters  to   sister  Sal,  Squire,   for 


54  THE   REVOLUTIONARY    HERO. 

I'll  tell  you  candid,  I've  been  braggin'  in 
a  way  that  aint  slow  to  Sal,  cause  I 
knowed  it  would  please  her,  and  women 
do  like  most  special  to  have  a  crane  to 
hang  their  pot-hooks  on,  so  I  thought  my 
'  brother  Sam'  would  make  one  just  about 
the  right  size.  If  you'd  a-seen  my  letters 
to  her,  you  wouldn't  a-scolded  about  leav- 
ing out  titles,  I  can  tell  you,  for  they  are 
all  put  in  at  tandem  length.  They  are 
full  of  Queen  and  Prince,  and  Lords  and 
Dukes,  and  Marquisas  and  Markees,  and 
Sirs,  and  the  Lord  knows  who.  She  has 
been  astonishin'  the  natives  to  Slickville 
with  Sam  and  the  Airl,  and  Sam  and  the 
Dutchess,  and  Sam  and  the  Baronet,  and 
Sam  and  the  Devil,  and  I  intended  she 
should ;  but  she  has  turned  poor  old  fa- 
ther's head,  and  that  I  didn't  intend  she 
should.  It  sarves  me  right  though, — I 
had  no  business  to  brag,  for  though  brag 
is  a  good  dog,  hold-fast  is  a  better  one. 


THE  REVOLUTIONARY    HERO.  55 

But  Willis  bragged,  and  Rush  bragged, 
and  Stephenson  bragged,  and  they  all 
bragged  of  the  Lords  they  knowed  to 
England  ;  and  then  Cooper  bragged  of  the 
Lords  he  refused  to  know  there ;  and 
when  they  returned  every  one  stared  at 
them,  and  said,  '  Oh  he  knows  nobility, — 
or  he  is  so  great  a  man  he  would'nt  touch  a 
noble  with  a  pair  of  tongs.'  So  I  thought 
I'd  brag  a  little  too,  so  as  to  let  poor  Sal 
say  my  brother  Sam  went  a-head  of  them 
all.  There  was  no  great  harm  in  it  arter 
all.  Squire,  was  there  ?  You  know,  at 
home,  in  a  family  where  none  but  house- 
hold is  by,  why  we  do  let  out  sometimes, 
and  say  nobody  is  good  enough  for  Sal, 
and  nobody  rich  enough  for  Sam,  and  the 
Slicks  are  the  first  people  in  Slickville, 
and  so  on.  It's  innocent  and  nateral  too, 
for  most  folks  think  more  of  themselves  in 
a  gineral  way  than  any  one  else  does. 
But,  Lord  love  you,  there  is  no  calculatin' 


56  THE   REVOLUTIONARY    HERO. 

on  women, — they  are  the  cause  of  all  the 
evil  in  the  world.  On  purpose  or  on  acci- 
dent, in  temper  or  in  curiosity,  by  hook  or 
by  crook,  some  how  or  another,  they  do 
seem  as  if  they  couldn't  help  doin'  mis- 
chief. Now,  here  is  Sal,  as  good  and 
kind-hearted  a  crittur  as  ever  lived,  has 
gone  on  boastin'  till  she  has  bust  the 
byler.  She  has  made  a  proper  fool  of 
poor  old  father,  and  e'en  a-jist  ruined  me. 
I'me  a  gone  coon  now,  that's  a  fact.  Jist 
see  this  letter  of  father's,  tellin'  me  he 
is  a-comin'  over  in  the  '  Western.'  If  it 
was  any  one  else's  case,  I  should  haw-haw 
right  out ;  but  now  its  come  home,  I  could 
boo-hoo  with  spite  a'most.  Here  it  is, — no 
that's  not  it  nother,  that's  an  invite  from 
Melb. — Lord  Melbourne — no  this  is  it, — 
no  it  tainte  nother,  that's  from  Lord 
Brougham, — no,  it's  in  my  trunk, — I'll 
shew  it  to  you  some  other  time.  I  can't 
'xactly  fathom  it :  it's  a  ditch  I  can't  jist 


i 


THE   REVOLUTIONARY    HERO.  57 

pole  over ; — he's  got  some  crotchet  in  his 
head,  but  the  Lord  only  knows  what.  I 
was  proud  of  father  to  Slickville,  and  so 
was  every  one,  for  he  was  the  makin'  of 
the  town,  and  he  was  one  of  our  old  vete- 
rans too ;  but  here,  somehow  or  another, 
it  sounds  kinder  odd  to  have  a  man  a 
crackin'  of  himself  up  as  a  Bunker  Hill,  or 
a  revolutionary  hero." 


58 


THE   EYE. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


As  soon  as  the  "Great  Western"  was 
warped  into  dock  I  left  Mr.  Slick,  and 
returned  to  the  hotel.  His  unwillingness 
to  meet  his  father  I  knew  arose  from 
the  difference  of  station  in  which  they 
were  adventitiously  placed ;  his  pride  was 
evidently  wounded,  and  I  was  reluctant 
to  increase  his  mortification  by  witness- 
ing their  first  interview.  I  did  not  see 
them  until  the  following  day,  when  we 
were  about  to  depart  for  London.  It 
was  evident,  from  the  appearance  of  the 
Colonel,  that  his  son  had  caused  his  whole 
attire  to  be  changed,  for  it  was  perfectly 


THE    EYE.  59 

new,  and  not  unlike  that  of  most  persons 
of  his  age  in  England.  He  was  an  un- 
cultivated man,  of  rough  manners  and 
eccentric  habits,  and  very  weak  and  vain. 
He  had  not  kept  pace  with  the  age  in 
which  he  lived,  and  was  a  perfect  speci- 
men of  a  colonist  of  the  rural  districts  of 
Connecticut  sixty  years  ago.  I  had  seen 
many  such  persons  among  the  loyalists,  or 
refugees  as  they  were  called,  who  had  fol- 
lowed the  troops  at  the  peace  of  1784  to 
Nova  Scotia.  Although  quite  an  original 
therefore  in  England,  there  was  but  little 
of  novelty  either  in  his  manner,  appear- 
ance, or  train  of  thought,  to  me.  Men 
who  have  a  quick  perception  of  the  lu- 
dicrous in  others,  are  always  jiainfully 
and  sensitively  alive  to  ridicule  them- 
selves. Mr,  Slick,  therefore,  watched  his 
father  with  great  uneasiness  during  our 
passage  in  the  train  to  town,  and  to 
prevent    his   exposing   his     ignorance  of 


60  THE   EYE. 

the  world,  engrossed  the  whole  conversa- 
tion. 

"  There  is  a  change  in  the  fashion  here, 
Squire,"  said  he  ;  "  black  stocks  aint  the 
go  no  longer  for  full  dress,  and  white 
ones  aint  quite  up  to  the  notch  nother; 
to  my  mind  they  are  a  leetle  sarvanty.  A 
man  of  fashion  must  mind  his  '  eye '  al- 
ways. I  guess  I  '11  send  and  get  some 
white  muslins,  but  then  the  difficulty  is 
to  tie  them  neat.  Perhaps  nothin'  in 
natur'  is  so  difficult  as  to  tie  a  white 
cravat  so  as  not  to  rumfoozle  it  or  sile  it. 
It  requires  quite  a  slight  of  hand,  that*  s 
a  fact.  I  used  to  get  our  beautiful  little 
chamber-help  to  do  it  when  I  first  come, 
for  women's  lingers  aint  all  thumbs  like 
men's ;  but  the  angeliferous  dear  was  too 
short  to  reach  up  easy,  so  I  had  to  stand 
her  on  the  foot-stool,  and  that  was  so 
tottlish  I  had  to  put  one  hand  on  one  side 
of  her  waist,  and  one  on  t'other,  to  steedy 


THE    EYE.  61 

her  like,  and  that  used  to  set  her  little 
heart  a  beatin'  like  a  drum,  and  kinder 
agitated  her,  and  it  made  me  feel  sort  of 
all  overish  too,  so  we  had  to  ginn  it  up,  for 
it  took  too  long ;  we  never  could  tie  the 
knot  under  half  an  hour.  But  then, 
practice  makes  perfect,  and  that 's  a  fact. 
If  a  feller  '  minds  his  eye  '  he  will  soon 
catch  the  knack,  for  the  eye  must  never 
be  let  go  asleep,  except  in  bed.  Lord,  its 
in  little  things  a  man  of  fashion  is  seen 
in !  Now  how  many  ways  there  be  of 
eatin'  an  orange.  First,  there 's  my  way 
when  I  'm  alone ;  take  a  bite  out,  suck 
the  juice,  tear  off  a  piece  of  the  hide  and 
eat  it  for  digestion,  and  role  up  the  rest 
into  a  ball  and  give  it  a  shy  into  the 
street ;  or,  if  other  folks  is  by,  jist  take  a 
knife  and  cut  it  into  pieces ;  or,  if  gals 
is  present,  strip  him  down  to  his  waist, 
leavin'  his  outer  garment  hanging  grace- 
ful   over   his    hips,   and    his   upper   man 


62  THE    EYE. 

standin'  in  his  beautiful  shirt ;  or  else 
quartern  him,  with  hands  off,  neat,  scien- 
tific, and  workmanlike ;  or,  if  its  for- 
bidden fruit 's  to  be  carved,  why  tearin' 
him  with  silver  forks  into  good  sizeable 
jDieces  for  helpin'.  All  this  is  larnt  by 
mindin  your  eye.  And  now  Squire,  let 
me  tell  you,  for  nothin"'  'scapes  me  a'most, 
tho'  I  say  it  that  shouldn't  say  it,  but  still 
it  taint  no  vanity  in  me  to  say  that 
nothin'  never  escapes  me.  /  mind  my 
eye.  And  now  let  me  tell  you  there  aint 
no  maxim  in  natur'  hardly  equal  to  that 
one.  Folks  may  go  crackin'  and  braggin' 
of  their  knowledge  of  Phisionomy,  or 
their  skill  in  Phrenology,  but  it's  all 
moonshine.  A  feller  can  put  on  any  phiz 
he  likes  and  deceive  the  devil  himself; 
and  as  for  a  knowledge  of  bumps,  why 
natur'  never  intended  them  for  signs,  or 
she  wouldn't  have  covered  'em  all  over 
with  hair,  and   put   them   out    of  sight. 


THE    EYE.  63 

Who  the  plague  will  let  you  be  puttin' 
your  fingers   under  their  hair,  and  be  a 
foozlin'  of  their  heads?     If  it's  a  man, 
why  he'll    knock    you   down,  and  if   it's 
a  gal,  she  will    look  to   her  brother,  as 
much  as  to  say,  if  this  sassy  feller  goes  a 
feelin'  of  my  bumps,  I  wish   you  would 
let  your  foot  feel  a  bump   of  his'n,  that 
will  teach  him  better  manners,  that's  all. 
No,  it's   '  all  in  my  eye.'     You  must  look 
there  for  it.     AVell,   then,   some   fellers, 
and  especially  painters,  go  a  ravin'  and  a 
pratin'  about  the  mouth,  the  expression  of 
the  mouth,  the  seat  of  all  the  emotions, 
the  speakin'  mouth,  the  large  print  of  the 
mouth,  and  such  stuff;  and  others  are  for 
everlastinly  a  lecturin'  about  the  nose,  the 
expression  of  the  nose,  the  character  of 
the  nose,  and  so  on,  jist  as  if  the  nose  was 
anything  else  but  a  speekin'  trumpet  that 
a  sneeze  blows  thro',  and  the  snuffles  give 
the  rattles  to,  or  that  cant  uses  as  a  flute ; 


64  THE   EYE. 

I  wouldn't  give  a  piece  of  tobacky  for  the 
nose,  except  to  tell  me  when  my  food 
was  good :  nor  a  cent  for  the  mouth, 
except  as  a  kennel  for  the  tongue.  But 
the  eye  is  the  boy  for  me  ;  there's  no 
mistake  there ;  study  that  well,  and  you 
will  read  any  man's  heart,  as  plain  as  a 
book.  '  Mind  your  eye '  is  the  maxim 
you  may  depend,  either  with  man  or 
woman.  Now  I  will  explain  this  to  you, 
and  give  you  a  rule,  with  examples,  as 
Minister  used  to  say  to  night  school,  thafs 
worth  knowing  I  can  tell  you.  '  Mind 
your  eye '  is  the  rule  ;  now  for  the  ex- 
amples. Furst,  let's  take  men,  and  then 
women.  Now,  Squire,  the  first  railroad 
that  was  ever  made,  was  made  by  natur'. 
It  runs  from  the  heart  to  the  eye,  and  it 
goes  so  almighty  fast,  it  can't  be  com- 
pared to  nothin'  but  iled  lightening.  The 
moment  the  heart  opens  its  doors,  out 
jumps  an  emotion,  whips  into  a  car,  and 


THE   EYE.  65 

offs  like  wink  to  the  eye.  That's  the 
station-house  and  terminus  for  the  pas- 
sengers, and  every  passenger  carries  a 
lantern  in  his  hand  as  bright  as  an  Argand 
lamp ;  you  can  see  him  ever  so  far  off. 
Look,  therefore  to  the  eye,  if  there  aint 
no  lamp  there,  no  soul  leaves  the  heart 
that  hitch ;  there  aint  no  train  runnin', 
and  the  station-house  is  empty.  It  taint 
every  one  that  knows  this,  but  as  I  said 
before,  nothin'  never  ""scapes  me,  and  I 
have  proved  it  over  and  over  agin.  Smiles 
can  be  put  on  and  off  like  a  wig ;  sweet 
expressions  come  and  go  like  shades  and 
lights  in  natur' ;  the  hands  will  squeeze 
like  a  fox -trap ;  the  body  bends  most 
graceful ;  the  ear  will  be  most  attentive  ; 
the  manner  will  flatter,  so  you're  en- 
chanted ;  and  the  tongue  will  lie  like  the 
devil — -but  the  eye,  never.  And  yet  there 
are  all  sorts  of  eyes.  There's  an  onmean- 
in'  eye,  and  a  cold  eye ;   a  true  eye,  and  a 


66 


THE   EYE. 


false  eye ;  a  sly  eye,  a  kickin'  eye,  a  pas- 
sionate eye,  a  revengeful  eye,  a  manoeuver- 
ing  eye,  a  joyous  eye,  and  a  sad  eye ;  a 
squintin''  eye,  and  the  evil  eye ;  and, 
above  all,  the  dear  little  lovin'  eye,  and  so 
forth.  They  must  be  studied  to  be  larnt, 
but  the  two  important  ones  to  be  known 
are  the  true  eye  and  the  false  eye.  Now 
what  do  you  think  of  that  statesman  that 
you  met  to  dinner  yesterday,  that  stuck  to 
you  like  a  burr  to  a  sheep's  tail,  a-takin' 
such  an  interest  in  your  books  and  in 
colony  governments  and  colonists  as  sweet 
as  sugar-candy?  What  did  you  think  of 
him,  oh  ? " 

"  I  thought  him,"'  I  said,  "  a  well-in- 
formed gentlemanlike  man,  and  I  believe 
him  to  be  a  sincere  friend  of  mine.  I  have 
received  too  many  civilities  from  him  to 
doubt  his  sincerity,  especially  as  I  have  no 
claims  upon  him  whatever.  I  am  an  un- 
known, obscure,  and  humble,  man  ;  above 


THE    EYE.  67 

all,  I  am  a  stranger  and  a  colonist ;  his  at- 
tentions, therefore,  must  be  disinterested." 
"  That's  all  you  know.  Squire,"  said  he, 
"  he  is  the  greatest  humbug  in  all  Eng- 
land. I'll  tell  you  what  he  wanted  : — He 
wanted  to  tap  you ;  he  wanted  informa- 
tion ;  he  wanted  your  original  views  for 
his  speech  for  Parliament ;  in  short,  he 
wanted  to  know  if  Nova  Scotia  was  in 
Canada  or  New  Brunswick,  without  the 
trouble  of  looking  it  out  in  the  map.  You 
didn't  mind  his  eye ;  it  warn't  in  tune 
with  his  face ;  the  last  was  up  to  consart 
pitch,  and  t'other  one  several  notes  lower. 
He  was  readin'  you.  His  eye  was  cold, 
abstracted,  thoughtful :  it  had  no  Argand 
lamp  in  it.  He'll  use  you,  and  throw 
you  away.  You  can't  use  him,  if  you  was 
to  try.  You  are  one  of  the  sticks  used  by 
politicians ;  he  is  the  hand  that  holds  you. 
You  support  him,  he  is  of  no  good  to  you. 
When  you  cease  to  answer  his  purpose  he 


68 


THE  EYE. 


lays  you  aside  and  takes  another.  He  has 
'  a  manoevring  eye/  The  eye  of  a  politi- 
cian is  like  that  of  an  old  lawyer,  a  sort 
of  spider-eye.  Few  things  resembles  each 
other  more  in  natur\  than  an  old  cun- 
nin'  lawyer  and  a  spider.  He  weaves 
his  web  in  a  corner  witli  no  light  behind 
him  to  show  the  thread  of  his  nest,  but  in 
the  shade  like,  and  then  he  waits  in  the 
dark-office  to  receive  visitors.  A  buzzin"*, 
burrin\  thoughtless,  fly,  thinkin'  of  nothin' 
but  his  beautiful  wings,  and  well-made 
legs,  and  rather  near-sighted  withal,  comes 
stumblin'  head  over  heels  into  the  net. 
'  I  beg  your  pardon,'  says  fly,  *  I  reely 
didn't  see  this  net- work  of  yours ;  the 
weather  is  so  foggy,  and  the  streets  so  con- 
founded dark  —  they  ought  to  burn  gas 
here  all  day.  I  am  afraid  I  have  done 
mischief.'  '  Not  at  all,'  says  spider,'  bow- 
in'  most  gallus  purlite,  '  I  guess  its  all  my 
fault ;  I  reckon  I  had  ought  to  have  hung 


THE   EYE.  69 

a  lamp  out ;  but  pray  don 't  move  or  you 
may  do  dammage.  Allow  me  to  assist 
you/  And  then  lie  ties  one  leg  and  then 
t'other,  and  furls  up  both  his  wings,  and 
has  him  as  fast  as  Gibraltar.  '  Now,' 
says  spider,  '  my  good  friend,  (a  phrase 
a  feller  always  uses  when  he's  a-goin'  to  be 
tricky,)  I  am  afeard  you  have  hurt  your 
self  a  considerable  sum ;  I  must  bleed 
you.'  *  Bleed  me,'  says  fly,  '  excuse  me, 
I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  I  don't  re- 
quire it.'  '  Oh,  yes,  you  do,  my  dear 
friend,'  he  says,  and  he  gets  ready  for  the 
operation.  '  If  you  dare  to  do  that,'  says 
fly,  *  I'll  knock  you  down  you  scoundrel, 
and  I 'me  a  man  that  what  I  lay  down  I 
stand  on.'  '  You  had  better  get  up  first, 
my  good  friend,'  says  spider  a-laughin'. 
'  You  must  be  bled  ;  you  must  pay  da- 
mages;' and  he  bleeds  him,  and  bleeds 
him,  and  bleeds  him,  till  he  gasps  for 
breath,  and  feels  faintin'  come  on.     '  Let 


70 


THE    EYE. 


me  go,  my  good  feller,'  says  poor  fly,  '  and 
I  will  pay  liberally/  '  Pay,'  says  spider ; 
'  you  miserable  oncircumcised  wretch,  you 
have  nothin'  left  to  pay  with ;  take  that,' 
and  he  gives  him  the  last  dig,  and  fly  is 
a  gone  coon — bled  to  death. 

"  The  politician,  the  lawyer,    and   the 
spider,  they  are  all  alike,  they  have  the  ma- 
ncevering  eye.     Beware  of  these  I  tell  you. 
Mind  your  eye.      Women  is  more  diffi- 
culter   still   to   read    than  man,    because 
smilin'  comes  as  nateral  to  them  as  suction 
to  a  snipe.     Doin'  the  agreeable  is  part  of 
their  natur',  specially  afore  folks  (for  some- 
times they  do  the  Devil  to  home).     The 
eye  tho'  is  the  thing  to  tell  'em  by,  its  in- 
fallible, that's  a  fact.     There  is  two  sorts 
of  women  that  have  the   '  manoeuverinff 
eye'— one  that's   false  and  imprudent,  and 
t'other  that's  false  and  cautious.    The  first 
is  soon  found  out,  by  them  that  live  much 
with  them ;  but  I  defy  old  Scratch  him- 


THE  EYE.  71 

self  to  find  the  other  out  without  'mind- 
in'  his  eye.'  I  knowed  two  such  women 
to  Slickville,  one  was  all  smiles  and  graces, 
oh  !  she  was  as  sweet  as  candy  ;  oh  !  dear, 
how  kind  she  was,  She  used  to  kiss  me, 
and  oncet  gave  me  the  astmy  for  a  week, 
she  hugged  me  so.  She  called  me  dear 
Sam,  always. 

"  'Oh!  Sammy  dear,'  says  she,  '  how  do 
you  do  ?  How  is  poor  dear  old  Minister, 
and  the  Colonel,  your  father,  is  he  well  ? 
Why  don't  you  come  as  you  used  to  did 
to  see  us  ?  Will  you  stay  dinner  to-day  ? 
— do,  that's  a  good  fellow.  I  thought 
you  was  offended,  you  staid  away  so  long.' 
'  Well,  I  don't  care  if  I  do,'  says  I,  '  see- 
in'  that  I  have  nothin'  above  particular  to 
do ;  but  I  must  titivate  up  a  Icetle  first, 
so  I'll  jist  go  into  the  boy's  room  and 
smarten  a  bit.'  Well,  when  I  goes  in,  I 
could  hear  her,  thro'  the  partition,  say, 
'  What  possesses  that  critter  to  come  here 


73  THE    EYE. 

SO  often  ?  lie  is  for  ever  a  botherin'  of  us  ; 
or  else  that  stupid  old  Minister  comes  a 
prosin'  and  a  potterin'  all  day ;  and  as  for 
his  father,  he  is  the  biggest  fool  in  the 
whole  State,  eh  ? '  Heavens  and  airth,  hovr 
I  curled  inwardly !  I  felt  all  up  an  eend. 
Father  the  biggest  fool  in  the  State,  eh? 
'  No,  you  are  mistaken  there,  old  croco- 
dile,' says  I  to  myself.  *  Father's  own  son 
is  the  tallest  fool  for  allowing  of  himself 
to  be  tooken  in  this  way  by  you.  But 
keep  cool,  Sam,'  says  I  to  myself,  '  bite 
in  your  breath,  swaller  it  all  down,  and 
sarve  her  out  her  own  way.  Don't  be  in 
debt,  pay  all  back,  principal  and  interest ; 
get  a  receipt  in  full,  and  be  a  free  man.' 
So  when  I  went  back,  oh!  didn't  I  out-smile 
her,  and  out-compliment  her;  and  when 
I  quit,  didn't  I  return  her  kiss  so  hard, 
she  said,  'oh!'  and  looked  puzzled,  as  if 
I  was  goin'  to  be  a  fool  and  fall  in  love. 
'  Now,'  says  I,  '  Sam,  study  that  screech- 


THE    EYE.  73 

owl  ill  petticoats,  and  see  how  it  was  you 
was  so  took  in.'  Well,  I  watched,  and 
watched,  and  at  last  I  found  it  out.  It 
bust  on  me  all  at  once,  like.  I  hadn't 
'  minded  her  eye.'  I  saw  the  face  and 
manner  was  put  on  so  well,  it  looked 
quite  nateral,  but  the  eye  had  no  passen- 
gers from  the  heart.  Truth  warn't  there. 
There  was  no  lamp,  it  was  '  a  mancevemig 
ei/eS  Such  critters  are  easy  found  out  by 
those  as  see  a  good  deal  of  them,  be- 
cause they  see  they  talk  one  way  to  peo- 
ple's faces,  and  another  way  to  their 
backs.  They  aint  cautious,  and  folks 
soon  think ;  well,  when  I'm  gone  my  turn 
will  come  next,  and  I'll  get  it  too,  and 
they  take  care  not  to  give  'cm  a  chance. 
But  a  cautious  false  woman  can  never  be 
found  out  l)ut  by  the  eye.  I  know'd  a 
woman  once  that  was  all  caution,  and  a 
jinniral  favorite  with  every  one,  every  one 
said   what    a  nice   woman   she   was,   how 

VOL.    I.  E 


74  THE    EYE. 

kind,  how  agreeable,  liow  sweet,  how 
friendly,  and  all  that,  and  so  she  was. 
She  looked  so  artless,  and  smiled  so 
pretty,  and  listened  so  patient,  and  de- 
fended any  one  you  abused,  or  held  her 
tongue,  as  if  she  would'nt  jine  you ;  and 
jist  looked  like  a  dear  sweet  love  of  a 
woman  that  was  all  goodness,  good-will 
to  man,  charity  to  woman,  and  smiles  for 
all.  Well,  I  thought  as  everybody  did. 
I  aint  a  suspicious  man,  at  least  I  usn't  to 
did  to  be,  and  at  that  time  I  didn't  know 
all  the  secrets  of  the  eye  as  I  do  now. 
One  day  I  was  there  to  a  quiltin'  frollic, 
and  I  was  a-tellin'  of  her  one  of  my  good 
stories,  and  she  was  a-lookin'  strait  at  me, 
a-takin'  aim  with  her  smiles  so  as  to  hit 
me  with  every  one  on  'em,  and  a-laughin' 
like  anythin' ;  but  she  happened  to  look 
round  for  a  pair  of  scissors  that  was  on 
t'other  side   of  her,  jist  as  I  was  at  the  j 

funnyist  part  of  my  story,  and  lo  and  be- 


THE    EYE.  75 

hold !  her  smiles  dropt  right  slap  off  like 
a  petticoat  when  the  string's  broke,  her 
face  looked  vacant  for  a  minute,  and  her 
eye  waited  till  it  caught  some  one  else's, 
and  then  it  found  its  focus,  looked  right 
strait  for  it,  all  true  agin,  but  she  never 
look'd  back  for  the  rest  of  my  capital 
story.  She  had  7iever  heard  a  word  of  it. 
'  Creation  !'  says  I,  '  is  this  all  a  bamm? 
— what  a  fool  I  be '  I  was  stumped,  I 
tell  you.  Well,  a  few  days  arterwards  I 
found  out  the  eye  secret  from  t'other 
woman's  behaviour,  and  I  applied  the  test 
to  this  one,  and  I  hope  I  may  never  see 
day-light  agin  if  there  wasn't  '  the  ma- 
noevring  eye'  to  perfection.  If  I  had 
know'd  the  world  then  as  I  do  now,  I 
sliould  have  had  some  misgivings  sooner. 
No  man,  nor  woman  noiher,  can  he  a  ge- 
neral favorite,  and  he  true.  It  don't  stand 
to  natur'  and  common  sense.  The  world  is 
divided  into  three  classes ;  the  good,  the  bad, 

E  2 


76  THE   EYE. 

and  the  indifferent.  If  a  woman  is  a  favor- 
ite of  all,  there  is  sotnethin''  wrong.  She 
ought  to  love  the  good,  to  hate  the  wicked,  and 
let  the  indifferent  be.  If  the  indifferent  like, 
she  has  been  pretendin^  to  them ;  if  the  bad 
like,  she  must  have  assented  to  them  ;  and  if 
the  good  like,  under  these  circumstances, 
they  are  duped.  A  general  favorite  dont 
desarve  to  be  a  favorite  with  no  one.  And 
besides  that,  I  ought  to  have  know'd,  and 
ought  to  have  asked,  does  she  weep  with 
them  that  weep,  because  that  is  friend- 
ship, and  no  mistake.  Anybody  can 
smile  with  you,  for  it's  pleasant  to  smile, 
or  romp  with  you,  for  romping  is  fine 
fun ;  but  will  they  lessen  your  trouble  by 
takin'  some  of  the  load  of  grief  off  your 
shoulders  for  you  and  carryin'  it?  That's 
the  question,  for  that  aint  a  pleasant 
task ;  but  it's  the  duty  of  a  friend  though, 
that's  a  fact.  Oh  !  cuss  your  universal  fa- 
vorites, I  say!   Give  me  the  rael  Jeremiah." 


THE   EYE.  77 

"  But  lord  love  you  !  obsarvin'  is  lam- 
ing. This  aint  a  deep  subject  arter  all, 
for  this  eye  study  is  not  rit  in  cypher  like 
treason,  nor  in  the  dead  languages,  that 
have  been  dead  so  long  ago,  there  is  only 
the  hair  and  the  bones  of  them  left.  Nor 
foreign  languages,  that's  only  fit  for  singin', 
swarin',  braggin',  and  blowin''  soup  when 
it's  hot,  nor  any  kind  of  lingo.  It's  the 
language  of  natur\  and  the  language  of 
natur'  is  the  voice  of  Providence.  Dogs 
and  children  can  larn  it,  and  half  the  time 
know  it  better  nor  man ;  and  one  of  the 
first  lessons  and  plainest  laws  of  natur'  is, 
'  to  tnind  the  eye.'' " 


78  THE  QUEEN. 


CHAPTER  V. 


THE    QUEEN. 


The  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  accord- 
ing to  appointment,  called  to-day  upon 
Mr.  Hopewell,  and  procured  for  him  the 
honour  of  a  private  audience  with  the 
Queen.  Her  Majesty  received  him  most 
graciously,  and  appeared  to  be  much  struck 
with  the  natural  grace  and  ease  of  his 
manner,  and  the  ingenuousness  and  sim- 
plicity of  his  character.  Many  anxious 
enquiries  were  made  as  to  the  state  of 
the  Episcopal  Church  in  the  States,  and 
the  Queen  expressed  herself  much  gra- 
tified  at   its   extraordinary  increase   and 


THE    QUEEN.  79 

prosperity  of  late  years.  On  his  witli- 
drawing,  her  Majesty  presented  him  with 
a  very  beautiful  snuff-box,  having  her  ini- 
tials on  it  set  in  brilliants,  which  she 
begged  him  to  gratify  her  by  accepting, 
as  a  token  of  respect  for  his  many  vir- 
tues, and  of  the  pleasure  she  had  derived 
from  this  interview  with  the  only  sur- 
viving colonist  of  the  United  States  she 
had  ever  seen. 

Of  such  an  event  as  an  introduction 
at  Court,  the  tale  is  soon  told.  They  are 
too  short  and  too  uniform  to  admit  of 
incident,  but  they  naturally  suggest  many 
reflections.  On  his  return  he  said,  "  I 
have  had  the  gratification  to-day  of  being 
presented  to  the  Queen  of  England.  Her 
Majesty  is  the  first  and  only  monarch  I 
have  ever  seen.  How  exalted  is  her  sta- 
tion, how  heavy  her  responsibilities,  and 
how  well  are  her  duties  performed  !  She 
is  an  incomparable  woman,    an  obedient 


80  THE  QUEEN. 

daughter,  an  excellent  wife,  an  exemplary 
mother,  an  indulgent  mistress,  and  an 
intelligent  and  merciful  Sovereign.  The 
women  of  England  have  great  reason  to 
be  thankful  to  God,  for  setting  before 
them  so  bright  an  example  for  their  imi- 
tation ;  and  the  men  of  England  that  their 
allegiance  is  due  to  a  Queen,  who  reigns 
in  the  hearts  and  affections  of  the  people. 
My  own  opinion  is,  that  the  descent  of 
the  scejjtre  to  her  Majesty,  at  the  de- 
cease of  the  late  King,  was  a  special 
interposition  of  Providence,  for  the  pro- 
tection and  safety  of  the  em])ire.  It  was 
a  time  of  great  excitement.  The  Re- 
formers, availing  themselves  of  the  tur- 
bulence of  the  lower  orders  whose  pas- 
sions they  had  inflamed,  had,  about  that 
period,  let  loose  the  midnight  incendiary 
to  create  a  distress  that  did  not  exist, 
by  destroying  the  harvests  that  were  to 
feed  the  poor;  had  put  the  masses  into 


THE   QUEEN.  81 

motion,  and  marched  immense  bodies  of 
unemployed  and  seditious  men  through 
the  large  towns  of  the  kingdom,  in  order 
to  infuse  terror  and  dismay  through  the 
land  ;  to  break  asunder  the  ties  between 
landlord  and  tenant,  master  and  servant, 
parishioner  and  rector,  and  subject  and 
sovereign, 

"  Ignorant  and  brutal  as  these  people 
were,  and  furious  and  cruel  as  were  their 
leaders,  still  they  were  men  and  English- 
men, and  when  they  turned  their  eyes  to 
their  youthful  sovereign,  and  their  virgin 
Queen,  her  spotless  purity,  her  sex,  her 
personal  helplessness,  and  her  many  vir- 
tues, touched  the  hearts  of  even  these 
monsters ;  while  the  knowledge  that  for 
such  a  Queen,  millions  of  swords  would 
leap  from  their  scabbards,  in  every  part  of 
the  empire,  awakened  their  fears,  and  the 
wave  of  sedition  rolled  back  asrain  into 
the  bosom  of  the  deep,  from  which  it  had 

£   5 


82  THE   QUEEN. 

been  thrown  up  by  Whiggery,  Radicalism, 
and  Agitation.  Had  there  at  that  junc- 
ture been  a  Prince  upon  the  throne,  and 
that  Prince  unfortunately  not  been  po- 
pular, there  would  in  all  probability  have 
been  a  second  royal  martyr,  and  a  Ro- 
bespierre, or  a  Cromwell,  would  have  sub- 
stituted a  reign  of  terror  for  the  mild 
and  merciful  government  of  a  constitu- 
tional and  legitimate  sovereign.  The  Eng- 
lish people  owe  much  to  their  Queen. 
The  hereditary  descent  of  the  crown,  the 
more  we  consider  it,  and  the  more  expe- 
rienced we  become,  is  after  all,  Squire, 
the  best,  the  safest,  and  the  wisest  mode 
possible  of  transmitting  it. 

"  Sam  is  always  extolling  the  value  of 
a  knowledge  of  human  nature.  It  is  no 
doubt  of  great  use  to  the  philosopher, 
and  the  lawgiver ;  but  at  last  it  is  but 
the  knowledge  of  the  cunning  man.  The 
artful  advocate,  who  plays  upon  the  pre- 


THE    QUEEN.  83 

judices  of  a  jury ;  the  unprincipled  poli- 
tician, who  addresses  the  passions  of  the 
vulgar ;  and  the  subtle  courtier,  who 
works  upon  the  weaknesses  and  foibles 
of  Princes,  may  pride  themselves  on  their 
knowledge  of  human  nature,  but,  in  my 
opinion,  the  only  knowledge  necessary  for 
man,  in  his  intercourse  with  man,  is  writ- 
ten in  a  far  different  book — the  Book  of 
Life. 

"  Now,  as  respects  the  subject  we  are 
talking  of,  an  hereditary  monarchy,  I  have 
often  and  often  meditated  on  that  beau- 
tiful parable,  the  first  and  the  oldest,  as 
well  as  one  of  the  most  striking,  impres- 
sive, and  instructive  of  all  that  are  to  be 
found  in  the  Bible.  It  occurs  in  the 
ninth  chapter  of  Judges.  Abimelech,  you 
may  recollect,  induced  his  kindred  to  pre- 
pare the  way  for  his  ascent  to  the  throne 
by  a  most  horrible  massacre,  using  those 
affectionate  words,  that  are  ever  found  in 


84  THE    QUEEN. 

the  mouths  of  all  demagogues,  for  re- 
member he  said,  '  I  am  your  bone  and 
your  flesh,'  His  followers  are  designated 
in  the  Holy  Record  as  '  vain  and  light 
persons,'  who,  when  they  accepted  their 
bribe  to  commit  that  atrocious  murder, 
said,  surely  lie  is  our  brother.  Regicides 
and  rebels  use  to  this  day  the  same  allur- 
ing language ;  they  call  themselves  '  the 
friends  of  the  people,'  and  those  that  are 
vile  enough  to  publish  seditious  tracts, 
and  cowardly  enough  not  to  avow  them, 
always  subscribe  themselves  '  one  of  the 
People.'  The  perpetrators  of  this  awful 
murder  gave  rise  to  the  following  pa- 
rable : 

" '  The  trees  went  forth  on  a  time  to 
anoint  a  king  over  them,  and  they  said 
unto  the  olive-tree,  Reign  thou  over 
us.' 

" '  But  the  olive-tree  said  unto  them. 
Should  I  leave  my  fatness,  wherewith  by 


THE    QUEEN.  85 

me  they  honour  God  and  man,  and  go  to 
be  promoted  over  the  trees  ?' 

"  '  And  the  trees  said  to  the  fig-tree, 
Come  thou  and  reign  over  us.' 

" '  But  the  fig-tree  said  unto  them, 
Should  I  forsake  my  sweetness,  and  my 
good  fruit,  and  go  to  be  promoted  over 
the  trees  ? ' 

"  '  Then  said  the  trees  unto  the  vine. 
Come  thou  and  reign  over  us.' 

"  *  And  the  vine  said  unto  them,  Should 
I  leave  my  wine,  which  cheereth  God  and 
man,  and  go  to  be  promoted  over  the 
trees  ? ' 

" '  Then  said  all  the  trees  unto  the 
bramble,  Come  thou  and  reign  over  us.' 

" '  And  the  bramble  said  unto  the  trees. 
If  in  truth  ye  anoint  me  king  over  you, 
then  come  and  put  your  trust  in  my  sha- 
dow ;  if  not,  let  fire  come  out  of  the  bram- 
ble and  devour  the  cedars  of  Lebanon.'" 

"  What  a  beautiful  parable,  and  how  ap- 


86  THE    QUEEN. 

plicable  is  it  to  all  time  and  all  ages.  The 
olive,  the  fig,  and  the  vine  had  their 
several  duties  to  perform,  and  were  un- 
willing to  assume  those  for  which  nature 
had  not  designed  them.  They  were  re- 
strained alike  by  their  modesty  and  their 
strong  sense  of  rectitude. 

"  But  the  worthless  bramble,  the  poorest 
and  the  meanest  plant  in  the  forest,  with 
the  presumptuous  vanity  so  peculiar  to 
weak  and  vulgar  men,  caught  at  once  at 
the  offer,  and  said,  '  Anoint  me  your  king, 
and  repose  in  my  shadow  ;'  and  then,  with 
the  horrible  denunciations  which  are  usu- 
ally uttered  by  these  low-bred  tyrants, 
said,  *  if  not,  let  fire  issue  from  me  and 
destroy  all  the  noble  cedars  of  Lebanon.' 

"  The  shadow  of  a  bramble  ! ! — How  elo- 
quent is  this  vain-glorious  boast,  of  a  thing 
so  humble,  so  naked  of  foliage,  so  pervious 
to  the  sun,  as  a  bramble  ! ! — of  one,  too, 
so  armed,  and  so  constituted  by  nature,  as 


THE   QUEEN.  87 

to  destroy  the  fleece  and  lacerate  the  flesh 
of  all  animals  incautious  enough  to  ap- 
proach it.  As  it  was  with  the  trees  of 
the  forest,  to  whom  the  option  was  offered 
to  elect  a  king,  so  it  is  with  us  in  the 
States  to  this  day,  in  the  choice  of  our 
chief  magistrate.  The  olive,  the  fig,  and 
the  vine  decline  the  honour.  Content  to 
remain  in  the  sphere  in  which  Providence 
has  placed  them,  performing  their  several 
duties  in  a  way  creditable  to  themselves 
and  useful  to  the  public,  they  prefer  pur- 
suing the  even  tenour  of  their  way  to 
being  transplanted  into  the  barren  soil  of 
politics,  where  a  poisonous  atmosphere 
engenders  a  feeble  circulation,  and  a  sour 
and  deteriorated  fruit.  The  brambles  alone 
contend  for  the  prize ;  and  how  often  are 
the  stately  cedars  destroyed  to  make  room 
for  those  worthless  pretenders.  Repub- 
licanism has  caused  our  country  to  be 
over-run  by  brambles.     The  Reform  Bill 


88  THE   QUEEN. 

has  greatly  increased  them  in  England, 
and  responsible  government  has  multiplied 
them  ten-fold  in  the  colonies.  Mav  the 
offer  of  a  crown  never  be  made  to  one 
here,  but  may  it  descend,  through  all 
time,  to  the  lawful  heirs  and  descendants 
of  this  noble  Queen. 

"  What  a  glorious  spectacle  is  now  pre- 
sented in  London — the  Queen,  the  Nobles, 
and  the  Commons,  assembling  at  their  ap- 
pointed time,  aided  by  the  wisdom,  sancti- 
fied by  the  prayers,  and  honored  by  the 
presence,  of  the  prelates  of  the  Church,  to 
deliberate  for  the  benefit  of  this  vast  em- 
pire !  What  a  union  of  rank,  of  wealth,  of 
talent,  of  piety,  of  justice,  of  benevolence, 
and  of  all  that  is  good  and  great,  is  to  be 
found  in  this  national  council.  The  world 
is  not  able  to  shake  an  empire  whose  found- 
ation is  laid  like  that  of  England.  But  trea- 
son may  undermine  what  force  dare  not 
assault.    The  strength  of  this  nation  lies  in 


THE    QUEEN.  89 

the  union  of  the  Church  with  the  State.  To 
sever  this  connection,  then,  is  the  object  of 
all  the  evil-disposed  in  the  realm,  for  they 
are  well  aware  that  the  sceptre  will  fall  with 
the  ruin  of  the  altar.  The  brambles  may 
then,  as  in  days  of  old,  have  the  offer  of 
power.  What  will  precede,  and  what  will 
follow,  such  an  event,  we  all  full  well 
know.  All  Holy  Scripture  was  written,  we 
are  informed,  '  that  we  might  read,  mark, 
learn,  and  inwardly  digest  it ;'  and  we  are 
told  therein  that  such  an  offer  was  not 
made  in  the  instance  alluded  to  till  the 
way  was  prepared  for  it  by  the  murder  of 
all  those  lawfully  entitled  to  the  throne, 
and  that  it  was  followed  by  the  most  fear- 
ful denunciations  against  all  the  aristo- 
cracy of  the  land.  The  brambles  then,  as 
now,  were  levellers :  the  tall  cedars  were 
objects  of  their  hatred. 

"  It  is  a  holy  and  blessed  union.  Words- 
worth, whom,  as  a  child  of  nature  I  love. 


90  THE    QUEEN. 

has  beautifully  expressed  my  ideas  on  this 
subject : — 

" '  Hail  to  the  crown  by  Freedom  shaped  to  gird 
An  English  sovereign's  brow  !  and  to  the  throne 
Wliereon  she  sits  !  whose  deep  foundations  lie 
In  veneration  and  the  people's  love  ; 
Whose  steps  are  equity,  whose  seat  is  law. 
Hail  to  the  State  of  England  !     And  conjoin 
With  this  a  salutation  as  devout, 
Made  to  the  spiritual  fabric  of  her  Church, 
Founded  in  truth  ;  by  blood  of  Martyrdom 
Cemented  ;  by  the  hands  of  Wisdom  reared 
In  beauty  of  holiness,  with  ordered  pomp. 
Decent  and  unreproved.     The  voice  that  greets 
The  majesty  of  both,  shall  pray  for  both  ; 
That  mutually  protected  and  sustained, 
They  may  endure  as  long  as  sea  surrounds 
This  favoured  land,  or  sunshine  warms  her  soil.'  " 

After  repeating  these  verses,  to  which 
he  gave  great  effect,  he  slowly  rose  from 
his  seat — drew  himself  up  to  his  full 
height — and  lifted  up  both  his  hands  in 
a  manner  so  impressive  as  to  bring  me  at 
once  upon  my  feet.  I  shall  ever  retain  a 
most  vivid  recollection  of  the  scene.  His 
tall  erect  figure,  his  long  white  hair  de- 


THE    QUEEN.  91 

scending  on  his  collar,  his  noble  forehead 
and  intelligent  and  benevolent  counte- 
nance, and  the  devout  and  earnest  expres- 
sion of  bis  face,  was  truly  Apostolical. 
His  attitude  and  manner,  as  I  have  before 
observed,  caused  me  involuntarily  to  rise, 
when  he  gave  vent  to  his  feelings  in  those 
words,  so  familiar  to  the  ear  and  so  dear 
to  the  heart  of  every  churchman,  that  I 
cannot  deny  myself  the  satisfaction  of 
transcribing  them,  for  the  benefit  of  those 
whose  dissent  precludes  them  from  the 
honor,  and  the  gratification  of  constantly 
uniting  with  us  in  their  use : — 

"'Almighty  God,  whose  kingdom  is 
everlasting  and  power  infinite,  have  mercy 
upon  the  whole  Church,  and  so  rule  the 
heart  of  thy  chosen  servant,  Victoria, 
Queen  and  Governor,  of  England,  that  she, 
knowing  whose  minister  she  is,  may,  above 
all  things,  seek  thy  honor  and  glory,  and 
that  all  her  subjects,  dul?/  considering  whose 


92 


THE    QUEEN. 


authority  she  hath,  may  faithfully  serve,  ho- 
nor, and  humbly  obey  her,  in  thee,  and  for 
thee,  according  to  thy  blessed  word  and 
ordinance. — Amen.'  " 


SMALL    TALK.  93 


CHAPTER  VI. 


SMALL    TALK. 


"  Squire,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  I  am  a-goin' 
to  dine  with  Palm —  Lord  Palmerston,  I 
mean,  to-day,  and  arter  that  I  'me  for  a 
grand  let  off  to  Belgrave  Square,"  and 
then  throwing  himself  into  a  chair,  he 
said,  with  an  air  of  languor,  "  these  people 
will  actually  kill  me  with  kindness  ;  I  feel 
e'en  a'most  used  up, — I  want  rest,  for 
I  am  up  to  the  elbows, — I  wish  you  was 
a-going  too,  I  must  say,  for  I  should  like 
to  shew  you  high  life,  but,  unfortunately, 
you  are  a  colonist.  The  British  look 
down  upon  you  as  much  as  we  look  down 


94  SMALL    TALK. 

upon  them,  so  that  you  are  not  so  tall  as 
them,  and  a  shocking  sight  shorter  than  us. 
— Lord,  I  wonder  you  keep  your  temper 
sometimes,  when  you  get  them  compli- 
ments 1  've  heerd  paid  you  by  the  Whigs 
'  We  'd  be  better  without  you  by  a  long 
chalk,'  they  say,  '  the  colonies  cost  more 
than  they  are  worth.  They  only  sarve 
to  involve  us  in  disputes,  and  all  such 
scorny  talk ;  and  then  to  see  you  coolly 
sayin\  Great  Britain  without  her  colonies 
would  be  a  mere  trunk  without  arms  or 
legs,  and  then  cypherin'  away  at  figures, 
to  show  'em  they  are  wrong,  instead  of 
givin'  'em  back  as  good  as  they  send,  or 
up  foot  and  let  'em  have  it ;  and  this  I 
will  say  for  the  Tories,  I  have  never 
heer'd  them  talk  such  everlastin'  impu- 
dent  nonsense,    that  's    a   fact,   but    the 

Whigs  is Whigs,  I  tell  you.     But  to 

get  back  to  these  parties,  if  you  would 
let  me  or  your  colonial  minister  introduce 


SMALL    TALK.  95 

you  to  society,  I  would  give  you  some 
hints  that  would  be  useful  to  you,  for  I 
have  made  high  life  a  study,  and  my 
knowledge  of  human  natur'  and  soft  saw- 
der has  helped  me  amazingly.  I  know 
the  ins  and  outs  of  life  from  the  palace 
to  the  log  hut.  And  I  '11  tell  you  now 
what  I  call  general  rules  for  society. 
First,  It  aint  one  man  in  a  hundred 
knows  any  subject  thorough,  and  if  he 
does,  it  aint  one  time  in  a  thousand  he 
has  an  opportunity,  or  knows  how  to  avail 
it.  Secondly,  a  smatterin'  is  better  nor 
deeper  knowledge  for  society,  for  one  is 
small  talk,  and  the  other  is  lecturin'. 
Thirdly,  pretendin'  to  know,  is  half  the  time 
as  good  as  knowing  if  pretendin'  is  done 
by  a  man  of  the  world  cutely.  Fourthly, 
If  any  crittur  axes  you  if  you  have  been 
here  or  there,  or  know  this  one  or  that 
one,  or  seen  this  sight,  or  t'other  sight, 
always  say  yes,  if  you  can  without  lyin', 


96  SMALL   TALK. 

and  then  turn  right  short  round  to  him, 
and  say '  What 's  your  opinion  on  it  ?  I 
shoukl  like  to  hear  your  views,  for  they 
are  always  so  original.'  That  saves  you 
makin''  a  fool  of  yourself  by  talking  non- 
sense, for  one  thing,  and  when  a  room 
aint  overly  well  furnished,  it 's  best  to 
keep  the  blinds  down  in  a  general  way ; 
and  it  tickles  his  vanity,  and  that  's 
another  thing.  Most  folks  like  the  sound 
of  their  own  voices  better  nor  other  peo- 
ples', and  every  one  thinks  a  good  listener 
and  a  good  laugher,  the  pleasantest  crittur 
in  the  world.  Fifthly,  lead  where  you 
know,  when  you  don't,  foller,  but  soft  saw- 
der always.  Sixthly,  never  get  cross  in  so- 
ciety, especially  where  the  gals  are,  but 
bite  in  your  breath,  and  swaller  all  down. 
When  women  is  by,  fend  off  with  fun  ; 
when  it 's  only  men,  give  'em  a  taste  of 
your  breed,  delicately  like,  jist  hintin'  in 
a  way  they  can't   mistake,  for  a   nod    is 


SMALL   TALK.  97 

as  good  as  a  wink  to  a  blind  horse. 
Oncet  or  twice  here  to  London,  I  've  had 
the  rig  run  on  me,  and  our  great  nation, 
among  men  till  I  couldn't  stand  it  no 
longer.  Well,  what  does  I  do, — why,  in- 
stead of  breakin'  out  into  a  uprorious  pas- 
sion, I  jist  work  round,  and  work  round, 
to  turn  the  talk  a  little,  so  as  to  get  a 
chance  to  give  'em  a  guess  what  sort  of 
iron  I  'me  made  of,  and  how  I  'me  tem- 
pered, by  sayin'  naterally  and  accidentally 
like,  '  I  was  in  Scotland  the  other  day 
goin'  from  Kelso  to  Edinboro'.  There 
was  a  good  many  men  folk  on  the  top 
of  the  coach,  and  as  I  didn't  know  one, 
I  jist  outs  with  a  cigar,  and  begins  to 
smoke  away  all  to  myself,  for  com])any 
like.  Well,  one  feller  began  grumblin' 
and  growlin'  about  smokin',  how  ongen- 
teel  it  was,  and  what  a  nuisance  it  was, 
and  so  on,  and  all  that,  and  more  too, 
and    then    looked     right    strait    at     me, 

VOL.  I.  F 


98  SMALL    TALK. 

and  said  it  hadn't  ought  to  be  allowed. 
AVell,  I  jist  took  a  squint  round,  and  as 
I  seed  there  was  no  women  folks  present 
— for  if  there  had  a-been  I  'd  a-throwed 
it  right  away  in  a  minit — but  as  there 
warn't,  I  jist  smoked  on,  folded  my  arms, 
and  said  nothin'.  At  last  the  crittur, 
findin'  others  agreed  with  him,  and  that 
I  didn't  give  lip,  spunks  up  to  me,  bullyin' 
like,  and  sais,  '  What  would  you  think, 
sir,'  sais  he,  *  if  I  was  to  pull  that  cigar 
from  your  mouth  and  throw  it  right  down 
on  the  ground.'  '  I'll  tell  you,'  sais  I, 
quite  cool,  '  what  I  'd  think,  and  that 
is,  that  it  would  be  most  partckilarly 
d — d  odd  if  you  didn't  touch  ground  be- 
fore the  cigar.  Try  it,'  sais  I,  puttin'  my 
head  forward  so  he  might  take  it,  '  and 
1  '11  bet  you  five  pounds  you  are  off  the 
coach  before  the  cigar.'  I  gave  the  feller 
but  one  look,  and  that  was  wicked  enough 
to  kill  the  coon,  and  skin  him   too.     It 


SMALL    TALK.  99 

cut  his  comb,  you  may  depend ;  he  hauled 
in  his  horns,  mumbled  a  leetle,  and  then 
sat  as  silent  as  a  pine  stump,  and  looked 
as  small  as  if  he  was  screwed  into  an 
augur  hole.  Arter  tellin'  of  this  story 
I  jist  add,  with  a  smile,  'Since  the  Judges 
have  given  out  here  they  intend  to  hang 
for  duellin',  some  folks  think  they  can 
be  rude ;  but  it  never  troubles  me.  I  'me 
a  good-natered  man,  and  always  was.  I 
never  could  carry  malice  till  next  day 
since  I  was  born,  so  I  punish  on  the  spot.' 
A  leetle  anecdote  like  that,  with  a  deli- 
cate elegant  leetle  hint  to  the  eend  on 't, 
stops  impudence  in  a  minit.  Yes,  that 's 
a  great  rule,  never  get  cross  in  society; 
It  tante  considered  good  breedin'. 

"  Now  as  for  small  change  in  society, 
you  know.  Squire,  I  aint  a  deep  lamed 
man,  but  I  know  a  leetle  of  everything, 
a'most,  and  I  try  to  have  a  curious  fact 
in  each,   and  that  is  my  stock  to   trade 

f2 


100  SMALL   TALK. 

with.  Fust  tiling  in  company  is  dress,  no 
man  can  pass  muster  unless  he  is  fust  chop 
in  that.  Hat,  gloves,  shoes,  from  Paris; 
cloths  from  Stultz,  and  so  on,  and  then  your 
outer  man  is  as  good  as  Count  Dorsy's. 
Second  thing  is  talk.  Now  suppose  I 
call  on  a  lady,  and  see  her  at  rug-work, 
or  worsteds,  or  whatever  you  call  it.  Well, 
I  take  it  up,  coolly,  and  say,  this  is  very 
beautiful,  and  very  difficult,  too,  for  that 
is  the  double  cross  stich  with  a  half 
slant,  and  then  suggest  about  tent  stich, 
satin  stich,  and  so  on ;  but  above  all  I 
swear  her  stich  is  the  best  in  the  world, 
whatever  it  is,  and  she  looks  all  struck 
up  of  a  heap,  as  much  as  to  say  where 
on  airth  did  you  larn  all  that.  '  And 
where  did  you  larn  it?'  I  said  in  some 
surprise.'  '  From  mother,'  she  replied. 
When  she  was  a  gal  rug-work  was 
all  the  edication  female  women  had, 
besides   house-keepin',    so   in   course   she 


SMALL   TALK.  101 

talked  for  ever  of  the  double  cross  stich, 
with  the  half  slant,  the  fine   fern   stich, 
the  finny  stich,  the  brave  bred  stich,  the 
smarting  whip  stich,  and  the  Lord  knows 
how  many  stiches ;    and  it 's  a  pity  they 
hadn't  a  stich  to  it,  Squire,  for  one  half 
on  'em  have  had  all  their  natur'  druv  out 
of  them  and  no  art  put  into  them,  'xcept 
the  art  of  talking,  and  acting  like  fools.    / 
like  natur''  myself,  and  always  did^  but  if  ive 
are  so  cussed  fashionable,  we  must  put  a 
dress  of  our  own  on  it,  for  goodness  gracious 
sake,  let  it  be  somethin"  transparent,  that  ive 
may  get  a  little  peep  through  it  sometimes,  at 
any  rate. 

"  Well,  then,  sposin'  its  picturs  that's 
on  the  carpet,  wait  till  you  hear  the  name 
of  the  painter.  If  it  is  Rupees,  or  any  one 
of  the  old  ones," — "  Rubens  you  mean," 
I  said. — "  Oh,  yes  ;  cuss  that  word,  I  sel- 
dom use  it,"  he  replied,  "  for  I  am  sure  to 
make  that  mistake,   and  therefore   I  let 


102  SMALL    TALK. 

others  pronounce  it  fust.  If  its  Rubens, 
or  any  o'  them  old  boys,  praise,  for  its  agin 
the  law  to  doubt  them ;  but  if  its  a  new 
man,  and  the  company  aint  most  special 
judges,  criticise.  A  leetle  out  of  keepin,' 
sais  you,  he  don't  use  his  greys  enough, 
nor  glaze  down  well ;  that  shadder  wants 
depth  ;  gineral  effect  is  good,  tho'  parts 
aint ;  those  eyebrows  are  heavy  enough  for 
stucco,  says  you,  and  other  unmeanin' 
terms  like  them.  It  will  pass,  I  tell  you, 
your  opinion  will  be  thought  great. 
Them  that  judged  the  Cartoon,  at  West- 
minster Hall,  knew  plaguy  little  more  nor 
that.  But  if  there  is  a  portrait  of  the 
lady  of  the  house  hangin'  up,  and  its 
at  all  like  enough  to  make  it  out,  stop, 
— gaze  on  it — walk  back — close  your  fin- 
gers like  a  spy-glass,  and  look  thro  'em 
amazed  like, — enchanted — chained  to  the 
spot.  Then  utter,  unconscious  like,  '  that's 
a'most  a   beautiful  pictur' ; — by  Heavens 


SMALL    TALK.  103 

that's  a  speakin'  portrait.  Its  well  painted, 
too;  but,  whoever  the  artist  is,  he  is  an  on- 
principled  man.'  '  Good  gracious,'  she'll 
say,  how  so  ?'  '  Because,  Madam,  he  has 
not  done  you  justice,  he  pretends  to  have  a 
conscience,  and  says  he  wont  flatter.  The 
cantin'  rascal  knew  he  could  not  add  a 
charm  to  that  face  if  he  was  to  try,  and 
has,  therefore,  basely  robbed  your  counte- 
nance to  put  it  on  to  his  character.  Out 
on  such  a  villain,  sais  you.  '  Oh,  Mr. 
Slick,'  she'll  say,  blushin,'  but  lookin'  hor- 
rid pleased  all  the  time, '  what  a  shame  it 
is  to  be  so  severe,  and,  besides,  ypu  are 
not  just,  for  I  am  afeerd  to  exhibit  it,  it 
is  so  flattered.'  '  Flattered  V  sais  you,  tur- 
nin'  round,  and  lookin'  at  her,  with  your 
whole  soul  in  your  face,  all  admiration 
like  : — '  flattered  !  —  impossible,  Madam.' 
And  then  turn  short  off,  and  say  to  yourself 
aloud,  '  Heavens,  how  unconscious  she  is 
of  her  own  power  !' 


104  SMALL    TALK. 

"  Well,  sposin'  its  roses ;  get  hold  of  a 
moss-rose  tree,  and  say,  '  these  bushes  send 
up  few  suckers ;  I'll  tell  you  how  to  propa- 
gate 'em : — Lay  a  root  bare  ;  insert  the 
blade  of  a  penknife  length^vise,  and  then 
put  a  small  peg  into  the  slit,  and  cover  all 
up  again,  and  it  will  give  you  a  new  shoot 
there.'  '  Indeed,'  she'll  say,  '  that's  worth 
knowin.'  Well,  if  its  annuals,  say,  '  mix 
saw-dust  with  the  airth  and  they'll  come 
double,  and  be  of  a  better  color.'  '  Dear 
me!'  she'll  say,  '  I  didn't  know  that.'  Or  if 
its  a  tree-rose,  say,  '  put  a  silver-skinned 
onion  to  its  roots,  and  it  will  increase  the 
flavor  of  the  roses,  without  given  out  the 
leastest  mossel  in  the  world  of  its  own.' 
Or  if  its  a  tulip,  '  run  a  needleful  of  yarn 
thro'  the  bulb,  to  variegate  it,  or  some 
such  little  information  as  that.'  Oh!  its  a 
great  thing  to  have  a  gineral  little  assort- 
ment, if  its  only  one  thing  of  a  kind,  so 
that  if  its  called  for,  you  needn't  send  your 


SMALL    TALK.  105 

friend  to  another  shop  for  it.  There  is 
nothin'  like  savin'  a  customer  where  you 
can.  In  small  places  they  can  sound  your 
depth,  and  tell  whether  you  are  a  deep 
nine,  or  a  quarterless  six,  as  easy  as  nothin' ; 
but  here  they  can't  do  any  such  a  thing, 
for  circles  are  too  large,  and  that's  the 
beauty  of  London.  You  don't  always 
meet  the  same  people  here,  and,  in  course, 
can  use  the  same  stories  over  and  over 
agin',  and  not  ear-wig  folks ;  nothin'  is 
so  bad  as  tellin'  the  same  story  twice. 
Now  that's  the  way  the,  methodists 
do.  They  divide  the  country  into  cir- 
cuits, and  keep  their  preachers  a  movin' 
from  place  to  place.  Well,  each  one  has 
three  or  four  crack  sermons.  He  puts 
them  into  his  portmanter,  gallops  into  a 
town,  all  ready  cocked  and  primed,  fires 
them  off,  and  then  travels  on,  afore  he  is 
guaged  and  his  measure  took  ;  and  the 
folks  say  what   a'most  a   grand   preacher 

F   5 


106  SMALL    TALK. 

that  is,  Y\liat  a  pleasin'  man  he  is,  and  the 
next  man  fust  charms,  and  then  breaks 
their  hearts  by  goin'  away  agin'.  The 
methodists  are  actilly  the  most  broken- 
hearted people  I  ever  see.  They  are 
doomed  for  ever  to  be  partin'  with  the 
cleverest  men,  the  best  preachers,  and  the 
dearest  friends  in  the  world.  I  actilly 
pity  them.  Well,  these  little  things  must 
be  attended  to ;  colored  note-paper,  fi  la- 
greed  envelopes,  with  musk  inside  and 
gold  wafer  outside ;  delicate,  refined,  and 
uppercrust.  Some  fashionable  people  don't 
use  those  things,  and  laugh  at  them  little 
finikin  forms.  New  men,  and,  above  all, 
colony  men,  that's  only  half  way  between 
an  African  and  a  white  man  can't,  /could 
but  you  couldn't,  that's  the  difference. 
Yes,  Squire,  these  are  rules  worth  knowin\ 
they  are  founded  on  experience,  and  expe- 
rience tells  me,  that  fashionable  people,  all 
the  world  over,  are,  for  the  most  part,  as 


I 


SMALL    TALK.  1()7 

soft  as  dough  ;  throw  'em  agin'  the  wall 
and  they  actilly  stick,  they  are  so  soft. 
But,  soft  as  they  be,  they  won't  stick  to 
you  if  you  don't  attend  to  these  rules,  and, 
above  all  things,  lay  in  a  good  stock  of 
soft  sawder,  and  small  talk^ 


108  WHITE   BAIT. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


WHITE    BAIT. 


"  I  HAVE  been  looking  about  all  the 
mornin'  for  you,  Squire,"  said  Mr.  Slick, 
"  where  on  airth  have  you  packed  your- 
self? We  are  a  goin'  to  make  up  a  party 
to  Black  wall,  and  eat  white  bait,  and  we 
want  you  to  go  along  with  us.  I'll  tell 
you  what  sot  me  on  the  notion.  As  I 
was  a  browsin'  about  the  park  this  fore- 
noon, who  should  I  meet  but  Euclid 
Hogg  of  Nahant.  '  Why,  Slick,'  says  he, 
'  how  do  you  do  ?  it 's  a  month  of  sun- 
days  a'most  since  I've  seed  you,  sposin' 
we  make  a  day  of  it,  and  go  to  Green- 
wich or  Black  wall ;   I  want  to  liear  you 


WHITE    BAIT.  109 

talk,  and  that's  better  nor  your  books  at 
any  time.'  *  Well,'  says  I,  '  I  don't  care 
if  I  do  go,  if  Minister  will,  for  you  know 
he  is  here,  and  so  is  father,  too.'  '  Your 
father!'  said  he,  a-startin'  back — 'your 
father !  Land  of  Goshen  !  what  can  you 
do  with  himV  and  his  eyes  stood  still, 
and  looked  inward,  as  if  reflecting,  and  a 
smile  shot  right  across  his  cheek,  and  set- 
tled down  in  the  corner  of  his  mouth,  sly, 
funny,  and  wicked.  Oh !  how  it  cut  me 
to  the  heart,  for  I  knowed  what  was  a 
passin'  in  his  mind,  and  if  he  had  a  let  it 
pass  out,  I  would  have  knocked  him 
down — I  would,  I  sware.  '  Your  father  !' 
said  he.  '  Yes,'  sais  I,  '  my  father,  have 
you  any  objections,  sir?'  sais  I,  a-clinchin' 
of  my  fist  to  let  him  have  it.  '  Oh  don't 
talk  that  way,  Sam/  said  he,  '  that 's  a 
good  feller,  I  didn't  mean  to  say  nothin' 
offensive,  I  was  only  a  thinkin'  what 
under  the  sun  fetched  him  here,  and  that 


110  WHITE    BAIT. 

he  must  be  considerable  in  your  way, 
that's  all.  If  repeatin'  his  name  after 
that  fashion  hurt  you,  why  I  feel  as  ugly 
about  it  as  you  do,  and  beg  your  pardon, 
that's  all.'  Well,  nothin'  mollifies  me  like 
soft  words ;  so  says  I,  '  It  was  me  that 
was  wrong,  and  I  am  sorry  for  it ;  come 
let 's  go  and  start  the  old  folks.'  '  That 's 
right,'  says  he,  '  which  shall  it  be,  Green- 
wich or  Blackwall?'  '  Blackwall,'  says  I, 
'  for  we  have  been  to  t'  other  one.'  '  So 
it  shall  be,  old  feller,'  said  he,  '  we  '11  go 
to  Lovegrove's  and  have  white  bait.' 
'  White  bait,'  says  I,  '  what 's  that,  is  it 
gals  ?  for  they  are  the  best  bait  I  know 
on.'  Well,  I  thought  the  crittur  would 
have  gone  into  fits,  he  larfed  so.  '  Well, 
you  do  beat  all,  Sam,'  said  he ;  '  what  a 
droll  feller  you  be !  White  bait !  well 
that's  capital  —  I  don't  think  it  would 
have  raised  the  idea  of  gals  in  any  other 
soul's   head    but   your    own,    I   vow.'      I 


WHITE   BAIT.  Ill 

knowed  well  enough  what  was  a-driv- 
in'  at,  for  in  course  a  man  in  fashionable 
life,  like  me,  had  eat  white  bait  dinners, 
and  drank  iced  punch,  often  and  often, 
tho'  I  must  say  I  never  tasted  them  any 
where  but  on  that  part  of  the  Thames, 
and  a  'most  a  grand  dish  it  is  too,  there 
aint  nothin'  equal  to  it  hardly.  Well, 
when  Euclid  had  done  larfin',  says  I,  '  I  '11 
tell  you  what  put  it  into  my  head.  When 
I  was  last  to  Nova  Scotia,  on  the  Guelph 
shore,  I  put  up  to  a  farmer's  house  there, 
one  Gabriel  Gab's.  All  the  folks  was  a 
haulin"*  in  fish,  hand  over  hand,  like  any- 
thing. The  nets  were  actilly  ready  to 
break  with  mackerel,  for  they  were  chock 
full,  that 's  a  fact.  It  was  a  good  sight 
for  sore  eyes,  I  tell  you,  to  see  the  poor 
people  catchin''  dollars  that  way,  for  a 
good  haul  is  like  fish  in'  up  money,  it 's  so 
profitable. — Fact  I  assure  you.  '  So,'  says 
I,  '  uncle  Gabe  Gab,'  says  I,  '  what  a'most 


112  WHITE    BAIT. 

a  grand  haul  of  fish  you  have.'  'Oh,  Mr. 
Slick  !'  sais  he,  and  he  turned  up  the 
whites  of  his  eyes  handsum,  '  oh  r  said  he, 
(and  he  looked  good  enough  to  eat  a'most) 
'  oh,  Mr.  Slick !  I  'me  a  fisher  of  men,  and 
not  a  fisher  of  fish.'  Well  it  made  me 
mad,  for  nothin'  ryles  me  so  like  cant, 
and  the  crittur  was  actilly  too  infarnal 
lazy  to  work,  and  had  took  to  strollin' 
preachin'  for  a  livin.''  '  I  'me  a  fisher  of 
men  and  not  a  fisher  of  fish,"*  says  he. 
'  Are  you  ? '  sais  I.  '  Then  you  ought  to  be 
the  most  fortinate  one  in  these  diggins,  / 
know.'  'How  so?'  said  he.  '  Why,' sais 
I,  '  no  soul  ever  fished  for  men  that  had 
his  hook  sot  with  such  beautiful  bait  as 
yours,'  a-pinetin'  to  his  three  splenderi- 
ferous  gals.  Lord,  how  the  young  heifers 
screamed,  and  larfed,  and  tee-heed,  for 
they  was  the  rompinest,  forredest,  tor- 
mentenest,  wildest,  devils  ever  you  see. 
It 's  curous.  Squire,  aint  it  ?     But  a  hy- 


WHITE   BAIT.  113 

pocrite  father  like  Gabe  Gab  is  sure  to 
have  rollickin'  frolickin'  children.  They, 
do  well  enough  when  in  sight ;  but  out  of 
that,  they  beat  all  natur'.  Takin'  off  re- 
straint is  like  takin'  off  the  harness  of  a 
hoss;  how  they  race  about  the  field, 
squeel,  roll  over  and  over  on  the  grass, 
and  kick  up  their  heels,  don't  they  ? 
Gabe  Gab's  darters  were  proper  sly  ones, 
and  up  to  all  sorts  of  mischief  when  his 
back  was  turned.  I  never  seed  them  I 
didn't  think  of  the  old  sono-, — 

'  The  darter  of  a  fisherman, 

That  was  so  tall  and  slim, 
Lived  over  on  the  other  side. 

Just  opposite  to  him. 
He  saw  her  wave  her  handkercher. 

As  much  as  for  to  say, 
It 's  grand  time  for  courtin'  now, 

For  daddy  's  gone  away.' 

Yes,  hypocracy  Ids  enlisted  more  folks  for 
old  Scratch  than  any  recruitin'  sergeant  he 
has,  that's  a  fact.     But  to  get  back  to 


114  WHITE    BAIT. 

the  white  bait,  we  went  and  roused  out  old 
Minister  and  father,  but  father  said  he 
had  most  special  business  (tho'  what  onder 
the  sun  he  is  arter,  I  can't  make  out  for 
the  life  of  me,)  and  Minister  said  he 
wouldn't  go  without  you,  and  now  it's  too 
late  for  to-day.  So  what  do  say  to  to- 
morrow, Squire?  Will  you  go?  That's 
right ;  then  Ave  '11  all  go  to-morrow,  and 
I  '11  shew  you  what  '  white  baW  is." 


THE   CURLING    WAVE.  115 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE    CURLING    WAVE    AND    THE    OLD    OAK    TREE. 

According  to  the  arrangements  made, 
as  related  in  the  last  chapter,  we  went  to 
Blackwall.  Upon  these  excursions,  when 
we  all  travelled  together,  I  always  ordered 
private  apartments,  that  the  conversation 
might  be  unrestrained,  and  that  the  free- 
dom of  remark,  in  which  we  indulged, 
might  neither  attract  attention  nor  give 
offence.  Orders  having  been  given  for 
"white  bait,''  Mr.  Slick  and  his  father 
walked  into  the  garden,  while  the  "  Minis- 
ter" and  myself  were  engaged  in  conver- 
sation on  various  topics  suggested  by  the 
moving    scene    presented    by    the    river. 


116  THE    CURLING    WAVE   AND 

Among  other  tilings,  he  pointed  to  the 
beautiful  pile  of  buildings  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  Thames,  and  eulogised  the  mu- 
nificent provision  England  had  made  for 
the  infirmities  and  old  age  of  those  whose 
lives  had  been  spent  in  the  service  of  the 
country.  "  That  palace,  sir,"  he  said,  "for 
disabled  sailors,  and  the  other,  at  Chelsea, 
for  decrepid  soldiers,  splendid  as  they  are, 
if  they  were  the  only  charitable  institu- 
tions of  England,  might  perhaps  be  said 
to  have  had  their  origin,  rather  in  state 
policy,  than  national  liberality  ;  but  fortu- 
nately they  are  only  part  of  an  universal 
system  of  benevolence  here.  Turn  which 
way  you  will,  you  find  Orphan  Asylums, 
Magdalen  Hospitals,  Charity  Schools,  Bed- 
lams, places  of  refuge  for  the  blind,  the 
deaf,  the  dumb,  the  deformed,  the  desti- 
tute, for  families  reduced  by  misfortune, 
and  for  those  whom  crime  or  profligacy 
have  punished  with  infamy  or  disease.  For 


THE    OLD    OAK    TREE.  117 

all  classes  of  sufferers  charity  has  provided 
a  home,  and  kindness  a  nurse,  while  funds 
have  been  liberally  bestowed  to  encourage 
talent,  and  educate,  promote,  and  reward 
merit. 

"  The  amount  of  capital,  permanently  in- 
vested and  annually  supplied  by  voluntary 
contribution,  for  those  objects,  is  almost 
incredible.  What  are  the  people  who 
have  done  all  this  ?  and  whence  does  it 
flow  ?  They  are  Christians,  sir.  It  is  the 
fruit  of  their  religion;  and  as  no  other 
country  in  the  world  can  exhibit  such  a 
noble  spectacle — so  pleasing  to  God,  and 
so  instructive  and  honourable  to  man,  it  is 
fair  to  infer  that  that  religion  is  better 
taught,  better  understood,  and  better  ex- 
emplified here  than  elsewhere.  You  shall 
know  a  tree  by  its  productions,  and  this  is 
the  glorious  fruit  of  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land. 

"  Liberals  and  infidels  may  ridicule    its 


118  THE    CURLING   WAVE    AND 

connexion  with  the  State,  and  Dissenters 
may  point  to  the  Bench  of  Bishops,  and 
ask  with  ignorant  effrontery,  whether  their 
usefulness  is  commensurate  with  their  ex- 
pense. I  point  to  their  own  establish- 
ments and  say,  let  their  condition  and 
their  effects  be  your  answer.  I  point  to 
Owen  and  Irvin,  whom  they  impiously  call 
their  apostles,  and  while  declining  a  com- 
parison, repose  myself  under  the  shadow 
of  the  venerable  hierarchy  of  the  Church. 
The  spires  and  hospitals  and  colleges  so 
diffusely  spread  over  this  great  country, 
testify  in  its  behalf.  The  great  Episcopal 
Church  of  America  raises  its  voice  in  the 
defence  and  praise  of  its  parent ;  and  the 
colonies  of  the  east  and  the  west,  and  the 
north  and  the  south,  and  the  heathen 
everywhere,  implore  the  blessing  of  God 
on  a  Church,  to  whose  liberality  alone 
they  owe  the  means  of  grace  they  now 
possess.    But  this  is  not  all.    When  asked 


THE   OLD    OAK    TREE.  119 

where  do  you  find  a  justification  for  this 
connexion,  the  answer  is  short  and  plain, 
/  find  it  ivritten  in  the  character  of  an 
Englishman.  With  all  his  faults  of  man- 
ner, Squire,  (and  it  is  his  manner  that  is 
chiefly  reprehensible,  not  his  conduct,) 
shew  me  a  foreigner  from  any  nation  in 
the  world,  under  any  other  form  of  Church 
government,  whose  character  stands  so 
high  as  an  Encjlishmans.  How  much  of 
greatness  and  goodness — of  liberality,  and 
of  sterling  worth,  is  conveyed  by  that  one 
word.  And  yet.  Squire,"  he  said,  "  I 
would  not  attribute  all  the  elements  of 
his  character  to  his  Church,  although  all 
the  most  valuable  ones  unquestionably 
must  be  ascribed  to  it ;  for  some  of  them 
are  to  be  traced  to  the  political  institu- 
tions of  England.  There  are  three  things 
that  mould  and  modify  national  character 
— the  religion — the  constitution — and  the 
climate  of  a  country.     There  are  those  who 


120  THE    CURLING    WAVE  AND 

murmur  against  their  God,  and  would  im- 
prove their  climate  if  they  could,  but  this 
is  impious  ;  and  there  are  those  who 
would  overthrow  the  altar  and  the  throne, 
in  their  reckless  thirst  for  change,  and 
this  also  is  wicked.  Avoid  the  contami- 
nation of  both. 

"  INIay  man  support  the  Church  of  God 
as  here  established,  for  it  is  the  best  that 
is  known  to  the  human  race  ;  and  may 
God  preserve  and  prosjier  the  constitution 
as  here  formed,  for  it  is  the  perfection  of 
human  wisdom." 

He  then  took  up  his  chair,  and  placing 
it  directly  in  front  of  the  open  window, 
rested  his  head  on  his  hands,  and  seemed 
to  be  absorbed  in  some  speculation.  He 
continued  in  this  state  of  abstraction  for 
some  time.  I  never  disturbed  him  when 
I  saw  him  in  these  meditating  moods,  as 
I  knew  that  he  sought  them  either  as  a 
refuge,  or  as  a  resource  for  the  supply  of 
conversation. 


THE    OLD    OAK    TREE.  121 

He  was  soon  doomed,  however,  to  be 
interrupted  by  Mr.  Slick,  who,  returning 
with  his  father,  at  once  walked  up  to  him, 
and,  tapping  him  on  the  shoulder,  said, 
"  Come,  Minister,  what  do  you  say  to  the 
white  bait  now?  I'm  getting  consider- 
able peckish,  and  feel  as  if  I  could  tuck  it 
in  in  good  style.  A  slice  of  nice  brown 
bread  and  butter,  the  white  bait  fried  dry 
and  crisp,  jist  laid  a-top  of  it,  like  the 
naked  truth,  the  leastest  mossel  in  the 
world  of  cayenne,  and  then  a  squeeze  of 
a  lemon,  as  delicate  as  the  squeeze  of  a 
gal's  hand  in  courting  time,  and  lick  !  it 
goes  down  as  slick  as  a  rifle-ball ;  it  fairly 
makes  my  mouth  water  !  And  then  arter 
laying  in  a  solid  foundation  of  that,  there's 
a  glass  of  lignum-vity  for  me,  a  bottle  of 
genuine  old  cider  for  you  and  father,  and 
another  of  champagne  for  Squire  and  me 
to  top  off  with,  and  then  a  cigar  all  round, 
and  up  killock  and  off  for  London.    Come, 

VOL.  I.  G 


122  THE    CURLING    WAVE    AND 

IMinister,  what  do  you  say?  Why, what 
in  airth  ails  him,  Squire,  that  he  don't  an- 
swer ?  He's  off  the  handle  again  as  sure 
as  a  gun.  Come,  Minister,"  he  said  again, 
taj^ping  him  on  the  shoulder,  "  won't 
you  rise  to  my  hook,  it's  got  white  bait 
to   the  eend  on't?" 

"Oh!"  said  he,  "is  that  you  Sam?" 
•  "  Sartain,"  he  replied,  "  at  least  whafs 
left  of  me.  What  under  the  sun  have 
you  been  a  thinkin'  on  so  everlastin' 
deep?  I've  been  a-standin'  talking  to 
you  here  these  ten  minits,  and  I  believe, 
in  my  soul,  you  havn't  heerd  one  blessed 
word." 

"  I'll  tell  you  Sam,''  he  said,  "  sit  down 
on  this  chair.  Do  you  see  that  '  curl- 
ing wave  ?'  behold  it  how  it  emerges  out 
of  the  mass  of  water,  increases  as  it  rolls 
on,  rises  to  a  head,  and  then  curls  over, 
and  sinks  again  into  the  great  flood  from 
which  it  was  forced  up,  and  vanishes  from 


THE    OLD    OAK    TREE.  123 

sight  for  ever.  That  is  an  emblem  of  a 
public  man  in  America.  Society  there 
has  no  permanency,  and  therefore  wants 
not  only  the  high  polish  that  the  attrition 
of  several  generations  gives,  but  one  of 
the  greatest  stimulants  and  incentives  to 
action  next  to  religion  that  we  know  of — 
pride  of  name,  and  the  honor  of  an  old 
family.  Now  don't  interrupt  me,  Sam  ; 
I  don't  mean  to  say  that  we  havn't 
polished  men,  and  honorable  men,  in 
abundance.  I  am  not  a  man  to  under- 
value my  countrymen  ;  but  then  I  am  not 
so  weak  as  you  and  many  others  are,  as  to 
claim  all  the  advantages  of  a  republic,  and 
deny  that  we  have  the  unavoidable  at- 
tendant evils  of  one.  Don't  interrupt  me. 
I  am  now  merely  stating  one  of  the 
effects  of  political  institutions  on  cha- 
racter. We  have  enough  to  boast  of; 
don't  let  us  claim  all,  or  we  shall  have 
everything    disputed.      With    us    a    low 

o  2 


124  THE   CURLING    WAVE    AND 

family  amasses  wealth,  and  educates  its 
sons;  one  of  them  has  talent,  and  be- 
comes a  great  public  character.  He  lives 
on  his  patrimony,  and  spends  it;  for, 
politics  with  us,  though  they  may  make  a 
man  distinguished,  never  make  him  rich. 
He  acquires  a  great  name  that  becomes 
known  all  over  America,  and  is  every- 
where recognized  in  Europe.  He  dies 
and  leaves  some  poor  children,  who  sink 
under  the  surface  of  society  from  which 
he  accidentally  arose,  and  are  never  more 
heard  of  again.  The  pride  of  his  name  is 
lost  after  the  first  generation,  and  the 
authenticity  of  descent  is  disputed  in  the 
second.  Had  our  institutions  permitted 
his  perpetuating  his  name  by  an  entail- 
ment of  his  estate  (which  they  do  not 
and  cannot  allow),  he  would  have  pre- 
served his  property  during  his  life,  and 
there  would  have  arisen  among  his  de- 
scendants, in  a  few  years,  the  pride   of 


THE    OLD    OAK    TREE.  125 

name — that  pride  which  is  so  anxious  for 
the  preservation  of  the  purity  of  its 
escutcheon,  and  which  generates,  in  pro- 
cess of  time,  a  high  sense  of  honor.  We 
lose  by  this  equality  of  ours  a  great 
stimulant  to  virtuous  actions.  Now  look 
at  that  oak,  it  is  the  growth  of  past  ages. 
Queen  Elizabeth  looked  upon  it  as  we 
now  do.  Race  after  race  have  beheld  it, 
and  passed  away.  They  are  gone,  and 
most  of  them  are  forgotten  ;  but  there  is 
that  noble  tree,  so  deep  rooted,  that 
storms  and  tempests  cannot  move  it.  So 
strong  and  so  sound,  that  ages  seem 
rather  to  have  increased  its  solidity  than 
impaired  its  health.  That  is  an  emblem 
of  the  hereditary  class  in  England — per- 
manent, useful,  and  oramental ;  it  graces 
the  landscape,  and  alfords  shelter  and  pro- 
tection under  its  umbrageous  branches." 
"  And  pysons  all  the  grain  onderneath 
it,"  said  INIr.  Slick,  "  and  stops  the  plough 


126  THE   CURLING    WAVE    AND 

in  the  furror,  and  spiles  the  ridges;  and 
attracts  the  lightening,  and  kills  the  cattle 
that  run  under  it  from  the  storm." 

"  The  cattle,  Sam,"  he  mildly  replied, 
"  sometimes  attract  the  lightning  that 
rends  the  branches.  The  tree  does  not 
destroy  the  grass  beneath  its  shelter ;  but 
nature,  while  it  refuses  to  produce  both  in 
one  spot,  increases  the  quantity  of  grain 
that  is  grown  at  a  distance,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  protection  it  enjoys  against 
the  wind.  Thus,  while  the  cultivation  of 
the  soil  affords  nurture  for  the  tree,  and 
increases  its  size,  the  shelter  of  the  tree 
protects  the  grain.  What  a  picture  of  a 
nobleman  and  his  tenants  !  What  a  type 
of  the  political  world  is  to  be  found  here 
in  the  visible  olyects  of  nature !  Here  a 
man  rises  into  a  great  public  character — 
is  ennobled,  founds  a  family,  and  his  pos- 
terity, in  time  feel  they  have  the  honor  of 
several  generations  of   ancestors  in  their 


THE    OLD    OAK    TREE.  127 

keeping,  and  that  if  they  cannot  increase, 
they  must  at  least  not  tarnish,  the  lustre 
of  their  name.  What  an  incentive  to 
virtuous  action  !  What  an  antidote  to 
dishonor !  But  here  is  the  white  bait ; 
after  dinner  ^Ye  will  again  discourse  of  the 
Curling  Wave  and  The  Old  Oak  Tree." 


128  NATIONAL    CHARACTER. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


NATIONAL    CHARACTER. 


After  dinner  Mr.  Hopewell  resumed 
the  conversation  referred  to  in  the  last 
chapter.  "  I  observed  to  you  just  now, 
Squire,  that  there  were  three  things  that 
moulded  national  character;  climate,  po- 
litical institutions,  and  religion.  These 
are  curious  speculations,  my  children,  and 
well  worthy  of  study,  for  we  are  too  apt 
in  this  world  to  mistake  effect  for  cause. 
Look  at  the  operation  of  climate  on  an 
Englishman.  The  cloudy  sky  and  humid 
atmosphere  in  this  country  renders  him 
phlegmatic,  while  the  uncertain  and  vari- 


NATIONAL    CHARACTER.  129 

able  weather,  by  constantly  driving  him 
to  shelter,  induces  him  to  render  that 
shelter  as  commodious  and  agreeable  as 
possible.  Hence  liome  is  predominant  with 
him.  Operating  on  all  his  household 
equally  with  himself,  the  weather  unites 
all  in  the  family  circle.  Hence  his  do- 
medic  virtues.  Restricted  by  these  cir- 
cumstances, over  which  he  has  no  control, 
to  his  own  fireside,  and  constitutionally 
phlegmatic,  as  I  have  just  observed,  he 
becomes,  from  the  force  of  habit,  unwil- 
ling to  enlarge  or  to  leave  that  circle. 
Hence  a  reserve  and  coldness  of  manner 
towards  strangers,  too  often  mistaken  for 
the  pride  of  home  or  purse.  His  habits 
are  necessarily  those  of  business.  The 
weather  is  neither  too  hot  for  exertion, 
nor  too  cold  for  exposure,  but  such  as 
to  require  a  comfortable  house,  abundance 
of  fuel,  and  warm  clothing.  His  wants 
are   numerous,    and    his    exertions   must 

q5 


130  NATIONAL    CHARACTER. 

correspond  to  them.  He  is,  therefore, 
both  industrious  and  frugal.  Cross  the 
channel,  and  a  sunny  sky  produces  the 
reverse.  You  have  a  volatile  excitable 
Frenchman ;  he  has  no  place  that  de- 
serves the  name  of  a  home.  He  lives 
in  the  gardens,  the  fields,  in  the  public 
houses,  and  the  theatres.  It  is  no  in- 
convenience to  him  to  know  all  the  world. 
He  has  all  these  places  of  public  resort 
to  meet  his  acquaintances  in,  and  they 
meet  on  equal  terms.  The  climate  is 
such  as  to  admit  of  light  clothing,  and 
slight  shelter ;  food  is  cheap,  and  but  lit- 
tle more  fuel  is  required  than  what  suf- 
fices to  dress  it ;  but  little  exertion  is 
requisite,  therefore,  to  procure  the  ne- 
cessaries of  life,  and  he  is  an  idle,  thought- 
less, merry  fellow.  So  much  for  climate, 
now  for  political  institutions  that  affect 
character. 

"  I   need  onlv  advert  to   the  form  of 


NATIONAL    CHARACTER.  131 

this  government,  a  limited  monarchy, 
which  is  without  doubt  the  best  that  hu- 
man wisdom  has  yet  discovered,  or  that 
accidental  circumstances  have  ever  con- 
spired to  form.  Where  it  is  absolute, 
there  can  be  no  freedom ;  where  it  is  li- 
mited, there  can  be  no  tyranny.  The 
regal  power  here  (notwithstanding  our 
dread  of  royalty),  varies  very  little  from 
what  is  found  in  the  United  States  con- 
ducive to  the  public  good,  to  delegate  to 
the  President.  In  one  case  the  sceptre 
is  inherited  and  held  for  life,  in  the  other 
it  is  bestowed  by  election,  and  its  tenure 
terminates  in  four  years.  Our  upper  le- 
gislative assembly  is  elective,  and  resem- 
bles a  large  lake  into  which  numerous 
and  copious  streams  are  constantly  pour- 
ing, and  from  which  others  of  equal  size 
are  perpetually  issuing.  The  President, 
the  Senators,  and  the  Representatives, 
though  differently  chosen,  all   belong   to 


132  NATIONAL    CHARACTER. 

one  class ;  and  are  in  no  way  distinguish- 
able one  from  the  other.  The  second 
branch  of  the  legislature  in  England  is 
composed  of  nobility,  men  distinguished 
alike  for  their  learning,  their  accomplish- 
ments, their  high  honour,  enormous  wealth, 
munificence,  and  all  those  things  that  con- 
stitute, in  the  opinion  of  the  world,  great- 
ness. The  Queen,  then,  and  all  the  va- 
rious orders  of  nobility,  are  not  only  in 
reality  above  all  others,  but  it  is  freely, 
fully,  and  cheerfully  conceded  that  they 
are  so. 

"  With  us  all  religions  are  merely  to- 
lerated, as  a  sort  of  necessary  evil ;  no  one 
church  is  fostered,  protected,  or  adopted 
by  the  State.  Here  they  have  incorpo- 
rated one  with  the  State,  and  given  the 
name  of  the  kingdom  to  it,  to  distinguish 
it  from  all  others — the  Church  of  Eng- 
land. Excuse  my  mentioning  these  tru- 
isms to  you,  but  it  is  necessary  to  allude 


NATIONAL    CHARACTER.  133 

to  them,  not  for  the  purpose  of  instruc- 
tion, for  no  one  needs  that,  but  to  explain 
their  effect  on  character.     Here  then  are 
permanent   orders   and  fixed   institutions, 
and   here   is   a  regular   well-defined  gra- 
dation of  rank,  from  the  sovereign  on  the 
throne  to  the  country  squire ;  known  to 
all,  acknowledged  by  all,  and  approved  of 
by  all.     This  political  stability  necessarily 
imparts   stability    to   the    character,    and 
the  court    and  the  peerage  naturally  in- 
fuse through  society,  by  the  unavoidable 
influence  of  the  models  they  present,    a 
high  sense  of  honour,  elegance  of  manners, 
and  great  dignity  of  character  and  conduct. 
An  English  gentleman,  therefore,  is  kind 
and  considerate  to  his  inferiors,  affable  to 
his  equals,  and  respectful  (not  obsequious, 
for  servility  belongs  to  an  absolute,  and 
not  a  limited  monarchy,  and  is  begotten 
of  power  not  of  right,)   to   his  superiors. 
What   is    the   case    where   there  are   no 


134  NATIONAL    CHARACTER. 

superiors  and  no  inferiors  ?  Where  all 
strive  to  be  first  and  none  are  admitted 
to  be  so ;  where  the  law,  in  direct  op- 
position to  all  nature,  has  declared  those 
to  be  equal  who  are  as  unequal  in  their 
talents  as  they  are  in  their  stature,  and 
as  dissimilar  in  their  characters  as  they  are 
in  their  pecuniary  means  ?  In  such  a 
case  the  tone  may  be  called  an  average 
one,  but  what  must  the  average  of  the 
masses  be  in  intelligence,  in  morals,  in 
civilization?  to  use  another  mercantile 
phrase,  it  must  inevitably  be  '  below  par."" 
All  these  things  are  elements  in  the  for- 
mation of  character,  whether  national  or 
individual.  There  is  great  manliness,  great 
sincerity,  great  integrity,  and  a  great  sense 
of  propriety  in  England,  arising  from  the 
causes  I  have  enumerated.  One  extra- 
ordinary proof  of  the  wholesome  state  of 
the  public  mind  here  is,  the  condition  of 
the  press. 


NATIONAL    CHARACTER.  135 

"  By  the  law  of  the  land,  the  liberty 
of  the  press  is  here  secured  to  the  sub- 
ject. He  has  a  right  to  use  it,  he  is 
punishable  only  for  its  abuse.  You  would 
naturally  suppose,  that  the  same  liberty 
of  the  press  in  England  and  America, 
or  in  Great  Britain  and  Russia,  would 
produce  the  same  effect,  but  this  is  by 
no  means  the  case.  Here  it  is  safe,  but 
no  where  else,  not  even  in  the  Colonies. 
Here  a  Court,  an  Established  Church,  a 
peerage,  an  aristocracy,  a  gentry,  a  large 
army  and  navy,  and  last,  though  not  least, 
an  intelligent,  moral,  and  highly  respect- 
able middle  class,  all  united  by  one  com- 
mon interest,  though  they  have  severally 
a  distinct  sphere,  and  are  more  or  less 
connected  by  ties  of  various  kinds,  con- 
stitute so  large,  so  powerful,  and  so  in- 
fluential a  body,  that  the  press  is  re- 
strained. It  may  talk  boldly,  but  it  can- 
not talk  licentiously ;  it  may  talk  freely, 


136  NATIONAL    CHARACTER. 

but  not  seditiously.  The  good  feeling  of 
the  country  is  too  strong.  The  law  of  it- 
self is  everywhere  unequal  to  the  task. 
There  are  some  liberal  papers  of  a  most 
demoralising  character,  but  they  are  the 
exceptions  that  serve  to  show  how  safe  it 
is  to  entrust  Englishmen  with  this  most 
valuable  but  most  dangerous  engine.  In 
France  these  checks,  though  nominally 
the  same,  scarcely  exist.  To  the  great 
body  of  the  people  a  different  tone  is  ac- 
ceptable. The  bad  feeling  of  the  country 
is  too  strong. 

"  In  the  United  States  and  in  the  Colo- 
nies these  checks  are  also  wanting.  Here 
a  newspaper  is  often  a  joint-stock  pro- 
perty. It  is  worth  thousands  of  pounds. 
It  is  edited  by  men  of  collegiate  educa- 
tion, and  first-rate  talents.  It  sometimes 
reflects,  and  sometimes  acts,  upon  the  opi- 
nions of  the  higher  classes.  To  accomplish 
this,  its  tone  must  be  equal,  and  its  abi- 


NATIONAL    CHARACTER.  137 

lity,  if  possible,  superior  to  that  of  its  pa- 
trons. In  America,  a  bunch  of  quills  and 
a  quire  of  paper,  with  the  promise  of  a 
grocer  to  give  his  advertisements  for  in- 
sertion, is  all  that  is  necessary  to  start  a 
newspaper  upon.  The  checks  I  have 
spoken  of  are  wanting.  This  I  know  to 
be  the  case  with  us,  and  I  am  certain  jour 
experience  of  colonial  affairs  will  confirm 
my  assertion  that  it  is  the  case  in  the 
provinces  also.  Take  up  almost  any  (I 
won't  say  all,  because  that  would  be  a 
gross  libel  on  both  my  country  and  yours); 
but  take  up  almost  any  transatlantic  news- 
paper, and  how  much  of  personality,  of 
imputation,  of  insolence,  of  agitation,  of 
pandering  to  bad  passions,  is  there  to  re- 
gret in  it  ?  The  good  feeling  of  the  country 
is  not  strong  enough  for  it.  Here  it  is 
safe.  With  us  it  is  safer  than,  in  any  other 
place  perhaps,  but  from  a  totally  different 
cause, — from  the   enormous  number  that 


188  NATIONAL   CHARACTER. 

are  published,  which  limits  the  circulation 
of  each,  distracts  rather  than  directs  opi- 
nion, and  renders  unity  of  design  as  well 
as  unity  of  action  impossible.  Where  a 
few  papers  are  the  organs  of  the  public, 
the  public  makes  itself  heard  and  under- 
stood. Where  thousands  are  claiming 
attention  at  the  same  time,  all  are  con- 
founded, and  in  a  manner  disregarded. 
But  to  leave  illustrations.  Squire,  which 
are  endless,  let  us  consider  the  effect  of 
religion  in  the  formation  of  character. 

"  The  Christian  religion  is  essentially  the 
same  everywhere  ;  but  the  form  of  Church 
government,  and  the  persons  by  whom  it  is 
administered,  modify  national  character  in 
a  manner  altogether  incredible  to  those 
who  have  not  traced  these  things  up  to 
their  source,  and  down  to  their  conse- 
quences. Now,  it  will  startle  you  no  doubt 
when  I  say,  only  tell  me  the  class  of  per- 
sons that  the  clergy  of  a  country  are  taken 


NATIONAL    CHARACTER.  139 

from,  and  I  will  tell  you  at  once  the  stage 
of  refinement  it  is  in. 

"  In  England  the  clergy  are  taken  from 
the  gentry,  some  few  from  the  nobility, 
and  some  few  from  the  humbler  walks  of 
life,  but  mainly  from  the  gentry.  The 
clergy  of  the  Church  of  England  are  gen- 
tlemen and  scholars.  What  an  immense 
advantage  that  is  to  a  country  !  What  an 
element  it  forms  in  the  refinement  of  a 
nation  !  when  a  high  sense  of  honor  is 
superadded  to  the  obligation  of  religion. 
France,  before  the  Revolution,  had  a  most 
learned  and  accomplished  clergy  of  gen- 
try, and  the  high  state  of  civilization  of 
the  people  testified  to  their  influence.  In 
the  Revolution  the  altar  was  overturned 
with  the  throne— the  priesthood  was  dis- 
persed, and  society  received  its  tone  from 
a  plebeian  army.  What  a  change  has  since 
come  over  the  nation.  It  assumed  an  en- 
tirely new  character.  Some  little  improve- 


140  NATIONAL    CHARACTER. 

ment  has  taken  place  of  late  ;  but  years 
must  pass  away  before  France  can  recover 
the  loss  it  sustained  in  the  long  continued 
absence  of  its  amiable  and  enlightened 
hierarchy.  A  mild,  tolerant,  charitable, 
gentle,  humble,  creed  like  that  of  a  Chris- 
tian, should  be  taught  and  exemplified  by 
a  gentleman ;  for  nearly  all  his  attributes 
are  those  of  a  Christian.  This  is  not  theory. 
An  Englishman  is  himself  a  practical 
example  of  the  benefits  resulting  from  the 
union  between  the  Church  and  the  State, 
and  the  clergy  and  the  gentry. 

"  Take  a  country,  where  the  small  far- 
mers furnish  the  ministers.  The  people 
may  be  moral,  but  they  are  not  refined  ; 
they  may  be  honest,  but  they  are  hard  ; 
they  may  have  education,  but  they  are 
coarse  and  vulgar.  Go  lower  down  in  the 
scale,  and  take  them  from  the  peasantry. 
Education  will  not  eradicate  their  preju- 
dices, or  remove  their  vulgar  errors.    They 


NATIONAL    CHARACTER.  141 

have  too  many  feelings  and  passions  in 
common  with  the  ignorant  associates  of 
their  youth,  to  teach  those,  from  whom 
they  are  in  no  way  distinguished  but  by  a 
little  smattering  of  languages.  While  they 
deprecate  the  aera  of  darkness,  their  con- 
versation, unknown  to  themselves,  fans  the 
flame  because  their  early  training  has 
made  them  regard  their  imaginary  griev- 
ances as  real  ones,  and  induce  them  to 
bestow  their  sympathy  where  they  should 
give  their  counsel — or  to  give  their  counsel 
where  they  should  interpose  their  autho- 
rity. A  thoroughly  low-bred  ignorant 
clergy  is  a  sure  indication  of  the  ignorance 
and  degradation  of  a  nation.  What  a 
dreadful  thing  it  is  when  any  man  can 
preach,  and  when  any  one  that  preaches, 
as  in  Independent  or  Colonial  America, 
can  procure  hearers ;  where  no  training, 
no  learning  is  required, — where  the  voice 
of  vanity,  or  laziness,  is  often  mistaken  for 


142  NATIONAL    CHARACTER. 

a  sacred  call,- — ^here  an  ignorant  volu- 
bility is  dignified  with  the  name  of  inspi- 
ration,— where  pandering  to  prejudices  is 
popular,  and  where  popular  preaching  is 
lucrative  !  How  deleterious  must  be  the 
effect  of  such  a  state  of  things  on  the  pub- 
lic mind. 

"  It  is  easy  for  us  to  say,  this  constitu- 
tion or  that  constitution  is  the  perfection 
of  reason.  We  boast  of  ours  that  it  con- 
fers equal  rights  on  all,  and  exclusive  pri- 
vileges on  none,  and  so  on  ;  but  there  are 
other  things  besides  rights  in  the  world. 
In  our  government  we  surrender  certain 
rights  for  the  protection  yielded  by  go- 
vernment, and  no  more  than  is  necessary 
for  this  purpose  ;  but  there  are  some  im- 
portant things  besides  protection.  In 
England  they  yield  more  to  obtain  more. 
Some  concession  is  made  to  have  an  here- 
ditary throne,  that  the  country  may  not  be 
torn  to  pieces,  as  ours  is  every  five  years. 


NATIONAL    CHARACTER.  143 

by  contending  parties,  for  the  office  of 
chief  magistrate ;  or  that  the  nation,  like 
Rome  of  old,  may  not  be  at  the  mercy  of 
the  legions.  Some  concession  is  made  to 
have  the  advantage  of  an  hereditary  peer- 
age, that  may  repress  the  power  of  the 
crown  on  one  side,  and  popular  aggressions 
on  the  other; — and  further  concession  is 
made  to  secure  the  blessings  of  an  Esta- 
blished Church,  that  the  people  may  not 
be  left  to  themselves  to  become  the  prey  of 
furious  fanatics  like  Cromwell,  or  murder- 
ous infidels  like  Robespierre ;  and  that 
superstitious  zeal  and  philosophical  indif- 
ference may  alike  be  excluded  from  the 
temple  of  the  Lord.  What  is  the  result 
of  all  this  concession  that  Whigs  call  ex- 
pensive machinery,  Radicals  the  ignorant 
blunders  of  our  poor  old  forefathers,  and 
your  wholesale  Reformers  the  rapacity  of 
might.  What  is  the  result  ?  Such  a  moral, 
social,  and  political  state,  as  nothing  but 


144  NATIONAL  CHARACTER. 

the  goodness  of  God  could  have  conferred 
upon  the  people  in  reward  for  their  many 
virtues.  With  such  a  climate — such  a  con- 
stitution, and  such  a  church,  is  it  any  won- 
der that  the  national  character  stands  so 
high  that,  to  insure  respect  in  any  part  of 
the  world,  it  is  only  necessary  to  say,  '  I 
am  an  Englishman.' " 


THE   PULPIT   AND    THE   PRESS.  145 


CHAPTER  X. 


THE    PULPIT    AND    THE    PRESS. 


It  was  late  when  we  returned  to  Lon- 
don, and  Mr.  Hopewell  and  Colonel  Slick 
being  both  fatigued,  retired  almost  imme- 
diately for  the  night. 

"  Smart  man.  Minister,"  said  the  At- 
tache, "  aint  he  ?  You  say  smart,  don't 
you  ?  for  they  use  words  very  odd  here,  and 
then  fancy  it  is  us  talk  strange,  because 
we  use  them  as  they  be.  I  met  Lady 
Charlotte  West  to-day,  and  sais  I,  '  I 
am  delighted  to  hear  your  mother  has 
grown  so  clever  lately.'  '  Clever  ?'  sais 
she,  and  she  colored  up  like  anything 
for  the    old   lady,    the    duchess,    is    one 

VOL.  L  H 


146  THE    rULPIT   AND 

of  the  biggest  noodles  in  all  England, 
— '  clever,  sir  ?'  '  Yes,'  sais  I,  '  I  heerd 
she  was  layiifi  all  last  week,  and  is 
a-settivb  now.'  Oh  Soliman !  how  mad 
she  looked.  '  Layin'  and  settin',  sir?  I 
don't  understand  you.'  '  Why,'  sais  I,  *  I 
heerd  she  kept  her  bed  last  week,  but  is 
so  much  better  now,  she  sot  up  yesterday 
and  drove  out  to-day.'  '  Oh !  better  V  sais 
she,  '  now  I  understand,  oh  yes  !  thank 
you,  she  is  a  great  deal  better:'  and  she 
looked  as  chipper  as  possible,  seein'  that  I 
warn't  a  pokin'  fun  at  her.  I  guess  I 
used  them  words  wrong,  but  one  good 
thing  is,  she  won't  tell  the  story,  I  know, 
for  old  marm's  sake.  I  don't  know 
whether  smart  is  the  word  or  no,  but 
clever,  I  suppose,  is. 

"  Well,  he  's  a  clever  old  man,  old  Mi- 
nister, too,  aint  he  ?  That  talk  of  his'n 
about  the  curling  wave  and  national  cha- 
racter, to-day,  is  about  the  best  I  've  heern 


THE    PRESS.  147 

of  his  since  you  come  back    agin.     The 
worst  of  it  is,  he  carries  things  a  leetle 
too  far.     A  man  that  dives  so  deep  into 
things  is  apt  to  touch  bottom  sometimes 
with   his    head,   stir   the    mud,    and    rile 
the  water  so,  he  can  hardly  see  his  way 
out  himself,   much  less    show  others  the 
road.     I  guess  he  went  a  leetle  too  low 
that  time,  and  touched  the  sediment,  for 
I  don't  'xactly  see  that  all   that  follows 
from  his  premises  at  all.      Still  he  is  a 
book,  and  what  he  says  about  the  pulpit 
and    the   press   is  true  enough,   that's  a 
fact.      Their   influence    beats    all    natur.' 
The  first  time  I  came  to  England  was  in 
one  of  our  splendid  liners.     There  was  a 
considerable    number    of    passengers    on 
board,  and   among  them  two  outlandish, 
awkward,   ongainly    looking  fellers,   from 
Tammer  Squatter,  in  the  State  o'  ^lain. 
One  on  'em  was  a  preacher,  and  the  other 
a    literary   gentleman,    that   published    a 

H   2 


148  THE    PULPIT    AND 

newspaper.  They  was  always  together 
a'lnost  like  two  oxen  in  a  parstur,  that  are 
used  to  be  yoked  together.  Where  one  was 
t'  other  warn't  never  at  no  great  distance. 
They  had  the  longest  necks  and  the  long- 
est legs  of  any  fellers  I  ever  see, — reg'lar 
cranes.  S waller  a  frog  whole  at  a  gulp, 
and  bein'  temperance  chaps,  would  drink 
cold  water  enough  arter  for  him  to  swim 
in.  The  preacher  had  a  rusty  suit  of 
black  on,  that  had  grown  brown  by  way 
of  a  change.  His  coat  had  been  made  by 
a  Tammer  Squatter  tailor,  that  carried 
the  fashions  there  forty  years  ago,  and 
stuck  to  'em  ever  since.  The  waist  was 
up  atween  the  shoulders,  and  the  tails 
short  like  a  boy's  jacket ;  his  trousers  was 
most  too  tight  to  sit  down  comfortable, 
and  as  they  had  no  straps,  they  wriggled, 
and  wrinkled,  and  worked  a'most  up  to 
his  knees.  Onderneath  were  a  pair  of 
water-proof  boots,    big   enough   to   wade 


THE    PRESS.  149 

across  a  lake  in  a'most.  His  white  cravat 
looked  as  yaller  as  if  he  'd  kept  it  in  the 
smoke-house  where  he  cured  his  hams. 
His  hat  was  a  yaller  white,  too,  enormous 
high  in  the  crown,  and  enormous  short  in 
the  rim,  and  the  nap  as  close  fed  down  as 
a  sheep  pastur' — you  couldn't  pull  enough 
off  to  clot  your  chin,  if  you  had  scratched 
it  in  shavin.'  Walkin'  so  much  in  the 
woods  in  narror  paths,  he  had  what  we 
call  the  surveyor's  gait ;  half  on  him  went 
first  to  clear  the  way  thro'  the  bushes  for 
t'  other  half  to  follow — his  knees  and  his 
shoulders  bein'  the  best  part  of  a  yard 
before  him.  If  he  warn't  a  droll  boy  it  's 
a  pity.  When  he  warn't  a  talkin'  to  the 
editor,  he  Avas  walkin'  the  deck  and 
studyin'  a  book  for  dear  life,  sometimes 
a  lookin'  at  it,  and  then  holdin'  it  down 
and  repeatin',  and  then  lookin'  agin  for 
a  word  that  had  slipt  thro'  his  fingers. 
Confound  him,  he  was  always  runnin'  agin 


150  THE    PULPIT    AND 

rne,  most  knockin'  me  down ;  so  at  last, 
'  stranger,''  sais  I,  '  you  always  talk  when 
you  sit,  and  always  read  when  you  walk ; 
now  jist  revarse  the  thing,  and  make  use 
of  your  eyes,  or  some  of  them  days  you  '11 
break  your  nose/  '  I  thank  you  for  the 
hint,  JNIr.  Slick,'  sais  he,  '  I  '11  take  your 
advice.'  '  Mr.  Slick,'  sais  I,  '  why,  how 
do  you  know  me?'  '  Oh,  sais  he,  '  every- 
body knows  you.  I  was  told  when  I  came 
on  board  you  was  the  man  that  wrote  the 
Clockmaker,  and  a  very  cute  book  it  is 
too ;  a  great  deal  of  human  natur'  in  it. 
Come,  s'jDOse  we  sit  down  and  talk  a 
leetle.'  Sais  I,  '  that  must  be  an  enter- 
tainin'  book  you  are  a-readin'  of, — what  is 
it?'  'Why,'  'sais  he,  'it's  a  Hebrew 
Grammar.'  '  A  Hebrew  Grammar,'  sais  I, 
'  why  what  on  airth  do  you  larn  Hebrew 
for  ? '  Says  he,  '  I  'm  a-goin'  to  the  Holy 
Land  for  the  sake  of  my  health,  and  I 
want  to   larn  a  leetle  of  their  gibberish 


THE   PRESS.  151 

afore  I  go.'  '  Pray,'  sais  I,  '  'xcuse  me, 
stranger,  but  what  line  are  you  in?' 
'  I  'm,'  sais  he,  '  a  leader  of  the  Christian 
band  at  Tamnaer  Squatter.'  '  Can  you 
play  the  key  bugle  ? '  sais  I,  '  I  have  one 
here,  and  it  sounds  grand  in  the  open  air  ; 
its  loud  enough  to  give  a  pole-cat  the 
ague.  What  instruments  do  you  play  on  ? 
Oh  lord  ! '  sais  I,  *  let 's  have  the  gals  on 
deck,  and  get  up  a  dance.  Have  you  a 
fiddle  r  '  Oh,'  sais  he,  '  Mr.  Slick,  don't 
bamm,  I  'm  a  minister.'  '  Well,  why  the 
plague  didn't  you  say  so,'  sais  I,  '  for  I 
actually  misunderstood  you,  I  did  indeed. 
I  know  they  have  a  black  band  at  Boston, 
and  a  capital  one  it  is  too,  for  they  have 
most  excellent  ears  for  music  has  those 
niggers,  but  then  they  pyson  a  room  so, 
you  can't  set  in  it  for  five  minutes ;  and 
they  have  a  white  band,  and  they  arc 
Christians,  which  them  oncircumcised 
imps  of  darkness  aint;  and  I  swear   to 


152  THE    PULPIT   AND 

mail,  I  thought  you  meant  you  was  a 
leader  of  one  of  those  white  Christian 
bands.'  '  Well,'  sais  he,  '  I  used  that 
word  leader  because  it's  a  humble  word, 
and  I  am  a  humble  man ;  but  minister  is 
better,  'cause  it  aint  open  to  such  a  droll 
mistake  as  that.'  He  then  up  and  told 
me  he  was  in  delicate  health,  and  the 
Tammer  Squatter  ladies  of  his  congrega- 
tion had  subscribed  two  thousand  dol- 
lars for  him  to  take  a  tower  to  Holy 
Land,  and  then  lecturin'  on  it  next  win- 
ter for  them.  '  Oh ! '  sais  I,  '  I  see  you 
prefer  bein'  paid  for  omission  better  than 
a  mission/  '  Well,'  says  he,  '  we  airn  it, 
and  work  awful  hard.  The  other  day  as  I 
passed  thro'  Bosting,  the  reverend  Mr. 
Funny  eye  sais  to  me,  —  Hosiah,  sais 
he,  I  envy  you  your  visit.  I  wish  I 
couhl  get  up  a  case  for  the  women  too, 
for  they  would  do  it  for  me  in  a  mi- 
nit;    but   the   devil    of    it    is,   sais    he, 


THE   PRESS.  loo 

I  have  a  most  ungodly  appetite,  and  am 
so  distressin'  well,  and  look  so  horrid 
healthy,  I  am  afeerd  it  won't  go  down. 
Do  give  me  a  receipt  for  lookin'  j)ale. 
— Go  to  Tammer  Squatter,  sais  I,  and 
do  my  work  in  my  absence,  and  see  if 
the  women  won't  work  you  off  your  legs 
in  no  time ;  women  havn't  no  marcy  on 
hosses  and  preachers.  They  keep  'em  a 
goin'  day  and  night,  and  think  they  can't 
drive  'em  fast  enough.  In  long  winter 
nights,  away  back  in  the  country  there, 
they  aint  content  if  they  havn't  strong 
hyson  tea,  and  preachin'  every  night;  and 
no  mortal  man  can  stand  it,  unless  his 
lungs  was  as  strong  as  a  blacksmith's  bel- 
lows is.  They  aint  stingy  though,  I  tell 
you^  they  pay  down  handsome,  go  the 
whole  figur',  and  do  the  thing  genteel. 
Two  thousand  dollars  is  a  pretty  little 
sum,  aint  it?  and  1  needn't  come  back 
till    it's    gone.     Back-wood    preachin"'    is 


154  THE    PULPIT    AND 

hard  work,  but  it  pays  well  if  there  aint 
too  many  feedin'  in  the  same  pastiir'. 
There  aint  no  profession  a'most  in  all  our 
country  that  gives  so  much  power,  and 
so  much  influence  as  preachin\  A  pop'- 
lar  preacher  can  do  anything,  especially 
if  he  is  wise  enough  to  be  a  comfort,  and 
not  a  caution  to  sinners. 

"  Well,  the  Editor  looked  like  a  twin- 
brother.  He  wore  a  long  loose  brown 
great-coat,  that  hung  down  to  his  heels. 
Once  on  a  time  it  had  to  mount 
guard  over  an  under-coat  ;  now  it  was 
promoted.  His  trowsers  was  black,  and 
shined  in  the  sun  as  if  they  had  been 
polished  by  mistake  for  his  boots.  They 
was  a  leetle  of  the  shortest,  too,  and 
show'd  the  rim  of  a  pair  of  red  flan- 
nel drawers,  tied  with  white  tape,  and 
a  pair  of  thunder  and  lightning  socks. 
He  wore  no  shoes,  but  only  a  pair  of 
Indian  Rubbers,  that  was  too  big  for  him. 


THE   PRESS.     ■  155 

and  every  time  he  took  a  step  it  made 
two  beats,  one  for  the  rubber,  and  the 
other  for  the  foot,  so  that  it  sounded  like 
a  four-footed  beast. 

"They  were  whappers,  you  may  de- 
pend. They  actilly  looked  like  young 
canoes.  Every  now  and  then  he'd  slip  on 
the  wet  deck,  pull  his  foot  out  of  the 
rubber,  and  then  hop  on  one  leg  to  t'other 
side,  'till  it  was  picked  up  and  handed  to 
him.  His  shirt  collar  nearly  reached  his 
ear,  and  a  black  stock  buckled  tight 
round  his  throat,  made  his  long  neck  look 
as  if  it  had  outgrown  its  strength,  and 
would  go  into  a  decline,  if  it  didn't  fill 
out  as  it  grew  older.  When  he  was  in 
the  cabin  he  had  the  table  covered  with 
long  strips  of  printed  paper  that  looked 
like  columns  cut  out  of  newspapers.  He, 
too,  had  got  on  a  mission.  He  was  a  de- 
legate from  the  Tammer  Squatter  Anti- 
Slavery  Society  that   had    subscribed   to 


156  THE   PULPIT    AND 

send  him  to  attend  the  general  meetin'  to 

London.     He  was  full  of  importance,  and 

generally  sat  armed  with  two  steel  pens ; 

one   in   his   hand,    for    use,    and   another 

atween  his  ear  and  his  head,   to  relieve 

guard  when  the  other  was  off  duty.     He 

was    a    composin'    of    his    speech.       He 

would  fold  his  arms,  throw  himself  back 

in  his  chair,  look  intently  at  the  ceiling, 

and  then   suddenly,  as  if  he  had  caught 

an  idea  by  the  tail,  bend  down  and  write 

as  fast  as  possible,  until  he  had  recorded  it 

for   ever.      Then,  relapsin'   again   into  a 

brown  study,  he  would  hum  a  tune  until 

another  bright   thought   again   appeared, 

when  he'd  pounce  upon  it  like  a  cat,  and 

secure  it.     If  he  didn't  make  faces,  it's  a 

pity,  workin'  his  lips,  twitchin'   his  face, 

winkin'  his  eye,  lightin'  uj)  his  brows,  and 

wrinklin'  his  forehead,  awful.     It  must  be 

shocking  hard  work  to  write,  I  tell  you,  if 

all  folks  have  sucli  a  time  on  it  as  he  had. 


THE    PRESS.  157 

At  last  he  got  his  speech  done,  for  he  ginn 
over  writing  and  said  he  had  made  up 
his  mind.  He  supposed  it  would  cost  the 
Union  the  loss  of  the  Southern  States, 
but  duty  must  be  done.  Tammer  Squatter 
was  not  to  be  put  down  and  terrified  by 
any  power  on  airth.  One  day,  as  I  was 
a  laying  on  the  seats,  taking  a  stretch 
for  it,  I  heerd  him  say  to  the  Preacher, 
'  You  have  not  done  your  duty,  sir.  The 
Pulpit  has  left  abolition  to  the  Press.  The 
Press  is  equal  to  it,  sir,  but  of  course  it 
will  require  longer  time  to  do  it  in. 
They  should  have  gone  together,  sir,  in 
the  great  cause.  I  shall  tell  the  Christian 
ministry  in  my  speech,  they  have  not 
sounded  the  alarm  as  faithful  sentinels. 
I  suppose  it  will  bring  all  the  churches  of 
the  Union  on  me,  but  the  Press  is  able 
to  bear  it  alone.  It's  unfair  tho',  sir,  and 
you  don't  know  your  power.  The  Pulpit 
and  the  Press  can  move  the  world.     That, 


158  THE    PULPIT   AND 

sir,  is  the  Archimedean  lever/  The  crittur 
was  right,  Squire,  if  two  such  gonies  as 
them  could  talk  it  into  'em,  and  write  it 
into  'em,  at  such  an  outlandish  place  as 
Tammer  Squatter,  that  never  would  have 
been  heerd  of  to  the  sea-board,  if  it  hadn't 
a-been  the  boundary  question  made  it 
talked  of;  and  one  on  'em  got  sent  to 
Holy  Land,  'cause  he  guessed  he  looked 
pale,  and  know'd  he  felt  lazy,  and  t'other 
sent  to  have  a  lark  to  London,  on  a  busi- 
ness all  the  world  knows  London  hante 
got  nothin'  to,  do  with  ;  I  say  then,  there 
can't  be  better  proof  of  the  power  of  the 
Pulpit  and  the  Press  than  that.  Influence 
is  one  thing,  and  power  another.  Influ- 
ence is  nothin,'  any  man  can  get  votes; 
with  us,  we  give  them  away,  for  they  aint 
worth  sellin'.  But  power  is  shown  in 
niakin'  folks  shell  out  their  money ;  and 
more  nor  half  the  subscriptions  in  the 
world  are  preached  out  of  folks,  or  '  press- 


THE    PRESS.  T59 

ed  '  out  of  'em — that 's  a  fact.  I  wish  they 
would  go  in  harness  together  always,  for 
we  couldn't  do  without  either  on  them ; 
but  the  misfortune  is,  that  the  Pulpit,  in  a 
gineral  way,  pulls  agin'  the  Press,  and  if 
ever  it  succeeds,  the  world,  like  old  Rome, 
will  be  all  in  darkness,  and  bigotry  and 
superstition  will  cover  the  land.  With- 
out the  Pulpit  we  should  be  heathens ; 
without  the  Press  we  should  be  slaves. 
It  becomes  us  Protestants  to  support  one, 
and  to  protect  the  other.  Yes  !  they  are 
great  engines,  are  the  Pulpit  and  the  Press.'" 


160  WATERLOO    AND 


CHAPTER  XL 


WATERLOO    AND    BUNKER-HILL. 


As  soon  as  breakfast  was  over  this 
morning,  Colonel  Slick  left  the  house  as 
usual,  alone.  Ever  since  his  arrival  in 
London,  his  conduct  has  been  most  eccen- 
tric. He  never  informs  his  son  where  he 
is  going,  and  very  seldom  alludes  to  the 
business  that  induced  him  to  come  to 
England,  and  when  he  does,  he  studiously 
avoids  any  explanation.  I  noticed  the 
distress  of  the  attache^  who  evidently  fears 
that  he  is  deranged  ;  and  to  divert  his 
mind  from  such  a  painful  subject  of  con- 
versation, asked  him  if  he  had  not  been  in 
Ireland  during  my  absence. 


BUNKER-HILL.  161 

"  Ah,"  said  lie,  "  you  must  go  to  Ire- 
land, Squire.  It  is  one  of  the  most  beau- 
tiful countries  in  the  world, — few  people 
see  it,  because  they  fear  it.  I  don't  speak 
of  the  people,  for  agitation  has  ruined 
them :  but  I  speak  of  the  face  of  natur', 
for  that  is  the  work  of  God.  It  is  splen- 
did— that's  a  fact.  There  is  more  water 
there  than  in  England,  and  of  course  more 
light  in  the  landscape.  Its  features  are 
bolder,  and  of  course  more  picturesque. 
Oh,  you  must  see  Killarney, — we  haven't 
nothin'  to  compare  to  it.  The  Scotch 
lakes  aint  fit  to  be  named  on  the  same 
day  with  it, — our'n  are  longer  and  broader, 
and  deeper  and  bigger,  and  everything  but 
prettier.  I  don't  think  there  is  nothin' 
equal  to  it.  Loch  Katrein  and  Loch  Lo- 
mond have  been  bedeviled  by  poets,  who 
have  dragged  all  the  world  there  to  dis- 
appoint 'em,  and  folks  come  away  as  mad 
as  hatters  at  bein'  made  fools  of,  when,  if 


162  WATERLOO    AND 

they  had  been  let  alone,  they'd  a-lied  as 
bad  perhaps  as  the  poets  have,  and  over- 
praised them  themselves  most  likely.  If 
you  want  a  son  not  to  fall  in  love  with 
any  splenderiferous  gal,  praise  her  up  to 
the  skies,  call  her  an  angel,  say  she  is  a 
whole  team  and  a  horse  to  spare,  and  all 
that :  the  moment  the  crittur  sees  her,  he 
is  a  little  grain  disappointed,  and  says, 
'well,  she  is  handsome,  that's  a  fact,  but 
she  is  not  so  vert/  very  everlastin'  pretty 
arter  all.'  Then  he  criticises  her  : — '  Her 
foot  is  too  thick  in  the  instep — her  elbow 
bone  is  sharp — she  rouges — is  affected, 
and  so  on ;'  and  the  more  you  oppose  him, 
the  more  he  abuses  her,  till  he  swears  she 
is  misreported,  and  aint  handsome  at  all ; 
— say  nothin'  to  him,  and  he  is  spooney 
over  head  and  ears  in  a  minute;  he  sees 
all  beauties  and  no  defects,  and  is  for 
walkin'  into  her  affections  at  oncet.  No- 
thin'  damages  a  gal,  a  preacher,  or  a  lake. 


BUNKER-HILL.  163 

like  over-praise  ;  a  boss  is  one  of  the  onli- 
est  things  in  natur'  that  is  helpet  by  it. 
Now  Killarney  aint  overpraised — it  tante 
praised  half  enough ;  —the  Irish  praise  it 
aibout  the  toploftiest,  the  Lord  knows — 
but  then  nobody  minds  what  they  say — 
they  blarney  so  like  mad.  But  it's  safe 
from  the  poets.  My  praise  won't  hurt  it, 
'cause  if  I  was  to  talk  till  I  was  hoarse,  I 
couldn't  persuade  people  to  go  to  a  coun- 
try where  the  sting  was  taken  out  of  the 
snakes,  and  the  pyson  out  of  the  toads,  and 
the  venom  out  of  reptiles  of  all  kinds,  and 
given  to  whigs,  demagogues,  agitators, 
radicals,  and  devils  of  all  sorts  and  kinds, 
who  have  biled  it  down  to  an  essence,  and 
poured  it  out  into  the  national  cup,  until 
all  them  that  drink  of  it  foam  at  the 
mouth  and  rave  like  madmen.  But  you 
are  a  stranger,  and  no  one  there  will  hurt 
the  hair  of  a  stranger's  head.  It's  only 
each  other  they're  at.     Go  there  and  see 


164  WATERLOO    AND 

it.     It  was  Minister  sent  me  there. — Oh, 
how  he  raved  about  it !    '  Go,'  said  he,  'go 
there  of  a  fine  day,  when  the  Lake  is  sleep- 
ing in  the  sunbeams,  and  the  jealous  moun- 
tain extends  its  shadowy  veil,  to  conceal  its 
beautiful  bosom  from  the  intrusive  gaze  of 
the  stranger.     Go  when  the  light  silvery 
vapour  rises  up  like  a  transparent  scarf, 
and  folds  itself  round  the  lofty  summit  of 
Mangerton,    till   it  is  lost   in   the  fleecy 
clouds  of  the  upper  regions.    Rest  on  your 
oars,  and  drift  slowly  down  to  the  base  of 
the  cliff,  and  give  utterance  to  the  emo- 
tions of  your  heart,   and  say,  '  Oh,  God, 
how  beautiful !'  and  your  voice  will  awaken 
the    sleeping   echoes    from    their   drowsy 
caverns,  and  every  rock  and  every  cave, 
and   every  crag,  and  every  peak  of  the 
mountain   will  respond   to  your  feelings, 
and  echo  back  in  a  thousand  voices,  '  Oh, 
God,  how  beautiful !'    Then  trim  your  bark 
to  the  coming  breeze,  and  steer  for  Muck- 


BUNKER-HILL.  166 

ross  Abbey.  Pause  here  again,  to  take  a  last, 
long,  lingering  look  at  this  scene  of  love- 
liness— and  with  a  mind  thus  elevated  and 
purified,  turn  from  nature  to  nature's  God, 
and  entering  upon  the  awful  solitude  that 
reigns  over  this  his  holy  temple,  kneel  on 
its  broken  altar,  and  pray  to  Him  that 
made  this  island  so  beautiful,  to  vouchsafe 
in  his  goodness  and  mercy  to  make  it  also 
tranquil  and  happy.  '  Go,'  he  said,  *  and 
see  it  as  I  did,  at  such  a  time  as  this,  and 
then  tell  me  if  you  were  not  reminded  of 
the  Garden  of  Eden,  and  the  passage  of 
light  whereby  Angels  descended  and  as- 
cended,— when  man  was  pure  and  woman 
innocent." " 

"  Well  done,  IVIr.  Slick,"  I  said,  "  that's 
the  highest  flight  I  ever  heard  you  under- 
take to  commit  to  memory  yet.  You  are 
really  quite  inspired,  and  in  your  poetry 
have  lost  your  provincialism." 

"  My  pipe  is  out,  Squire,"  he  said,  "  I 


166  WATERLOO    AND 

forgot  I  was  talkin'  to  you ;  I  actilly 
thought  I  was  a-talkiiV  to  the  gals ;  and 
they  are  so  romantic,  one  must  give  'em 
a  touch  above  common,  'specially  in  the 
high  circles  I  'me  in.  Minister  always 
talks  like  a  book,  and  since  you  've  been 
gone  I  have  been  larnin'  all  our  own 
nsitive  poets  over  and  over,  so  as  to  get 
pieces  by  heart,  and  quote  'em,  and  my 
head  runs  that  way  like.  I  '11  be  hanged 
if  I  don't  think  I  could  write  it  myself, 
if  it  would  pay,  and  was  worth  while, 
which  it  aint,  and  I  had  nothin'  above 
partickelar  to  do,  which  I  have.  I  am 
glad  you  checked  me,  tho\  It  lowers 
one  in  the  eyes  of  foreigners  to  talk  gal- 
ish  that  way  to  men.  But  raelly  it  is  a 
fust  chop  place  ;  the  clear  thing,  rael  jam, 
and  no  mistake  ;  you  can't  ditto  Killarney 
nowhere,  I  know." 

Here  the  Colonel  entered  abruptly,  and 
said,  "  I  have  seed  him,  Sam,  I  have  seed 
him,  my  boy." 


BUNKER-HILL.  167 

"  Seen  whom  V  said  the  Attach^. 

"  Why  Gineral  Wellington,  to  be  sure, 
the  first  man  of  the  age,  and  well  worth 
seein  he  is  too,  especially  to  a  military 
man  like  me.  What 's  a  prize  ox  to  him, 
or  a  calf  with  two  heads,  or  a  caravan,  or 
any  other  living  show  ?" 

"  Why  surely,  father,  you  haven't  been 
there  to  his  house,  have  you  ?" 

"  To  be  sure  I  have.  What  do  you 
think  I  came  here  for,  but  to  attend  to  a 
matter  of  vast  importance  to  me  and  you, 
and  all  of  us ;  and,  at  spare  time,  to  see 
the  Tunnel,  and  the  Gineral,  and  the 
Queen,  and  the  Tower,  and  such  critturs, 
eh  ?  Seen  him,  why,  in  course  I  have  ; 
I  went  to  the  door  of  his  house,  and  a 
good  sizable  one  it  is  too,  most  as  big  as 
a  state  house,  (only  he  has  made  the  front 
yard  look  like  a  pound,  with  them  horrid 
nasty  great  ugly  barn -yard  gates,)  and  rung 
the  bell,  and    sais  a  gentleman  that  was 


168  WATERLOO    AND 

there,  '  Your  name,  sir,  if  you  j^lease;' 
'  Lieutenant  Colonel  Slick,'  sais  I,  '  one  of 
the  Bunker  Hill  heroes.'  '  Walk  in  here, 
sir,'  sais  he,  '  and  I  will  see  if  his  grace  is 
at  home,'  and  then  in  a  minute  back  he 
comes,  and  treats  me  most  respectful,  I 
must  say,  bowin''  several  times,  and  sais, 
'  this  way,  sir,'  and  he  throws  open  a  door 
and  bawls  out, '  Lieutenant  Colonel  Slick.' 
When  I  come  in,  the  Gineral  was  a  sittin' 
down  readin,'  but  as  soon  as  he  heerd 
my  name,  he  laid  down  the  paper  and 
rose  up,  and  I  stood  still,  threw  up  old 
Liberty,  (you  know  I  call  this  here  old 
staff  old  Liberty,  for  it  is  made  out  of  the 
fust  liberty  pole  ever  sot  up  in  Slickville,) 
— threw  up  old  Liberty,  and  stood  on  the 
salute,  as  we  officers  do  in  reviews  on 
Independence  day,  or  at  gineral  trainin's. 
When  he  seed  that,  he  started  like. 
'  Don't  be  skeered,'  sais  I,  '  Gineral,  don't 
be  skeered  ;  I  aint  a-goin'  for  to  hurt  you, 


BUNKER-HILL.  169 

but  jist  to  salute  you  as  my  senior  officer, 
for  it  tante  often  two  such  old  heroes  like 
you  and  me  meet,  I  can  tell  you.  You 
fit  at  Waterloo,  and  I  fit  at  Bunker's 
Hill ;  you  whipt  the  French,  and  we 
whipt  the  English ;  p'raps  history  can't 
show  jist  two  such  battles  as  them  ;  they 
take  the  rag  off,  quite.  I  was  a  Sargint, 
then,'  sais  I.  '  So  I  should  think,'  sais  he. 
Strange,  Squire,  aint  it,  a  military  man 
can  tell  another  military  with  half  an 
eye?— 'So  I  should  think,'  sais  he.— 
There  aint  no  deceivin'  of  them.  They 
can  tell  by  the  way  you  stand,  or  walk,  or 
hold  your  head ;  by  your  look,  your  eye, 
your  voice ;  by  everythin' ;  there  is  no 
mistake  in  an  old  veteran.  '  So  I  should 
think,'  sais  he.  '  But  pray  be  seated.  I 
have  seen  your  son,  sir,'  sais  he,  '  the 
Attache ;  he  has  afforded  us  a  great  deal 
of  amusement.'  '  Sam  is  a  cute  man, 
Gineral,'  sais  I,  '  and  always  was  from  a 
VOL.  I.  I 


170  WATERLOO   AND 

boy.  It  's  ginerally  allowed  a  man  must 
rise  airly  in  the  mornin'  to  catch  him 
asleep,  I  can  tell  you.  Tho'  I  say  it  that 
shouldn't  say  it,  seein'  that  I  am  his 
father ;  he  is  a  well-informed  man  in  most 
things.  He  is  a'most  a  grand  judge  of  a 
hoss,  Gineral ;  he  knows  their  whole 
shape,  make,  and  breed ;  there 's  not  a 
p'int  about  one  he  don't  know ;  and  when 
he  is  mounted  on  '  Old  Clay,'  the  way  he 
cuts  dirt  is  cautionary  ;  he  can  make  him 
pick  up  miles  with  his  feet,  and  throw 
'em  behind  him  faster  than  any  hoss  that 
ever  trod  on  iron.  He  made  them  stare 
a  few  in  the  colonies,  I  guess.  It  aint 
every  corn-field  you  can  find  a  man  in 
'xactly  like  him,  I  can  tell  you.  He  can 
hoe  his  way  with  most  any  one  I  ever 
see.  Indeed  few  men  can  equal  him  in 
horned  cattle,  either;  he  can  lay  an  ox 
with  most  men ;  he  can  actilly  tell  the 
weight  of  one  to  five  pounds.     There  is 


BUNKER-HILL.  l7l 

no  horned  cattle  here,  tho',  for  it's  all 
liousen.'  '  There  are  more  in  the  hisrh 
circles  he  moves  in,'  sais  the  Gineral, 
smilin',  '  than  you  would  suppose.'  Oh, 
he  smiled  pretty  !  he  don't  look  fierce  as 
you  'd  guess  that  an  old  hero  would.  It 's 
only  ensigns  do  that,  to  look  big.  *  There 
are  more  in  the  high  circles  he  moves  in,' 
sais  the  Gineral  smilin',  '  than  you  would 
suppose.'  '  There  mought  be,'  sais  I,  'but 
I  don't  see  none  on  'em,  for  the  high 
circles  are  all  big  squares  here,  and  the 
pastur's  are  all  built  over,  every  inch  on 
'em,  with  stone  and  brick.  I  wonder  if 
I  could  get  some  of  the  calves,  they  would 
improve  the  breed  to  Slick vi  lie  amazingly. 
Sam  sent  me  a  Bedford  pig,  last  year,  and 
raelly  it  was  a  sight  to  behold;  small 
bone,  thick  j'int,  short  neck,  broad  on  the 
back,  heavy  on  the  ham,  and  took  next 
to  nothin'  to  feed  him,  nother ;  I  sold  the 
young  ones  for  twenty  dollars  a-piece,  I 


172  WATERLOO    AND 

did   upon   my  soul,    fact,   I    assure    you, 
not  a  word  of  a  lie  in  it.' 

"  'Well,  well,"  sais  I,  "  only  think,  that 
I,  a  hero  of  Bunker  Hill,  should  have 
lived  to  see  the  hero  of  Waterloo.  I 
wish  you  would  shake  hands  along  with 
me,  Gineral,  it  will  be  somethin'  to  brag 
of,  I  can  tell  you  ;  it  will  show  our  folks 
you  have  forgiven  us.'  '  Forgiven  you  ? ' 
said  he,  lookin'  puzzled.  '  Yes,'  says  I, 
*  forgiven  us  for  the  almighty  everlastin' 
whippin'  we  give  you,  in  the  Revolutionary 
war.'  '  Oh ! '  said  he,  smilin'  again,  '  now 
I  understand — oh  !  quite  forgiven,  I  assure 
you,'  sais  he,  '  quite.'  '  That's  noble,' 
sais  I,  'none  but  a  brave  man  forgives 
— a  coward,  Gineral,  never  does;  a  brave 
man  knows  no  fear,  and  is  above  all  re- 
venge. That 's  very  noble  of  you,  it  shows 
the  great  man  and  the  hero.  It  was  a 
tremendous  fight  that,  at  Bunker  Hill. 
We  allowed  the  British  to  come  on  till 


BUNKER-HILL.  173 

we  seed  the  whites  of  their  eyes,  and  then 
we  let  'em  have  it.  Heaven  and  airth ! 
what  capers  the  first  rank  cut,  jumpin', 
rearing  plungin',  staggerin',  fallin' ;  then, 
afore  they  formed  afresh,  we  laid  it  into 
'em  agin  and  agin,  till  they  lay  in  win- 
rows  like.  P'raps  nothin'  was  ever  seen 
done  so  beautiful  in  this  blessed  world  of 
our'n.  There  was  a  doctor  from  Boston 
commanded  us,  and  he  was  unfortunately 
killed  there.  Tho'  it's  an  ill  wind  that 
don't  blow  somebody  good ;  if  the  doctor 
hadn't  got  his  flint  fixed  there,  p'raps 
you'd  never  a-heerd  of  Washington.  But 
I  needn't  tell  you,  in  course  you  know  all 
about  Bunker  Hill ;  every  one  has  heerd 
tell  of  that  sacred  spot.'  '  Bunker  Hill ! 
Bunker  Hill !'  sais  the  Gineral,  pertendin' 
to  roll  up  his  eyes,  '  Bunker  Hill  ? — I 
think  I  have — where  is  it?'  'Where  is 
it,  eh?'  sais  I.  'So  you  never  heerd  tell 
of    Bunker    Hill,    eh?     and    p'raps    you 


174  WATERLOO    AND 

never  lieercl  tell  of  Lexington,  nother  ? ' 
'  Why,'  sais  he,  '  to  tell  you  the  truth, 
Colonel  Slick,  the  life  I  have  led  has 
been  one  of  such  activity,  I  have  had 
no  time  to  look  into  a  lexicon  since 
I  give  up  schooling  and  my  Greek  is 
rather  rusty  I  confess.'  *  Why,  damna- 
tion !  man,'  sais  I,  *  Lexington  aint  in 
any  of  them  Greek  republics  at  all, 
but  in  our  own  everlastin'  almighty  one.' 
'  P'raps  you  mean  Vinegar  Hill,'  sais 
he,  '  where  the  rebels  fought,  in  Ire- 
land? It  is  near  Inniscorthy.  'Vi- 
negar devil,'  sais  I,  for  I  began  to  get 
wrathy  for  to  come  for  to  go  for  to 
portend  that  way.  '  I  don't  wonder  it  is 
sour  to  you,  and  the  Vinegar  has  made 
your  memory  a  little  mothery.  No ;  it 
aint  in  Ireland  at  all,  but  in  Massachu- 
setts, near  Boston.'  '  Oh,  I  beg  your 
pardon,'  he  sais,  '  Oh,  yes !  I  do  recollect 
now  ;  Oh,  yes  !  the  Americans  fought  well 


BUNKER-HILL.  175 

there,  very  well  indeed.'  '  Well  sir/  sais 
I,  '  I  was  at  that  great  and  glorious 
battle  ;  I  am  near  about  the  sole  survivor, 
— the  only  one  to  tell  the  tale.  I  am 
the  only  man,  I  guess,  that  can  say, — I 
have  seed  Waterloo  and  Bunker's  Hill- 
Wellington  and  AVashington.  (I  put 
them  two  forrard  first,  tho'  our'n  was 
first  in  time  and  first  in  renown,  for 
true  politeness  always  says  to  the  stranger, 
after  you,  sir,  is  manners.)  And  I  count 
it  a  great  privilege  too,  I  do  indeed, 
Gineral.  I  heerd  of  you  afore  I  come 
here,  I  can  tell  you ;  your  name  is  well 
known  to  Slickville,  I  assure  you.'  Oh, 
I  feel  quite  flattered  !'  said  Duke.  'Sam 
has  made  you  known,  I  can  assure  you. 
Indeed,'  sais  he,  smilin',  (there  aint 
nothin'  ferocious  about  that  man,  I  can 
tell  you,)  '  I  am  very  much  indebted  to 
your  son.'  He  did  upon  my  soul,  them 
were   his  very  words,    'I   am   much    in- 


176  WATERLOO    AND 

debted  to  your  son.'  I  hope  I  may  be 
darned  to  darnation  if  he  didn't,  '  very 
much  indebted'  he  said.  'Not at  all,'  sais 
I,  'Sam  would  do  that,  and  twice  as 
much  for  you  any  day.  He  writes  to 
my  darter  all  his  sayin's  and  doin's,  and 
I  am  proud  to  see  you  and  he  are  so 
thick,  you  will  find  him  a  very  cute 
man,  and  if  you  want  a  boss,  Sam  is 
your  man.  You've  heern  tell  of  Doctor 
Ivory  Hovey,  Gineral,  hante  you,  the  tooth 
doctor  of  Slickville  ? '  '  No,'  sais  he, 
'  no  !'  '  Not  hear  of  Doctor  Ivory  Hovey, 
of  Slickville?'  sais  I.  'No;  I  never 
heern  of  him,'  he  sais.  '  Well,  that's 
strange  too,'  sais  I,  '  I  thought  every 
body  had  heerd  tell  of  him.  Well, 
you've  sartinly  heern  of  Deacon  West- 
fall,  him  that  made  that  grand  spec  at 
Alligator's  lick?'  'I  might,'  sais  he,  'but 
I  do  not  recollect.'  '  Well,  that's  'cussed 
odd,'  sais  I,  '  for  both  on  'em  have  heern 


BUNKER-HILL.  177 

of  you  and  Waterloo  too,  but  then  we 
are  an  enlightened  people.  Well,  they 
are  counted  the  best  judges  of  hoss- 
flesh  in  our  country,  but  they  both 
knock  under  to  Sam.  Yes  !  if  you  want 
a  hoss,  ax  Sam,  and  he'll  pick  you  out 
one  for  my  sake,  that  won't  stumble  as 
your'n  did  t'other  day,  and  nearly  broke 
your  neck.  Washington  was  fond  of  a 
hoss;  I  suppose  you  never  seed  him? 
you  mought,  for  you  are  no  chicken 
now  in  age — but  I  guess  not.'  '  I  never 
had  that  honor,'  he  said.  He  said 
'  honor,'  he  did  upon  my  soul.  Heroes 
are  never  jealous ;  it's  only  mean  low- 
spirited  scoundrels  that  are  jealous.  '  I 
never  had  that  honor,'  he  said. 

"  Now  T  must  say  I  feel  kinder  proud 
to  hear  the  fust  man  in  the  age  call 
it  an  '  honor '  jist  to  have  seed  him — 
for  it  is  an  honor,  and  no  mistake; 
but    it    aint     every    one,    especially    a 


178  WATERLOO    AND 

Britislier,  that  is  high-minded  enough 
to  say  so.  But  Wellington  is  a  military 
man,  and  that  makes  the  hero,  the  states- 
man, and  the  gentleman — it  does,  upon 
my  soul.  Yes,  I  feel  kinder  proud,  I 
tell  you.  '  Well,'  sais  I,  '  Washington 
was  fond  of  a  hoss,  and  I  '11  tell  you 
what  Gineral  Lincoln  told  me  that  he 
heard  Washington  say  himself  with  his 
own  lips, — Shew  me  a  man  that  is  fond 
of  a  hoss,  and  I  '11  show  you  the  makins 
of  a  good  dragoon. 

" '  Now,  Sam  always  was  fond  of  one 
from  a  boy.  He  is  a  judge,  and  no  mis- 
take, he  caps  all,  that 's  a  fact.  '  Have 
you  ever  slept  with  him,  Gineral?'  says 
I.  'What,  sir?'  said  he.  'Have  you 
ever  slept  with  him  ? '  says  I.  '  I  have 
nev — ,' 

"  Oh,  heavens  and  airth  !"  said  his  son  ; 
"  Surely,  father,  you  didn't  say  that  to 
him,    did   you  ?"     And   then   turning   to 


BUNKER-HILL.  l79 

me,  he  said  in  a  most  melancholy  tone, 
"  Oh,  Squire,  Squire,  aint  this  too  bad  ? 
I  'm  a  ruined  man,  I  'm  a  gone  sucker, 
I  am  up  a  tree,  you  may  depend.  Crea- 
tion !  only  think  of  his  saying  that,  I 
shall  never  hear  the  last  of  it.  Dickens 
will  hear  of  it ;  H.B.  will  hear  of  it,  and 
there  will  be  a  caricature,  '  Have  you 
slept  with  him,  Gineral  ?'  '  Speak  a  lit- 
tle louder,'  said  the  Colonel,  '  I  don't 
hear  you.'  "  I  was  a  sayin',  sir,"  said  the 
Attache,  raising  his  voice ;  "  I  hoped  to 
heavens  you  hadn't  said  that," 

"  Said  it  ?  to  be  sure  I  did,  and  what  do 
you  think  he  answered  ?  '  I  never  had  that 
honor,  sir,'  he  said,  a-drawin'  himself  up, 
and  lookin'  proud-like,  as  if  he  felt  hurt  you 
hadn't  axed  him, — he  did,  upon  my  soul ! 
'I  never  had  that  honor,'  he  said.  So 
you  see  where  you  stand,  Sam,  letter  A, 
No.  1,  you  do  indeed.  'I  never  had  the 
honor,  sir,  to  see    Washmgton.     I  never 


ISO  WATERLOO    AND 

bad  the  Jionor  to  sleep  with  Sam.'  Don't 
be  skeered,  boy,  your  fortin  is  made,  I 
thought  you  might  have  bragged  and  a- 
boasted  a  leetle  in  your  letters,  but  I 
now  see  I  was  mistakened.  I  had  no 
notion  you  stood  so  high,  I  feel  quite 
])roud  of  your  joosition  in  society. 

"  '  As  for  the  honour,'  sais  I,  *  Gineral, 
it  will  be  all  the  other  way,  though  the 
advantage  will  be  mutual,  for  he  can  ex- 
plain Oregon  territory,  right  of  sarch, 
free  trade,  and  them  things,  better  nor 
you  'd  s'pose  ;  and  now,'  sais  I,  '  I  must 
be  a-movin',  Duke,  for  I  guess  dinner  is 
waitin',  but  I  am  happy  to  see  you.  If 
you  ever  come  to  Slickville  I  will  receive 
you  with  all  due  military  honors,  at  the 
head  of  our  Volunteer  Corps,  and  shew 
you  the  boys  the  Bunker  Hill  heroes 
have  left  behind  'em,  to  defend  the  glo- 
rious country  they  won  for  'em  with  the 
sword.     Good-bye,  good-bye.     I  count  it 


BUNKER-HILL.  181 

a  great  privilege  to  have  seed  you,'  and 
I  bowed  myself  out.  He  is  a  great  man, 
Sam,  a  very  great  man.  He  has  the  same 
composed,  quiet  look,  Washington  had, 
and  all  real  heroes  have.  I  guess  he  is 
a  great  man  all  through  the  piece,  but 
I  was  very  sorry  to  hear  you  hadn't  slept 
with  him — very  sorry  indeed.  You  might 
sarve  our  great  nation,  and  raise  yourself 
by  it  too.  Daniel  Webster  slept  with  the 
President  all  the  time  he  was  to  Slick- 
ville,  and  he  made  him  Secretary  of 
State ;  and  Deacon  Westfall  slept  with 
Van  Buren  at  Alligator's  Lick,  and  talked 
him  over  to  make  him  Postmaster  Ge- 
neral. Oh !  the  next  time  you  go  to 
Duke's  party,  sais  you,  '  Gineral,'  sais 
you,  'as  there  is  no  Miss  Wellington, 
your  wife,  now  livin',  I  '11  jist  turn  in 
with  you  to-night,  and  discuss  national 
matters,  if  you  aint  sleepy.'  " 

"  Airth  and  seas  !"  said  the  Attach^  to 


182        WATERLOO    AND    BUNKER-HILL. 

me,  "  did  ever  any  one  hear  the  beat  of  that? 
Oh  dear,  dear !  what  will  folks  say  to  this 
poor  dear  old  man  ?  I  feel  very  ugly,  I 
do  indeed."  "  I  don't  hear  you,"  said  the 
Colonel.  "  Nothin',  sir,"  said  the  Attach^, 
"  go  on."  "  Sleep  with  him,  Sam,  and  if 
he  is  too  cautious  on  politics,  why  ax  him 
to  tell  you  of  Waterloo,  and  do  you  tell 
him  all  about  Bunker  Hill." 


HOOKS   AND    EYES.  183 


CHAPTER  XII. 


HOOKS    AND    EYES. — PART    I. 


After  our  return  from  dinner  to-day, 
Mr.  Slick  said,  "  Squire,  what  did  you 
think  of  our  host  ? "  I  said,  "  I  thought  he 
was  a  remarkably  well  informed  man,  and 
a  good  talker,  although  he  talked  rather 
louder  than  was  agreeable." 

"  That  feller,"  said  he  "  is  nothin'  but  a 
cussed  Hook,  and  they  are  critturs  that  it 
ought  to  be  lawful  to  kick  to  the  north- 
eend  of  creation,  wherever  you  meet  'em' 
as  it  is  to  kick  a  dog,  an  ingian  or  a  nig- 
ger.'^ "  A  Hook,"  I  said,  "  pray  what  is 
that  ? "  "  Did  you  never  hear  of  a  Hook," 
he  replied  ;  and,  upon  my  answering  in  the 


184  HOOKS   AND  EYES. 

negative,  he  said,  "  well,  p'raps  you 
hante,  for  I  believe  '  hooks  and  eyes^  is  a 
tann  of  my  own ;  they  are  to  be  found  all 
over  the  world ;  but  there  are  more  on 
'em  to  England,  p'raps,  than  any  other 
part  of  the  globe  a'most.  I  got  that  wrin- 
kle, about  hooks  and  eyes,  when  I  was  just 
one  and  twenty,  from  a  gal,  and  since  then 
I  find  it  goes  thro'  all  natur'.  There  are 
Tory  hooks,  and  Whig  hooks,  and  Radical 
hooks,  and  rebel  hooks,  and  so  on,  and 
they  are  all  so  mean  it  tante  easy  to  tell 
which  is  the  dirtiest  or  meanest  of  'em. 
But  I'll  tell  you  the  first  thing  sot  me 
to  considerin'  about  hooks  and  eyes,  and 
then  you  will  see  what  a  grand  lesson 
it  is. 

"  I  was  always  shockin'  fond  of  gunnin', 
and  p'raps  to  this  day  there  aint  no  one 
in  all  Slickville  as  good  at  shot,  or  bullet 
as  I  be.  Any  created  thing  my  gun  got  a 
sight  of  was  struck  dead  afore  it  knew 


HOOKS    AND    EYES.  185 

what  was  the  matter  of  it.  Well,  about 
five  miles  or  so  from  our  house,  there  was 
two  most  grand  duck-ponds,  where  the 
blue-winged  duck  and  the  teal  used  to 
come,  and  these  ponds  was  on  the  farm  of 
Squire  Foley.  Sometimes,  in  the  wild- 
fowl season,  I  used  to  go  over  there  and 
stay  at  the  Squire's  three  or  four  days  at  a 
time,  and  grand  sport  I  had  too,  I  can  tell 
you.  Well,  the  Squire  had  but  one  child, 
and  she  was  a  darter,  and  the  most  beauti- 
ful crittur  that  ever  trod  in  shoe-leather. 
Onion  county  couldn't  ditto  her  nowhere, 
nor  Connecticut  nother.  It  would  take 
away  your  breath  a'most  to  look  at  her 
she  was  so  handsum.  Well,  in  course,  I 
was  away  all  day  and  didn't  see  much  of 
Lucy,  except  at  feedin'  times,  and  at  night, 
round  the  fire.  AYell,  what  does  Lucy  do, 
but  say  she  should  like  to  see  how  ducks 
was  shot,  and  that  she  would  go  with  me 
some  day  and  look  on.     Well,  we  went  the 


186  HOOKS   AND    EYES. 

matter  of  three  different  mornin's,  tho' 
not  hard  runnin',  and  sot  down  in  the 
spruce  thickets,  that  run  out  in  little 
points  into  the  ponds,  which  made  grand 
screens  for  shootin'  from,  at  the  birds.  But 
old  Marm  Foley — Oh  !  nothin'  never  es- 
capes a  woman  ;  —  old  Marm  obsarved 
whenever  Lacy  was  with  me,  I  never  shot 
no  birds,  for  we  did  nothin'  but  talk,  and 
that  frightened  'em  away ;  and  she  didn't 
half  like  this  watchin'  for  wild  ducks  so 
far  away  from  home.  '  So,'  sais  she, 
(and  women  know  how  to  find  excuses, 
beautiful,  it  comes  nateral  to  'em,)  '  so,' 
sais  she  '  Lucy,  dear,  you  mustn't  go  a- 
gunnin'  no  more.  The  dew  is  on  the  grass 
so  airly  in  the  mornin\  and  the  bushes  is 
wet,  and  you  are  delicate  yourself;  your 
great  gTandmother,  on  your  father's  side, 
died  of  consumption,  and  you'll  catch  your 
death  a-cold,  and  besides,'  sais  she,  '  if 
you  must  go,  go  with  some  one  that  knows 


HOOKS    AND    EYES.  187 

how  to  shoot,  for  you  have  never  brought 
home  no  birds  yet.'  Lucy,  who  was  as 
proud  as  Lucifer,  understood  the  hint  at 
oncet,  and  was  shockin'  vext,  but  she 
wouldn't  let  on  she  cared  to  go  with  me, 
and  that  it  was  young  Squire  Slick  slie 
wanted  to  see,  and  not  the  ducks.  *  So,' 
she  sais,  '  I  was  a  thinkin'  so  too,  Ma,  for 
my  part,  I  can't  see  what  pleasure  there 
can  be  settin""  for  hours  shiverin'  under  a 
wet  bush  jist  to  shoot  a  duck.  I  shan't 
go  no  more.'  Well,  next  mornin'  arter 
this  talk,  jist  as  I  was  ready  to  start  away, 
down  comes  Lucy  to  the  keepin'-room, 
with  both  arms  behind  her  head  a-fixin'  of 
the  hooks  and  eyes.  '  Man  alive,'  sais 
she,  *  are  you  here  yet,  I  thought  you 
was  off  gunuin'  an  hour  ago ;  who'd  a 
thought  you  was  here  ? '  '  Gunnin  ?'  says 
I  '  Lucy,  my  gunnin'  is  over,  I  shan't  go 
no  more  now,  I  shall  go  home  ;  I  agree 
with   you;   shiverin'  alone    under   a  wet 


188  HOOKS    AND    EYES. 

bush  for   hours  is  no    fun ;  but   if  Lucy 

was  there ' '  Get  out,'  sais  she,  '  don't 

talk  nonsense,  Sam,  and  just  fasten  the 
upper  hook  and  eye  of  my  frock,  will  you  V 
She  turned  round  her  back  to  me.  Well, 
I  took  the  hook  in  one  hand  and  the  eye 
in  the  other ;  but  airth  and  seas  !  my  eyes 
fairly  snapped  agin  ;  I  never  see  such  a 
neck  since  I  was  raised.  It  sprung  right 
out  o'  the  breast  and  shoulder,  full  and 
round,  and  then  tapered  up  to  the  head 
like  a  swan's,  and  the  complexion  would 
beat  the  most  delicate  white  and  red  rose 
that  ever  was  seen.  Lick,  it  made  me  all 
eyes !  I  jist  stood  stock  still,  I  couldn't 
move  a  finger  if  I  was  to  die  for  it. 
'  What  ails  you,  Sam,'  sais  she,  '  that 
you  don't  hook  it?'  '  Why,'  sais  I,  '  Lucy 
dear,  my  fingers  is  all  thumbs,  that 's  a  fact, 
I  can't  handle  such  little  things  as  fast  as 
you  can,'  '  Well,  come'  sais  she,  '  make 
haste,  that's  a  dear,  mother  will  be  a-com- 


HOOKS    AND    EYES.  189 

in'  directly  ;'  and  at  last  I  shot  too 
both  my  eyes,  and  fastened  it,  and  when  I 
had  done,  sais  I,  '  there  is  one  thing  I 
must  say,  Lucy.'  '  What's  that  V  sais 
she.  '  That  you  may  stump  all  Connec- 
ticut to  show  such  an  angeliferous  neck 
as  you  have — I  never  saw  the  beat  of  it  in 

all  my  born  days — its  the  most' '  And 

you  may  stump  the  State,  too,'  sais  she 
'  to  produce  such  another  bold,  forward, 
impedent,  onmannerly,  tongue  as  you  have, 
— so  there  now — so  get  along  with  you.' 

— '  Well  sais  I,  if ' 

" '  Hold  your  tongue,'  sais  she,  '  this 
moment,  or  I'll  go  right  out  of  the  room 
now.'  '  Well,'  sais  I,  '  now  I  am  mad, 
for  I  didn't  mean  no  harm,  and  I'll  jist  go 
and  kill  ducks  out  of  spite.'  "Do,'  sais 
she,  '  and  p'raps  you'll  be  in  good  humour 
at  breakfast.'  '  Well,  that  night  I  bid  'em 
all  good  bye,  and  said  I  should  be  off  airly 
and  return  to  my  own  home  to  breakfast, 


190  HOOKS    AND    EYES 

as  there  was  some  considerable  little  chores 
to  be  attended  to  there;  and  in  the  mornin', 
as  I  was  rakin'  out  the  coals  to  light  a 
cigar,  in  comes  Lucy  agin,  and  sais  she, 
'  good  bye,  Sam,  take  this  parcel  to  Sally ; 
I  had  to  git  up  a-purpose  to  give  it  to  you, 
for  I  forgot  it  last  night.  I  hope  you  will 
bring  Sally  over  soon,  I  am  very  lonesome 
here.'  Then  she  went  to  the  glass  and 
stood  with  her  back  to  it,  and  turned  her 
head  over  her  shoulders  and  put  both 
hands  behind  her,  a-tryin'  to  fix  the  hooks 
and  eyes  agin,  and  arter  fussin'  and  fum- 
blin'  for  awhile,  sais  she,  'I  believe  I 
must  trouble  you  agin,  Sam,  for  little  By- 
ney  is  asleep  and  mother  won't  be  down 
this  half  hour,  and  there  is  no  one  to  do 
it ;  but  don't  talk  nonsense  now  as  you 
did  yesterday.'  '  Sartinly,'  sais  I,  '  but  a 
cat  may  look  at  a  king,  I  hope,  as  grand- 
father Slick  used  to  say,  mayn't  he  ? ' 
'  Yes,  or  a  queen  either,'  sais  she,  '  if  he 


HOOKS   AND   EYES.  191 

only  keeps  his  paws  off.'  '  Oh,  oh  !'  sais  I 
to  myself,  sais  J,  '  mother  won't  be  down 
for  half  an  hour,  little  Byney  is  asleep,  and 
it's  paws  off,  is  it  ?'  Well,  I  fastened  the 
hooks  and  eyes,  though  I  was  none  of  the 
quickest  about  it  nother,  I  tell  you,  for 
it  warn't  easy  to  shut  out  a  view  of  such  a 
neck  as  that,  and  when  I  was  jist  finishin', 
Lucy,  sais  I,  don't  ask  me  to  fasten  that 
are  agin.'  '  Why  not  ?'  sais  she.  '  Why, 
because  if  you  do,  I'll,  I'll,  I'll,'—'  What 
will  you  do?'  sais  she.— '  I'll,  I'll,  I'll  do 
that,'  sais  I,  puttin'  my  arms  round  her 
neck,  turnin'  up  her  face,  and  givin'  her  a 
smack  that  went  off  like  a  pistol.  '  Well, 
I  never !'  sais  she,  '  mother  heard  that  as 
sure  as  you  are  born  !  you  impedent 
wretch  you !  I'll  never  speak  to  you 
agin  the  longest  day  I  ever  live.  You 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself  to  act 
that  way,  so  you  ought.  So  there  now. 
Oh  I  never  in  all  my  life !     Get  out  of 


192  HOOKS  AND    EYES. 

my  sight,  you  horrid  impedent  crittur,  go 
out  this  minute,  or  I'll  call  mother.' 
Well,  faith,  I  began  to  think  I  had  car- 
ried it  too  far,  so  sais  I,  '  I  beg  pardon, 
Lucy,  I  do  indeed ;  if  you  only  knew  all, 
you  wouldn't  keep  angry,  I  do  assure  you.' 
'  Hold  your  tongue,'  sais  she,  '  this  very 
minit ;  don't  you  ever  dare  to  speak  to 
me  agin.'  '  Well,'  sais  I,  '  Lucy,  I  don't 
return  no  more, — I  shall  go  home, — we 
never  meet  again,  and  in  course  if  we 
don't  meet,  we  can't  speak.  I  saw  her 
colour  up  at  that  like  anything,  so,  sais  I 
to  myself,  its  all  right,  try  a  leetle  longer, 
and  she'll  make  it  up.  'I  had  something,' 
sais  I,  '  to  say,  but  it's  no  use  now.  My 
heart' — '  Well  I  don't  want  to  hear  it,'  sais 
she,  faintly.  '  Well  then,  I'll  lock  it  up 
in  my  own  breast  for  ever,'  sais  I,  '  since 
you  are  so  cruel, — it's  hard  to  part  that 
way.  My  heart,  Lucy,' — '  Well,  don't  tell 
me  now,  Sam,'  sais  she,  '  you  have  fright- 


HOOKS   AND    EYES.  193 

ened   me  most   to   death.'     '  Oh,  I  shall 
never  tell  you,  you  are  so  cruel,''  says  I. 
'  I    have    a  proposal   to  make.     But    my 
heart, — but  never  mind,  good  bye  f  and  I 
put  my  hat  on,  and  moved  to  the  door. 
'Had  you  heerd  my  proposal,  I  might  have 
been  happy ;  but  it 's  past  now.     I  shall 
sail  for  Nova  Scotia  to-morrow ;  good  bye.' 
'  AVell,  what  is  it  then?'  sais  she,  '  I'm  in 
a   tittervation    all   over.'      'Why,    Lucy, 
dear,'  sais  I,  '  I  confess  I  ^vas  very  very 
wrong  indeed,  I  humbly  axe  your  pardon, 
and   I  have  a  proposal  to  make,  as  the 
only  way  to  make  amends.'     '  Well,'  sais 
she,  a-lookin'  down  and  colourin'  all  over, 
and  a-twistin'  o'  the  corner  of  her  apron- 
frill,  '  well,'  sais  she,  '  what  is  it,  what  is 
it,  for  mother  will  be  here  directly  V   '  No,' 
sais  I,  '  my  lips  is  sealed  for  ever  ;  I  know 
you  will  refuse  me,  and  that  will  kill  me 
quite.'     '  Refuse  you,  dear  Sam,'  sais  she, 
'how  can  you   talk   so  unkind?     Speak, 
VOL.  I.  K 


194  HOOKS    AND    EYES. 

dear,  what  is  it  V  'Why,'  sais  I,  '  my  pro- 
posal is  to  beg  pardon,  and  restore  what  I 
have  stolen.  S'posin'  I  give  you  that  kiss 
back  again ;  will  you  make  up  and  be 
friends  ?'  Oh,  Lord,  I  never  saw  anythin' 
like  her  face  in  all  my  life ;  there  was  no 
pretence  there ;  she  raelly  was  all  taken 
a-back,  for  she  thought  I  was  a-goin'  to  offer 
to  her  in  airnest,  and  it  was  nothin'  but  to 
kiss  her  agin.  She  was  actually  bung 
fungered.'  '  Well,  I  never !'  sais  she  ; 
and  she  seemed  in  doubt  for  a  space,  whe- 
ther to  be  angry  or  good-natured,  or  how 
to  take  it ;  at  last  she  sais,  '  Well,  I  must 
say  you  desarve  it,  for  your  almighty  ever- 
lastin'  imperence,  will  you  promise  never 
to  tell  if  I  let  you?'  'Tell  !'  sais  I,  'I 
scorn  it  as  I  do  a  nigger.'  '  Well,  there 
then,'  said  she,  standin,'  with  her  face 
lookin'  down,  and  I  jist  put  my  arm  round 
her,  and  if  I  didn't  return  that  kiss  with 
every  farthin'  of  interest  that  was  due, 
and  ten  per  cent,  of  premium  too,  it 's  a 


HOOKS    AND    EYES.  195 

pity,  I  tell  you,  that 's  all !  It  was  like  a 
seal  on  wax  ;  it  left  the  impression  on  her 
lips  all  day.  '  Ah  !'  sais  she,  '  Sam,  it 's 
time  we  did  part,  for  you  are  actin'  foolish 
now  ;  come,  here  's  your  powder-horn  and 
shot-bag,  take  your  gun  and  be  off.  I 
hear  mother.  But,  Sara,  I  rely  on  your 
honor;  be  off.'  And  she  pushed  me 
gently  on  the  shoulder,  and  said  '  what  a 
sarcy  dear  you  be.'  and  shot  to  the  door 
arter  me,  and  then  opened  it  agin  and 
called  arter  me,  and  said,  '  Mind  you  bring 
Sally  over  to  see  me  soon,  I'm  very  lonely 
here.  Bring  her  soon,  Sam.'  As  I  went 
home,  I  began  to  talk  to  myself. — -Sara, 
sais  I,  "  hooks  and  eyes "  is  dangerous 
things,  do  you  jist  mind  what  you  are 
about,  or  a  sartin  young  lady  with  a  hand- 
some neck  will  clap  a  hook  on  you,  as  sure 
as  you  're  born.  So  mind  your  eye. — This 
was  a  grand  lesson ;  it  has  taught  me  to 
watch  hooks  and  eyesoi^W  kinds,  I  tell  j/o^^" 

K  2 


196  HOOKS    AND    EYES. 

"  Sam,"  said  Colonel  Slick,  rising  from 
his  chair  with  some  difficulty,  by  support- 
ing himself  with  both  hands  on  its  arms  ; 
"  Sam  you  are  a  d — d  rascal." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  his  son,  with  a 
quick  and  inquisitive  glance  at  me,  ex- 
pressive of  his  impatience  and  mortifica- 
tion. "  Thank  you  sir,  I  am  obleeged  to 
you  for  your  good  opinion." 

"  You  are  welcome  sir,"  said  his  father, 
raising  himself  to  his  full  height.  "  To 
take  advantage  of  that  young  lady  and 
kiss  her,  sir,  as  you  did,  was  a  breach  of 
good  manners,  and  to  kiss  her  under  her 
father's  roof  was  a  breach  of  hospitality  ; 
but  to  talk  of  your  havin""  a  proposal  to 
make,  and  so  on,  to  induce  her  to  let 
you  repeat  it,  was  a  breach  of  honor. 
You  muet  either  marry  that  girl  or  fight 
her  father,  sir." 

"  Well  sir,"  said  JMr.  Slick,  "  consider- 
in'  I  am  the  son  of  a  Bunker  Hill  hero 


HOOKS   AND    EYES.  197 

and  one,  too,  that  fought  at  Mud  Creek 
and  Peach  Orchard,  for  the  honor  of  the 
name  I  will  fight  her  father." 

"  Right,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  seein'  she 
dispises  you,  as  I  'm  sure  she  must,  p'raps 
fightin'  is  the  best  course." 

"  Oh,  I  '11  fight  him,"  said  his  son,  "  as 
soon  as  we  return.  He  's  a  gone  'coon,  is 
the  old  Squire,  you  may  depend." 

"  Give  me  your  hand,  Sam,"  said  his 
father,  "  a  man  desarves  to  kiss  a  gal  that 
will  fight  for  her,  that 's  a  fact.  That 's  a 
military  rule,  lovin'  and  fightin',  sir,  is  the 
life  of  a  soldier.  When  I  was  a-goin'  to 
Bunker  Hill  there  was  a  gal" — 

"Hem!"  said  Mr.  Hopewell,  turning 
restlessly  in  his  chair.  "  Sam,  give  me 
a  pipe,  I  hardly  know  which  to  disapprove 
of  most,  your  story  or  your  father's  com- 
ments. Bring  me  a  pipe,  and  let  us  change 
the  subject  of  conversation.  I  think  we 
have  had  enough  to-day  of  'hooksand  ei/es.'" 


198  HOOKS   AND    EYES. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


HOOKS    AND    EYES. PART    II. 


"  If  you  recollect,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  I 
was  a-tellin'  of  you  yesterday  about  hooks 
and  eyes,  and  how  I  larnt  the  fust  lesson 
in  that  worldly  wisdom  from  Lucy  Foley. 
Now,  our  friend  that  entertained  us  yes- 
terday, is  a  hook,  a  Tory  hook,  and  nothin' 
else,  and  I  must  say  if  there  is  a  thing  I 
despise  and  hate  in  this  world,  it  is  one  o' 
them  critturs.  The  Tory  party  here,  you 
know,  includes  all  the  best  part  of  the 
upper  crust  folks  in  the  kingdom, — most 
o'  the  prime  o'  the  nobility,  clargy,  gentry, 
army,  navy,  professions,  and  rael  mar- 
chants.     It  has,  in  course,  a  vast  majority 


HOOKS    AND    EYES.  199 

of  all  the  power,  talent,  vartue,  and 
wealth  of  the  kingdom  a'most.  In  the 
natur'  of  things,  therefore,  it  has  been  in 
power  most  o'  the  time,  and  always  wall  be 
in  longer  than  the  Whigs,  who  are,  in 
fact,  in  a  gineral  way  not  Liberals  on 
principle,  but  on  interest, — not  in  heart, 
but  in  profession. 

"  Well,  such  a  party  is  '  the  eye,'  or  the 
power,  and  the  '  hook '  is  a  crooked  thing 
made  to  hitch  on  to  it.  Every  Tory 
jungle  has  one  or  more  of  these  Ijeasts  of 
prey  in  it.  Talk  of  a  tiger  hunt,  heavens 
and  airth  !  it  would  be  nothin'  to  the  fun 
of  huntin'  one  of  these  devils.  Our  friend 
is  one ;  he  is  an  adventurer  in  politics 
and  nothin'  else, — he  talks  high  Tory,  and 
writes  high  Tory,  and  acts  high  Tory, 
about  the  toploftiest;  not  because  he  is 
one,  for  he  is  nothin\  but  because  it  cur- 
ries favour,  because  it  enables  him  to  stand 
where   he  can    put  his  hook  in  when  a 


200  HOOKS   AND   EYES. 

chance   offers.      He  '11   stoop  to  any  thin', 
will   this   wretch.      If  one   of  his   Tory 
patrons  writes  a  book,  he  writes  a  review 
of  it,  and  praises  it  up  to  the  skies.     If 
he  makes  a  speech,  he  gets  a  leadin'  ar- 
ticle in  its  favour  inserted  in  a  paper.     If 
his  lady  has  a  lap-dog,  he  takes  it  up  and 
fondles   it,  and  swears  it  is  the  sweetest 
one  he  ever  seed  in  his  life  ;   and  when 
the  cute  leetle  divil,  smellin'  deceit  on  his 
fingers,   snaps  at  'em  and  half  bites  'em 
off,    he    gulps   down     the     pain    without 
winkin',  and  says,  oh  !  you  are  jealous,  you 
little  rogue,  you  know'd   I  was  a-goin  to 
imj^ort    a    beautiful    one    from    Cuba   for 
your  mistress.     He  is  one  o'  them  rascals 
that  will  crouch  but  not  yelp  when  he  is 
kicked, — he  knows  the  old  proverb,  that  if 
a   feller   gets   a   rap  from  a  jackass,  he 
hadn't  ought  to  tell  of  it.     If  '  the  eye' 
has  an   old  ugly  darter,   he    dances  with 
her,  and  takes  her  in  to  dinner ;  whatever 


HOOKS   AND    EYES.  201 

tastes  her  'n  is,  his  'n  is  the  same.  If  she 
plays  he  goes  into  fits,  turns  up  the 
whites  of  his  eyes,  twirls  his  thumbs,  and 
makes  his  foot  move  in  time.  If  she 
sings,  then  it 's  a  beautiful  song,  but  made 
twice  as  sweet  by  the  great  effect  she 
gives  to  it.  After  dinner  he  turns  up  his 
nose  at  cotton  lords,  and  has  some  capital 
stories  to  tell  of  their  vulgarity ;  talks 
of  the  Corn-law  League  people  havin' 
leave  to  hold  their  meetin's  in  Newgate ; 
speaks  of  the  days  of  El  don  and  Wether- 
all  as  the  glorious  days  of  old  England, 
and  the  Reform  Bill  as  its  sunset.  Peel 
wants  firmness,  Stanley  wants  temper, 
Graham  consistency,  and  all  want  some- 
thin'  or  another,  if  '  the  eye'  only  thinks 
so.  If  there  is  anythin'  to  be  done,  but 
not  talked  of,  or  that  can  be  neither  done 
nor  talked  of,  he  is  jist  the  boy  for  the 
dirty  job,  and  will  do  it  right  off.  That 's 
the  way  you  know  the  hook  when  the  eye 


202  HOOKS    AND    EYES. 

is  present.     When  the  eye  aint,  there  you 
will  know  him  by  his  arrogance  and  im- 
l)edence,  by  his  talkin'  folks  down,  by  his 
overbearin'  way,   by  his  layin'  down  the 
law,  by  his  pertendin'  to  know  all  State 
secrets,  and  to  be  oppressed  by  the  weight 
of  'em ;  and  by  his  pertendin'  things  aint 
good  enough  for  him  by  a  long  chalk.    He 
talks  big,   walks  big,   and  acts  big.     He 
never  can  go  anywhere  with  you,  for  he 
is  engaged  to  the  Duke  of  this,  and  the 
Marquis  of  that,  and  the  Airl  of  t'  other. 
He   is  jist  a  nuisance,   that 's  a  fact,  and 
ought   to    be   indicted.      Confound    him, 
to-day  he  eyed  me  all  over,  from  head  to 
foot,  and  surveyed  me  like,  as  much  as  to 
say,    what    a  Yankee    scarecrow  you   be, 
what    standin'   corn,   I    wonder,    was  you 
taken  out  of?     When  I  seed  him  do  that,  I 
jist  eyed  him  the  same  way,  only  I  turned 
up  my  nose  and  the  corner  of  my  mouth  a 
few,  as  much  as  for  to  say,  I  'me  a  sneeser, 


HOOKS    AND    EYES.  203 

a  regular  ring-tailed  roarer,  and  can  whip 
my  weight  in  wild  cats,  so  look  out  for 
scaldin's,  will  you.  When  he  seed  that, 
he  was  as  civil  as  you  please.  Cuss  him, 
how  I  longed  to  feel  his  short  ribs,  and 
tickle  his  long  ones  for  him.  If  folks 
could  only  read  men  as  I  can,  there 
wouldn't  be  many  such  cattle  a-browsin' 
about  in  other  men's  pastur's,  I  know. 
But  then,  as  Minister  says,  all  created 
critturs  have  their  use,  and  must  live,  I 
do  suppose.  The  toad  eats  slugs,  the 
swaller  eats  muskeeters,  and  the  hoo-  eats 
rattle-snakes  ;  why  shouldn't  these  leeches 
fasten  on  to  fat  old  fools,  and  bleed  them 
when  their  habit  is  too  full. 

"  Well,  bad  as  this  crittur  is,  there  is 
a  wus  one,  and  that  is  a  Whig  hook.  The 
Whigs  have  no  power  of  themselves,  they 
get  it  all  from  the  Radicals,  Romanists, 
Republicans,  Dissenters,  and  lower  orders, 
and   so   on.     Their  hook,  therefore,  is  at 


204  HOOKS    AND    EYES. 

t'other  eeiid,  and  hooks  up.  Instead  of 
an  adventurer,  therefore,  or  spekelator  in 
politics,  a  Whig  hook  is  a  statesman,  and 
fastens  on  to  the  leaders  of  these  bodies, 
so  as  to  get  their  support.  Oh  dear!  it 
would  make  you  larf  ready  to  split  if 
you  was  to  watch  the  menouvres  of  these 
critturs  to  do  the  thing,  and  yet  not  jist 
stoop  too  low  nother,  to  keep  their  own 
position  as  big  bugs  and  gentlemen,  and 
yet  flatter  the  vanity  of  these  folks.  The 
decentest  leaders  of  these  bodies  they  now 
and  then  axe  to  their  tables,  takin'  care  the 
company  is  all  of  their  own  party,  that 
they  mayn't  be  larfed  at  for  their  popu- 
larity-huntin\  If  they  aint  quite  so  de- 
cent, but  jist  as  powerful,  why  they  take 
two  or  three  on  'em  at  a  time,  bag  'em, 
and  shake  'em  out  into  a  room  chock  full 
of  people,  where  they  rub  the  dust  off 
their  clothes  agin  other  folks  afore  long, 
and  pop  in  the  crowd.     Some  on  'em  axe 


HOOKS    AND   EYES.  205 

a   high   price.     Owen    and    his    Socialists 
made   an    introduction    to  the   Queen  as 
their    condition.      They    say    Melbourne 
made  awful  wry  faces  at  it,  like  a  child 
takin'  physic  ;  but  it  was  to  save  life,  so 
he  shot  to  his  eyes,   opened  his  mouth, 
and  swallered  it.     Nothin'  never  shocked 
the   nation    like    that.      They  love    their 
Queen,  do  the  English,  and  they  felt  this 
insult  about  the  deepest.     It  was  one  o' 
them  things  that  fixed   the  flint   of  the 
Whigs.       It   fairly   frightened  folks,   they 
didn't  know  what   onder  the    sun   would 
come  next.     But  the  great  body  of  these 
animals  aint  fit  for   no  decent   company 
whatsomever,  but  have  them  they  must, 
cost  what  it  will ;   and  what  do  you  think 
they  do  now  to  countenance,  and  yet  not  to 
associate, — to  patronize  and  not  come  too 
familiar  ?    Why  they  have  a  half-way  house 
that  saves  the  family  the  vexation  and  de- 
gradation of  havin'  such  vulgar  fellers  near 


206  HOOKS    AND    EYES. 

'em,  and  answers  the  purpose  of  gratifyin' 
these  critturs'  pride.  Why  they  go  to 
the  Reform  Club  and  have  a  house  din- 
ner, to  let  these  men  feast  their  eyes  on 
a  lord,  and  do  their  hearts  good  by  the 
sight  of  a  star  or  a  ribbon.  Then  they  do 
the  civil — onbend — take  wine  with  them 
— talk  about  enlightened  views — removing 
restrictions — ameliorating  the  condition  of 
the  people — building  an  altar  in  Ireland 
and  sacrificing  seven  church  bishops  on  it, 
to  pacify  the  country — free  trade — cheap 
bread,  and  ail  other  stuff  that 's  cheap 
talkin' — preach  uj)  unity — hint  to  each 
man  if  the  party  comes  in  he  must  have 
office  —  drink  success  to  reform,  shake 
hands  and  part.  Follow  them  out  arter 
dinner,  and  hear  the  talk  of  both  '  hooks 
and  eyes.'  Says  the  hook,  '  What  a  vul- 
gar wretch  that  was ;  how  he  smelt  of 
tobacco    and   gin.     I  'm    glad   it  's    over. 


o 


HOOKS    AND    EYES.  207 

I  think  we  have  these  men,  though,  eh  ? 
Staunch  reformers,  those.  'Gad,  if  they 
knew  what  a  sacrifice  it  was  to  dine  with 
such  brutes,  they  'd  know  how  to  appre- 
ciate their  good  luck.'  This,  I  estimate, 
is  about  the  wust  sight  London  has  to 
shew ;  rank,  fortin,  and  station,  degradin' 
itself  for  party  purposes.  Follow  out  the 
'  eyes,'  who,  in  their  turn,  become  '  hooks' 
to  those  below  'em.  '  Lucky  in  gainin' 
these  lords,'  they  say.  '  We  must  make 
use  of  them;  we  must  get  them  to  help 
us  to  pull  down  the  pillars  of  their  own 
house  that 's  to  crush  them.  They  are 
as  blind  as  Sampson,  it 's  a  pity  they  aint 
quite  as  strong.  Go  to  public  meetin's 
and  hear  their  blackguard  speeches ;  hear 
'em  abuse  Queen,  Albert,  nobles,  clargy, 
and  all  in  a  body  for  it.  It  wont  do  for 
them  to  except  their  friends  that  ho- 
noured 'em  at  the  "  House  dinner."    They 


208  HOOKS    AND    EYES. 

are  throwed  into  a  heap  together,  and 
called  every  name  they  can  lay  their 
tongues  to.  Talk  of  our  stump  orators, 
they  are  fools  to  these  fellers,  they  arn't 
fit  to  hold  a  candle  to  'em.  We  have 
nothin'  to  pull  down,  no  thin  but  party 
agin  party,  and  therefore  envy,  especially 
'envy  of  superiors,  which  is  an  awful 
feelin',  don't  enter  into  their  heads  and 
pyson  their  hearts.  It 's  '  great  cry  and 
little  wool'  with  us,  and  a  good  deal  of 
fun,  too  ;  many  of  these  leaders  here  are 
bloodhounds ;  they  snufF  gore,  and  are  on 
the  trail ;  many  of  our'n  snuff  whiskey  and 
fun,  and  their  talk  is  Bunkum.  I  recol- 
lect oncet  heerin'  one  of  our  western 
orators,  one  Colonel  Hanibel  Hornbeak, 
of  Sea-conch,  argue  this  way :  '  Whar  was 
General  Jackson,  then?  a  givin'  of  the 
British  a'most  an  almighty  lickin'  at  New 
Orleans,  and  whar  was  Harrison  ?  a-fattin' 


HOOKS   AND   EYES.  209 

of  hogs,   makin'   bad   bacon,  and  gettin' 
more  credit  than  he  desarved  for  it ;  and 
whar  was  our  friend  here?    a-drawin'   of 
bills   on   Baltimore  as   fast  as  he  could, 
and  a-gettin'  of  them  discounted  ;  and  for 
these   reasons    I    vote    for   nullification.' 
But  here  it  is  different  talk.     I  heerd  one 
reformer  say,  '  when  the  king  was  brought 
to  the  block  the  work  was  well   besfun, 
but  they  stopt  there ;  his  nobles  and  his 
bishops  should  have  shared  the  same  fate. 
Then,  indeed,  should  we  have  been   free 
at  this  day.     Let  us  read  history,  learn 
the  lesson  by  heart,  and  be  wise.'     Now 
don't  let  these  folks  talk  to  us  of  Bowie 
knives  and  Arkansau  toothpicks.     In  our 
country  they  are  used  in  drunken  private 
quarrels ;  here  they  are  ready  to  use  'em 
in  public  ones.     '  Hooks  and  eyes  ! !'     I  '11 
count  the  chain  for  you.     Here  it  is:  1st. 
link,— Masses;    2nd.— Republicans ;    3rd. 


210  HOOKS   AND    EYES. 

— Agitators  ;  4th. — Repealers  ;  5tli. — Li- 
berals ;  Gtli. — Whigs.  This  is  the  great 
reform  chain,  and  a  pretty  considerable 
tarnation  precious  chain  it  is,  too,  of 
'  hooks  and  eyes.'  " 


RESPONSIBLE    GOVERNMENT.  211 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

RESPONSIBLE    GOVERNMENT. PART  I. 

Despatches  having  been  received  from 
Canada,  announcing  the  resignation  of  the 
Local  Cabinet,  responsible  government 
became,  as  a  matter  of  course,  a  general 
topic  of  conversation.  I  had  never  heard 
Mr.  HopewelPs  opinion  on  this  subject, 
and  as  I  knew  no  man  was  able  to  form 
so  correct  a  one  as  himself,  I  asked  him 
what  he  thought  of  it. 

"  If  you  will  tell  me  what  responsible 
government  is,"  he  said,  "  then  I  will  tell 
you  what  I  think  of  it.  As  it  is  under- 
stood by  the  leaders  of  the  liberal  party 
in   Canada,    it    is   independence    and    re- 


212  RESPONSIBLE  GOVERNMENT. 

publicanism ;  as  it  is  understood  here,  it 
is  a  cant  term  of  Whig  invention,  sus- 
ceptible of  several  interpretations,  either 
of  which  can  be  put  upon  it  to  suit  a 
particular  purpose.  'It  is  a  Greek  in- 
cantation to  call  fools  into  a  circle.'  It 
is  said  to  have  originated  from  Lord  Dur- 
ham ;  that  alone  is  sufficient  to  stamp 
its  character.  Haughty,  vain,  impetuous, 
credulous,  prejudiced,  and  weak,  he  ima- 
gined that  theories  of  government  could 
be  put  into  practice  with  as  much  ease 
as  they  could  be  put  upon  paper.  I  do 
not  think  myself  he  attached  any  definite 
meaning  to  the  term,  but  used  it  as  a 
grandiloquent  phrase,  which,  from  its 
size,  must  be  supposed  to  contain  some- 
thing within  it ;  and  from  its  popular  com- 
pound, could  not  fail  to  be  acceptable  to 
the  party  he  acted  with.  It  appears  to 
have  been  left  to  common  parlance  to 
settle  its  meaning,  but  it  is  not  the  only 


RESPONSIBLE    GOVERNMENT.  213 

word  used  in  a  different  and  sometimes 
opposite  sense,  on  the  two  sides  of  the 
Atlantic.  All  the  evil  that  has  occurred 
in  Canada  since  the  introduction  of  this 
ambiguous  phrase,  is  attributed  to  his 
Lordship.  But  in  this  respect  the  public 
has  not  done  him  justice;  much  good  was 
done  during  his  dictatorship  in  Canada, 
which,  though  not  emanating  directly  from 
him,  had  the  sanction  of  his  name.  He 
found  on  his  arrival  there  a  very  excel- 
lent council  collected  together  by  Sir  John 
Colborne,  and  they  enabled  him  to  pass 
many  valuable  ordinances,  which  it  has 
been  the  object  of  the  Responsibles  ever 
since  to  repeal.  The  greatest  mischief 
was  done  by  Poulett  Thompson  ;  shrewd, 
sensible,  laborious,  and  practical,  he  had 
great  personal  weight,  and  as  he  was  known 
to  have  unlimited  power  delegated  to  him, 
and  took  the  liberty  of  altering  the  tenure 
of  every  office  of  emolument  in  the  coun- 


214  RESPONSIBLE    GOVERNMENT. 

try,  he  had  the  greatest  patronage  ever 
known  in  a  British  province,  at  his  com- 
mand, and  of  course  extraordinary  official 
influence. 

"  His  object  evidently  was  not  to  lay 
the  foundation  of  a  permanent  system 
of  government  there.  That  would  have 
taken  a  longer  period  of  time  than  he 
intended  to  devote  to  it.  It  was  to  re- 
organise the  legislative  body  under  the 
imperial  act,  put  it  into  immediate  ope- 
ration, carry  through  his  measures  at  any 
cost  and  by  any  means,  produce  a  tem- 
porary pacification,  make  a  dashing  and 
striking  effect,  and  return  triumphant  to 
Parliament,  and  say,  '  I  have  effaced  all 
the  evils  that  have  grown  out  of  years  of 
Tory  misrule,  and  given  to  the  Canadians 
that  which  has  so  long  and  so  unjustly 
been  withheld  from  them  by  the  bigotry, 
intolerance,  and  exclusiveness  of  that 
party  "  Responsible  Government." '     That 


RESPONSIBLE  GOVERNMENT.  215 

short  and  disastrous  Administration  has 
been  productive  of  incalculable  mischief. 
It  has  disheartened  and  weakened  the 
loyal  British  party.  It  has  emboldened 
and  strengthened  the  opposite  one,  and 
from  the  extraordinary  means  used  to 
compel  acquiescence,  and  obtain  majo- 
rities, lowered  the  tone  of  moral  feelino- 
throughout  the  country. 

"  He  is  now  dead,  and  I  will  not  speak 
of  him  in  the  terms  I  should  have  used 
had  he  been  living.  The  object  of  a 
truly  good  and  patriotic  man  should  have 
been  not  to  create  a  triumphant  party 
to  carry  his  measures,  (because  he  must 
have  known  that  to  purchase  their  aid, 
he  must  have  adopted  too  many  of  their 
views,  or  modified  or  relinquished  too 
many  of  his  own,)  but  to  extinguish  all 
party,  to  summon  to  his  council  men  pos- 
sessing the  confidence  of  every  large  in- 
terest in    tlie  country,   and  by  tbeir   as- 


216  RESPONSIBLE    GOVERNMENT. 

sistance  to  administer  the  government 
with  fairness,  firmness,  and  impartiality. 
No  government  based  upon  any  other 
principle  will  ever  give  general  satis- 
faction, or  insure  tranquillity  in  the  Co- 
lonies, for  in  politics  as  in  other  tilings, 
nothing  can  be  permanent  that  is  not 
built  upon  the  immutable  foundations  of 
truth  and  justice.  The  fallacy  of  this 
'  Responsibility  System'  is  that  it  con- 
sists, as  the  liberals  interpret  it,  of 
two  antagonist  principles,  Republican  and 
Monarchical,  the  former  being  the  ac- 
tive, and  the  latter  the  passive  princi- 
ple. When  this  is  the  case,  and  there 
is  no  third  or  aristocratic  body,  with 
which  both  can  unite,  or  which  can  pre- 
vent their  mutual  contact,  it  is  evident 
the  active  principle  will  be  the  ruling 
one. 

"  This  is  not  a  remote  but  an  imme- 
diate  consequence,   and  as  soon   as   this 


RESPONSIBLE   GOVERNMENT.  21 7 

event  occurs,  there  is  but  one  word  that 
expresses  the  result — indei3endence.  One 
great  error  of  Poulett  Thompson  was,  in 
strengthening,  on  all  occasions,  the  demo- 
cratic, and  weakening  the  aristocratic,  feel- 
ing of  the  country,  than  which  nothing 
could  be  more  subversive  of  the  regal 
authority  and  influence.  Pitt  wisely  de- 
signed to  have  created  an  order  in  Ca- 
nada, corresponding  as  far  as  the  different 
situations  of  the  two  countries  would  ad- 
mit, to  the  hereditary  order  in  England, 
but  unfortunately  listened  to  Whig  rea- 
soning and  democratic  raillery,  and  relin- 
quished the  plan.  The  soundness  of  his 
views  is  now  apparent  in  the  great  want 
that  is  felt  of  such  a  counterpoise,  but  I 
will  talk  to  you  of  this  subject  some  other 
time. 

"  I  know  of  no  colony  to  which  Re- 
sponsible Government,  as  now  demanded, 
is  applicable ;  but  I  know  of  few  to  which 

VOL.  I.  L 


218  RESPONSIBLE   GOVERNMENT. 

it  is  SO  wholly  unsuitable  as  to  Canada. 
If  it  means  anything,  it  means  a  govern- 
ment responsible  to  the  people  for  its 
acts,  and  of  course  pre-supposes  a  people 
capable  of  judging. 

"  As  no  community  can  act  for  itself, 
in  a  body,  individual  opinion  must  be 
severally  collected,  and  the  majority  of 
votes  thus  taken  must  be  accepted  as 
the  voice  of  the  people.  How,  then,  can 
this  be  said  to  be  the  case  in  a  commu- 
nity where  a  very  large  portion  of  the 
population  surrenders  the  right  of  private 
judgment  to  its  priests,  and  where  the 
politics  of  the  priesthood  are  wholly  sub- 
servient to  the  advancement  of  their 
church,  or  the  preservation  of  their  na- 
tionality? A  large  body  like  this  in  Ca- 
nada will  always  be  made  larger  by  the 
addition  of  ambitious  and  unscrupulous 
men.  of  other  creeds,  who  are  ever  willing 
to  give  their  talents  and  influence  in  ex- 


RESPONSIBLE  GOVERNMENT.  219 

change  for  its  support,  and  to  adopt  its 
views,  provided  the  party  will  adopt  them. 
To  make  the  Government  responsible  to  such 
a  party  as  this,  and  to  surrender  the  patron- 
age of  the  Crown  to  it,  is  to  sacrifice  every 
British  and  every  Protestant  interest  in  the 
country. 

"  The  hope  and  the  belief,  and  indeed 
the  entire  conviction  that  such  would 
be  the  result,  was  the  reason  why 
the  French  leaders  accepted  responsible 
government  with  so  much  eagerness  and 
joy,  the  moment  it  was  proffered.  They 
felt  that  they  had  again,  by  the  folly 
of  their  rulers,  become  sole  masters  of 
a  country  they  were  unable  to  recon- 
quer, and  were  in  the  singular  and 
anomalous  condition  of  having  a  mo- 
nopoly of  all  the  power,  revenue,  autho- 
rity, and  patronage  of  the  Government, 
without  any  possibility  of  the  real  owners 
having   any  practical  participation  in  it. 

L  2 


220  RESPONSIBLE   GOVERNMENT. 

The  French,  aided  by  others  holding  the  same 
religious  views,  and  a  few  Protestant  Radi- 
cals, easily  form  a  majority ;  once  establish 
the  doctrine  of  ruling  by  a  majority,  and  then 
they  are  lawfully  the  government,  and  the  ex- 
clusion and  oppression  of  the  English,  in 
their  own  colony,  is  sanctioned  by  law,  and 
that  law  imposed  by  Eyigland  on  itself.  What 
a  monstrous  piece  of  absurdity,  cruelty,  and 
injustice!  In  making  such  a  concession 
as  this,  Poulett  Thompson  proved  him- 
self to  have  been  either  a  very  weak 
or  a  very  unprincipled  man.  Let  us 
strive  to  be  charitable,  however  difficult 
it  be  in  this  case,  and  endeavour  to  hope 
it  was  an  error  of  the  head  rather  than 
the  heart. 

"  The  doctrine  maintained  here  is,  that 
a  governor,  who  has  but  a  delegated  au- 
thority, must  be  responsible  to  the  power 
that  delegates  it,  namely,  the  Queen's  Go- 
vernment ;    and  this  is   undoubtedly  the 


RESPONSIBLE   GOVERNMENT.  221 

true  doctrine,  and  the  only  one  that  is 
compatible  with  colonial  dependence.  The 
Liberals  (as  the  movement  party  in  Ca- 
nada style  themselves)  say  he  is  but  the 
head  of  his  executive  council,  and  that 
that  council  must  be  responsible  to  the 
people.  Where,  then,  is  the  monarchical 
principle  ?  or  where  is  the  line  of  demarca- 
tion between  such  a  state  and  independ- 
ence? The  language  of  these  trouble- 
some and  factious  men  is,  '  Every  Go- 
vernment ought  to  be  able  to  possess 
a  majority  in  the  legislature  powerful 
enough  to  carry  its  measures;'  and  the 
plausibility  of  this  dogmatical  assertion 
deludes  many  persons  who  are  unable  to 
understand  the  question  properly.  A  ma- 
jority is  required,  not  to  carry  Government 
measures,  but  to  carry  certain  jtersons  into 
office  and  power.  A  colonial  administra- 
tion neither  has,  nor  ought  to  have,  any 
government  measures.     Its  foreign  policy 


222  RESPONSIBLE    GOVERNMENT. 

and  internal  trade,  its  post-office  and 
customs  departments,  its  army  and  navy, 
its  commissariat  and  mint,  are  imperial 
services  provided  for  here.  Its  civil  list 
is,  in  most  cases,  established  by  a  per- 
manent law.  All  local  matters  should 
be  left  to  the  independent  action  of 
members,  and  are  generally  better  for 
not  being  interfered  with.  If  they  are 
required,  they  will  be  voted,  as  in  times 
past ;  if  not,  they  will  remain  unattempted. 
No  difficulty  was  ever  felt  on  this  score, 
nor  any  complaint  ever  made,  until  Lord 
Durham  talked  of  Boards  of  Works,  Com- 
missionerships,  Supervisors,  Lord  Mayors, 
District  Intendants,  and  other  things  that 
at  once  awakened  the  cupidity  of  hungry 
demagogues  and  rapacious  patriots,  who 
forthwith  demanded  a  party  Government, 
that  they  might  have  party-jobs,  and  the 
execution  of  these  lucrative  affairs.  A 
Government  by  a  majority  has  proved  it- 


RESPONSIBLE   GOVERNMENT.  223 

self,  with  us,  to  be  the  worst  of  tyrannies ; 
but  it  will  be  infinitely  more  oppressive 
in  the  Colonies  than  in  the  States,  for 
we  have  7'epublican  institutions  to  modify  its 
evils.  Neither  that  presumptuous  man, 
Lord  Durham,  nor  that  reckless  man, 
Thompson,  appear  to  have  had  the  slight- 
est idea  of  this  difference.  With  us  the 
commission  of  a  magistrate  expires  of  it- 
self in  a  few  years.  The  upper  branch  of 
the  legislature  is  elective,  and  the  mem- 
bers are  constantly  changed  ;  while  every- 
thing else  is  equally  mutable  and  repub- 
lican. In  the  Colonies  the  magistrates 
are  virtually  appointed  for  life,  and  so  is  a 
legislative  councillor,  and  the  principle  has 
been,  in  times  past,  practically  applied  to 
every  office  in  the  country.  Responsible 
Government  then,  in  the  Colonies,  where 
the  elective  franchise  is  so  low  as  to  make  it 
almost  universal  suffrage,  is  a  great  and  un- 
mitigated republican  principle,  introduced 


224  RESPONSIBLE   GOVERNMENT. 

into  a  country  not  only  dependant  on 
another,  but  having  monarchical  institu- 
tions wholly  incompatible  with  its  ex- 
ercise. The  magistrate  in  some  of  the 
provinces  has  a  most  extensive  judicial 
as  well  as  ministerial  jurisdiction,  and  I 
need  not  say  how  important  the  func- 
tions of  a  legislative  councillor  are.  A 
temporary  majority,  having  all  the  pa- 
tronage, (for  such  is  their  claim,  in  what- 
ever way  they  may  attempt  to  explain  it,) 
is  by  this  new  doctrine  to  be  empowered 
to  appoint  its  partisans  to  all  these  per- 
manent offices, — an  evil  that  a  change  of 
party  cannot  remedy,  and  therefore  one 
that  admits  of  no  cure.  This  has  been 
already  severely  felt  wherever  the  system 
has  been  introduced,  for  reform  has  been 
so  long  the  cover  under  which  disaffec- 
tion has  sheltered  itself,  that  it  seldom 
includes  among  its  supporters  any  of 
the   upper   class    of  society.     The   party 


RESPONSIBLE  GOVERNMENT.  225 

usually  consists  of  the  mass  of  the  lower 
orders,  and  those  just  immediately  above 
them.  Demagogues  easily  and  constantly 
persuade  them  that  they  are  wronged  by 
the  rich,  and  oppressed  by  the  great,  that 
all  who  are  in  a  superior  station  are 
enemies  of  the  people,  and  that  those 
who  hold  office  are  living  in  idle  luxury 
at  the  expense  of  the  poor.  Terms  of 
reproach  or  derision  are  invented  to 
lower  and  degrade  them  in  the  public 
estimation  ;  cliques,  family  compacts,  ob- 
structionists, and  other  nicknames,  are 
liberally  applied ;  and  when  facts  are  want- 
ing, imagination  is  fruitful,  and  easily  sup- 
plies them.  To  appoint  persons  from 
such  a  party  to  permanent  offices,  is  an 
alarming  evil.  To  apply  the  remedy  we 
have,  of  the  elective  principle  and  short 
tenure  of  office,  is  to  introduce  repub- 
licanism into  every  department.  What  a 
delusion,  then,  it  is  to  suppose  that  liespon- 

l5 


226  RESPONSIBLE  GOVERNMENT. 

sible  Government  is  applicable  to  the  North 
American  provinces,  or  that  it  is  anything 
else  than  practical  independence  as  regards 
England,  with  a  practical  conclusion  from 
influence  and  office  of  all  that  is  good  or  re- 
spectable, or  loyal,  or  British,  as  regards  the 
colony  f 

"  The  evil  has  not  been  one  of  your  own 
seeking,  but  one  that  has  been  thrust  upon 
you  by  the  quackery  of  English  states- 
men. The  remedy  is  beyond  your  reach  ; 
it  must  be  applied  by  a  higher  power. 
The  time  is  now  come  when  it  is  neces- 
sary to  speak  out,  and  speak  plainly.  If 
the  Secretary  for  the  Colonies  is  not  firm, 
Canada  is  lost  for  ever!" 


RESPONSIBLE   GOVERNMENT.  227 


CHAPTER  XV. 

RESPONSIBLE    GOVERNMENT. PART.  II 

The  subject  of  Responsible  Govern- 
ment, which  had  now  become  a  general 
topic  of  conversation,  was  resumed  again 
to-day  by  Mr.  Slick. 

"  Minister,"  said  he,  "  I  quite  concur 
with  you  in  your  idee  of  that  form  of 
colony  government.  When  I  was  to 
Windsor,  Nova  Scotia,  a  few  years  ago, 
Poulett  Thompson  was  there,  a-waitin' 
for  a  steamer  to  go  to  St.  John,  New 
Brunswick  ;  and  as  I  was  a-passin'  Mr. 
Wilcox's  inn,  who  should  I  see  but  him. 


228  RESPONSIBLE  GOVERNMENT. 

I  knowed  him  the  moment  I  seed  him, 
for  T  had  met  him  to  London  the  year 
before,  when  he  was  only  a  member  of 
parliament ;  and  since  the  Reform  Bill, 
you  know,  folks  don't  make  no  more 
account  of  a  member  than  an  alderman ; 
indeed  since  I  have  moved  in  the  first 
circles  I  've  rather  kept  out  of  their  way, 
for  they  arn't  thought  very  good  company 
in  a  gineral  way,  I  can  tell  you.  Well, 
as  soon  as  I  met  him  I  knowed  him  at 
once,  but  I  warn't  a-goin'  for  to  speak  to 
him  fust,  seein'  that  he  had  become  a  big 
bug  since,  and  p'raps  wouldn't  talk  to 
the  likes  of  me.  But  up  he  comes  in  a 
minit,  and  makes  a  low  bow  —  he  had 
a  very  curious  bow.  It  was  jist  a  stiff 
low  bend  forrard,  as  a  feller  does  afore 
he  goes  to  take  an  everlastin'  jump  ;  and 
sais  he,  '  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Slick  ? 
will  you  do  me  the  favour  to  walk  in  and 
sit  down  awhile,  I  want  to  talk  to  you. 


RESPONSIBLE    GOVERNMENT.  229 

We  are  endeavourin',  you  see,'  sais  he, 
*  to  assimilate  matters  here  as  much  as 
possible  to  what  exists  in  your  country.' 
'  So  I  see,'  sais  I ;  '  but  I  am  ashamed 
to  say,  I  don't  exactly  comprehend  what 
responsible  government  is  in  a  colony.' 
'  Well,'  sais  he,  *  it  aint  easy  of  definition, 
but  it  will  work  itself  out,  and  adjust 
itself  in  practice.  I  have  given  them  a 
fresh  hare  to  run,  and  that  is  a  great 
matter.  Their  attention  is  taken  off  from 
old  sources  of  strife,  and  fixed  on  this, 
I  have  broken  up  all  old  parties,  shuffled 
the  cards,  and  given  them  a  new  deal  and 
new  partners.'  '  Take  care,'  sais  I,  '  that 
a  knave  doesn't  turn  up  for  trump  card.' 
He  looked  thoughtful  for  a  moment,  and 
then  sais,  '  Very  good  hit,  Mr.  Slick ; 
very  good  hit  indeed  ;  and  between  our- 
selves, in  politics  I  am  afraid  there  are, 
everywhere,  more  knaves  than  honors 
in   the  pack.'    I  have  often   thought   of 


230  RESPONSIBLE    GOVERNMENT. 

that  expression  since — '  a  fresh  hare  to 
run;'  what  a  principle  of  action  for  a 
statesman,  warn't  it  ?  But  it  was  jist 
like  him ;  he  thought  everybody  he  met 
was  fools.  One  half  the  people  to  Canada 
didn't  know  what  onder  the  sun  he  meant ; 
but  they  knowed  he  was  a  radical,  and 
agin  the  Church,  and  agin  all  the  old 
English  families  there,  and  therefore  they 
followed  him.  Well,  he  seed  that,  and 
thought  them  fools.  If  he  'd  a-lived  a 
little  grain  longer,  he  M  a-found  they 
were  more  rogues  than  fools,  them  fellers, 
for  they  had  an  axe  to  grind  as  well  as 
him.  Well,  t'other  half  seed  he  was  a 
schemer,  and  a  schemer,  too,  that  wouldn't 
stick  at  nothin'  to  carry  out  his  eends ; 
and  they  wouldn't  have  nothin'  to  say  to 
him  at  all.  Well,  in  course  he  called 
them  fools  too ;  if  he  'd  a-lived  a  little 
grain  longer  I  guess  he  'd  a  found  out 
whose   head   the   fool's   cap   fitted    best. 


RESPONSIBLE    GOVERNMENT.  231 

*  Well,'  sais  I,  '  it  warn't  a  bad  idee  that, 
of  givin'  'em  '  a  fresh  hare  to  run ;'  it  was 
grand.  You  had  nothin'  to  do  but  to 
start  the  hare,  say  '  stuboy,'  clap  your 
hands  ever  so  loud,  and  off  goes  the  whole 
pack  of  yelpin'  curs  at  his  heels  like 
wink.  It 's  kept  them  from  jumpin'  and 
fawnin',  and  cryin\  and  cravin',  and  pawin' 
on  you  for  everlastin',  for  somethin'  to  eat, 
and  a  botherin''  of  you,  and  a  spilin'  of 
your  clothes,  don't  it  ?  You  give  'em  the 
dodge  properly  that  time ;  you  got  that 
lesson  from  the  Indgin  dogs  on  the  Mis- 
sissippi, I  guess,  didn't  you?'  '  No,'  sais 
he,  lookin'  one  half  out  of  sorts  and 
t  'other  half  nobsquizzled  ;  '  no,  I  was 
never  there,'  sais  he.  '  Not  there?'  sais 
I,  '  why,  you  don't  say  so !  Not  there  ? 
well,  it  passes  all ;  for  it 's  the  identical 
same  dodge.  When  a  dog  wants  to  cross 
the  river  there,  he  goes  to  a  p'int  of  land 
that  stretches  away  out  into  the   water. 


232  RESPONSIBLE   GOVERNMENT. 

and  sits  down  on  his  hind  legs,  and  cries 
at  the  tip  eend  of  his  voice,  most  piteous, 
and  howls  so  it  would  make  your  heart 
break  to  hear  him.  It 's  the  most  horrid 
dismal,  solemcoly  sound  you  ever  knowed. 
Well,  he  keeps  up  this  tune  for  the 
matter  of  half-an-hour,  till  the  river  and 
the  woods  ring  again.  All  the  crocodiles 
for  three  miles  up  and  three  miles  down, 
as  soon  as  they  hear  it,  run  as  hard  as  they 
can  lick  to  the  spot,  for  they  are  very  hu- 
mane boys  them,  cry  like  women  at  nothin' 
a'most,  and  always  go  where  any  crittur  is 
in  distress,  and  drag  him  right  out  of  it. 
Well,  as  soon  as  the  dog  has  'em  all  col- 
lected, at  a  charity-ball  like,  a-waitin'  for 
their  supper,  and  a-lickin'  of  their  chops,  off 
he  starts,  hot  foot,  down  the  bank  of  the 
river,  for  a  mile  or  so,  and  then  souses 
right  in  and  swims  across  as  quick  as  he 
can  pull  for  it,  and  gives  them  the  slip 
beautiful.      Now    your    dodge    and    the 


RESPONSIBLE    GOVERNMENT.  283 

Mississippi  dog  is  so  mucli  alike,  I  'd  a 
bet  anything,  a'most,  you  took  the  hint 
from  him.' 

"  '  What  a  capital  story  !'  sais  he  ;  '  how 
oncommon  good  !  upon  my  word  it  ^s  very 
apt ;'  jist  then  steam-boat  bell  rung,  and 
he  off  to  the  river  too,  and  give  me  the 
dodge.' 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  he  put  me  in  mind 
of.  I  was  to  Squire  Shears,  the  tailor,  to 
Boston,  oncet,  to  get  measured  for  a  coat. 
'  Squire,'  sais  I,  '  measure  me  quick,  will 
you,  that's  a  good  soul,  for  I'm  in  a  horrid 
hurry.'  '  Can't,'  sais  he,  '  Sam  ;  the  de- 
signer is  out — sit  down,  he  will  be  in  di- 
rectly.' *  The  designer,'  sais  I,  '  who  the 
devil  is  that,  what  onder  the  sun  do  you 
mean  ?'  Well,  it  raised  my  curiosity — so 
I  squats  down  on  the  counter  and  lights  a 
cigar.  '  That  word  has  made  my  fortin' 
Sam,'  sais  he.  '  It  is  somethin'  new.  He 
designs  the  coat,  that  is  what  is  vulgarly 


234  RESPONSIBLE  GOVERNMENT. 

called — cuts  it  out : — and  a  nice  thing  it  is 
too.     Tt  requires  a  light  hand,  great  free- 
dom of  touch,  a  quick  eye,  and  great  taste. 
Its  all  he  can  do,  for  he  couldn't  so  much 
as  sow  a  button  on.     He  is  an  Englishman 
of  the  name  of  Street.    Artist  is  a  com- 
mon   word  —  a    foreman    is    a    common 
word  —  a    measurer    is   low,    very    low ; 
but   '  a  designer,'   oh,  its  fust  chop  —  its 
quite  the  go.     '  My  designer'  —  Heavens 
what  a   lucky  hit  that  was !     Well,  Mr. 
Thompson  put  me  in  mind  of  Street,  the 
designer,  he  didn't  look  onlike  him  in  per- 
son nother,  and  he  was  a  grand  hand  to 
cut  out  work  for  others  to  do.     A  capital 
hand   for  makin'  measures  and  designin'. 
But  to  get  back  to  my  story.  He  said  "  he 
had  given  'em  to  Canada  '  a  fresh  hare  to 
run.'     Well,  they've  got  tired  of  the  chace 
at  last  arter  the  hare,  for  they  hante  been 
able  to  catch  it.     They've  returned  on  the 
tracks  from  where  they  started,  and  stand 


RESPONSIBLE   GOVERNMENT.  235 

starin'  at  each  other  like  fools.  For  the 
fust  time  they  begin'  to  ax  themselves  the 
question,  what  is  responsible  government  ? 
Well,  they  don't  know,  and  they  axe  the 
Governor,  and  he  don't  know,  and  he  axes 
Lord  John,  the  Colonial  Secretary,  and  he 
don't  know.  At  last  Lord  John  looks 
wise  and  sais,  '  its  not  onlike  prero- 
gative— its  existence  is  admitted — its  only 
its  exercise  is  questioned.'  Well,  the  Gover- 
nor looks  wise  and  sais  the  same,  and  the 
people  repeat  over  the  words  arter  him — 
look  puzzled,  and  say  they  don't  exactly  on- 
derstand  the  answer  nother.  It  reminds  me 
of  what  happened  to  me  oncet  to  Brussels. 
I  was  on  the  top  of  a  coach  there,  a-goin' 
down  that  dreadful  steep  hill  there,  not 
that  it  is  so  awful  steep  nother ;  but  hills 
are  curiosities  there,  they  are  so  scarce, 
and  every  little  sharp  pinch  is  called  a 
high  hill — -jist  as  every  sizeable  hill  to 
Nova  Scotia  is  called  a  mountain.     Well, 


236  RESPONSIBLE   GOVERNMENT. 

sais  the  coachman  to  me,  '  Tournez  le 
Mechanique.'  I  didn't  know  what  the  de- 
vil he  meant — I  didn't  onderstand  French 
when  its  talked  that  way,  and  don't  now. 
A  man  must  speak  very  slow  in  French 
for  me  to  guess  what  he  wants,  '  What 
in  natur'  is  that  ? '  sais  I ;  but  as  he  didn't 
onderstand  English  he  just  wrapt  it  up  in 
three  yards  more  of  French,  and  give  it 
back  to  me  agin.  So  there  was  a  pair  of 
us.  Well,  the  coach  began  to  go  down 
hill  like  winky,  and  the  passengers  put 
their  heads  out  of  the  windows  and  bawled 
out  '  Tournez  le  Mechanique,'  and  the 
coachman  roared  it  out,  and  so  did  people 
on  the  streets,  so  what  does  I  do  but  screams 
out  too,  '  Tournez  le  Mechanique.'  Well, 
coachman  seein'  it  war  no  use  talkin', 
turned  right  about,  put  the  pole  thro'  a 
pastry  cook's  window — throwed  down  his 
bosses,  and  upsot  the  coach,  and  away  we 
all  went,  body  and  bones  into  the  street. 


RESPONSIBLE    GOVERNMENT.  237 

When  I  picked  myself  up,  the  coachman 
comes  up  and  puts  his  fist  into  my  face, 
and  sais,  '  You  great  lummakin  fool,  why 
didn't  you  Tournez  le  Mechanique,'  and 
the  passengers  got  all  round  me  shakin' 
their  fists  too,  sayin\  'Why  didn't  you 
Tournez  le  Mechanique?'  I  didn't  know 
what  the  plague  they  meant,  so  I  ups  fist 
and  shakes  it  at  them,  too,  and  roars  out, 
'  Why  in  the  name  of  sense,'  sais  I,  '  didn't 
you  Tournez  le  Mechanique?'  Well, 
they  began  to  larf  at  last,  and  one  on  'em 
that  spoke  a  little  English,  sais  '  It  meant 
to  turn  the  handle  of  a  little  machine  that 
put  a  drag  on  the  wheels.'  '  Oh  !'  sais  I, '  is 
that  it?  What  the  plague's  got  into  the 
feller  not  to  speak  plain  English,  if  he  had 
a- done  that  I  should  have  onderstood  him 
then.' 

"  Now  that's  the  case  with  this  Re- 
sponsible Government,  it  tante  plain  Eng- 
lishy  and  they  don't  onderstand  it.     As  soon 


238  RESPONSIBLE   GOVERNMENT. 

as  the  state  coach  begins  to  run  down  hill 
the  people  call  out  to  the  Governor  '  Tour- 
nez  le  Mechanique,'  and  he  gets  puzzled 
and  roars  out  to  Secretary,  '  Tournez  le 
Mechanique,'  and  he  gets  mad,  and  sais, 
'  D — n  you,  Tournez  le  Mechanique  your- 
self.' None  on  'em  knows  the  word  — 
the  coach  runs  down  the  hill  like  lightning 
upsets  and  smashes  everything.  That  comes 
a  not  s'pedkirC  ylain  English.  There  is  only 
one  party  pleased,  and  that's  a  party  that 
likes  to  see  all  governments  upsot.  They 
say  '  Its  goin'  on  beautiful.  It  don't  want  a 
turn  of  the  Mechanique  at  all,'  and  sing 
out,  as  the  boatman  did  to  his  son  when 
the  barge  was  a-goin'  over  the  falls  to  Ohio 
— '  Let  her  went  Peter,  don't  stop  her, 
she's  wrathy.' — What  Minister  sais  is  true 
enough.  Government  is  intended  for  the 
benefit  of  all.  All  parties,  therefore, 
should,  as  far  as  possible,  have  a  voice 
in    the    Council — and    equal   justice    be 


RESPONSIBLE   GOVERNMENT.  239 

done  to  all — so  that  as  all  pay  their  shot 
to  its  support,  all  should  have  a  share  in 
its  advantages.  Them  fellers  to  Canada 
have  been  a  howlin'  in  the  wilderness  for 
years — *  We  are  governed  by  a  party — a 
clique — a  family  compact.'  Well,  England 
believed  'em,  and  the  party — the  clique — 
and  the  family  compact  was  broken  up. 
No  sooner  said  than  done — they  turn  right 
round,  as  quick  as  wink,  and  say — '  We  want 
a  party  government  now — not  that  party, 
but  our  party — not  that  clique,  but  this 
clique — not  that  family  compact,  but  this 
family  compact.  For  that  old  party,  clique, 
and  compact  were  British  in  their  lan- 
guage— British  in  their  feelings,  and  Bri- 
tish in  their  blood.  Our  party  clique  and 
compact  is  not  so  narrow  and  restricted, 
for  it  is  French  in  its  language,  Yankee 
in  its  feelin',  and  Republican  in  its 
blood.' " 

"  Sam,"  said   Mr.  Hopewell,   with  that 


240  RESPONSIBLE   GOVERNMENT. 

mildness  of  manner  which  was  his  great 
characteristic  and  charm,  "  that  is  strong 
language,  very.'" 

"  Strong  language,  sir!"  said  the  Colonel, 
rising  in  great   wrath,    "it's   infamous,— 
none  but  a  scoundrel  or  a  fool  would  talk 
that  way.     D — n  me,  sir !  what  are  them 
poor  benighted  people  strugglin'  for,  but 
for  freedom  and  independence  ?  They  want 
a   leader,  that's  what   they  want.     They 
should  fust  dress  themselves  as  Indgins, — 
go  to  the  wharves,  and  throw  all  the  tea 
in  the  river,  as  we  did ;  and  then,  in  the 
dead  of  the  night,  seize  on  the  high  hill 
back  of  Montreal  and  fortify  it,  and  when 
the  British  come,  wait  till  they  see  the 
whites  of  their  eyes,  as  we  did  at  Bunker 
Hill,  and  give  them  death  and  destruction 
for  breakfast,  as  we  did.     D — n  me,  sir !" 
and  he  seized  the  poker  and  waved  it  over 
his  head,  "  let  them  do  that,  and  send  for 
me,  and,  old  as  I  am,  I'll  lead  them  on  to 


RESPONSIBLE    GOVERNMENT.  241 

victory  or  death.  Let  'em  send  for  me, 
sir,  and,  by  the  'tarnal,  I'll  take  a  few  of 
my  'north-eend  boys'  with  me,  and  shew 
'em  what  clear  grit  is.  Let  the  British 
send  Wellington  out  to  command  the 
troops  if  they  dare,  and  I'll  let  him  know 
Bunker  Hill  aint  Waterloo,  I  know.  Rear 
rank,  take  open  order — right  shoulders 
forward — march  ;"  and  he  marched  round 
the  room  and  sat  down. 

"  It's  very  strong  language  that,  Sam," 
continued  ]\Ir.  Hopewell,  who  never  no- 
ticed the  interruptions  of  the  Colonel, 
"  very  strong  language  indeed,  too  strong 
I  fear.  It  may  wound  the  feelings  of 
others,  and  that  we  have  no  right  to  do 
unnecessarily.  Squire,  if  you  report  this 
conversation,  as  I  suppose  you  will,  leave 
out  all  the  last  sentence  or  two,  and  in- 
sert this  :  '  Responsible  Government  is  a 
term  not  well  defined  or  understood,  and 
appears  to  be  only  applicable  to  an  inde- 

VOL.   I.  M 


242  RESPONSIBLE  GOVERNMENT. 

pendent  country.  But  whatever  interpre- 
tation is  put  upon  it,  one  thing  is  certain, 
the  Government  of  Great  Britain  over  her 
colonies  is  one  of  the  lightest,  kindest,  mild- 
est, and  most  paternal  in  the  whole  wm'ld.'' " 


THE    DUKE    OF    KENT.  243 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE  DUKE  OF  KENT  AND  HIS  TRUMPETER. 

Mr.  Slick's  weak  point  was  his  vanity. 
From  having  risen  suddenly  in  the  world, 
by  the  unaided  efforts  of  a  vigorous,  un- 
educated mind,  he  very  naturally  acquired 
great  self-reliance.  He  undervalued  every 
obstacle,  or,  what  is  more  probable,  over- 
looked the  greater  part  of  those  that  lay 
in  his  way.  To  a  vulgar  man  like  him, 
totally  ignorant  of  the  modes  of  life,  a 
thousand  little  usages  of  society  would 
unavoidably  wholly  escape  his  notice, 
while  the  selection,  collocation,  or  pro- 
nunciation of  words  were  things  for  which 
he  appeared  to  have  no  perception  and  no 

M   2 


244  THE    DUKE    OF    KENT 

ear.  Diffidence  is  begotten  by  know- 
ledge, presumption  by  ignorance.  The 
more  we  know,  the  more  extended  the 
field  appears  upon  which  we  have  en- 
tered, and  the  more  insignificant  and  im- 
perfect our  acquisition.  The  less  we 
know,  the  less  opportunity  we  have  of 
ascertaining  what  remains  to  be  learned. 
His  success  in  his  trade,  his  ignorance, 
the  vulgarity  of  his  early  occupations  and 
habits,  and  his  subsequent  notoriety  as  a 
humorist,  all  contributed  to  render  him 
exceedingly  vain.  His  vanity  was  of  two 
kinds,  national  and  personal.  The  first 
he  has  in  common  with  a  vast  number  of 
Americans.  He  calls  his  country  "  the 
greatest  nation  atween  the  Poles," — he 
boasts  "  that  the  Yankees  are  the  most 
free  and  enlightened  citizens  on  the  face 
of  the  airth,  and  that  their  institutions 
are  the  perfection  of  human  wisdom."  He 
is  of  his  father's  opinion,  that  the  battle 


AND    HIS    TRUMPETER.  245 

of  Bunker  Hill  was  the  greatest  battle  ever 
fouffht;  that  their  naval  victories  were  the 
most  brilliant  achievements  ever  heard 
of;  that  New  York  is  superior  to  London 
in  beauty,  and  will  soon  be  so  in  extent ; 
and  finally,  that  one  Yankee  is  equal  in 
all  respects  to  two  Englishmen,  at  least. 
If  the  Thames  is  mentioned,  he  calls  it  an 
insignificant  creek,  and  reminds  you  that 
the  Mississippi  extends  inland  a  greater 
distance  than  the  space  between  Nova 
Scotia  and  England.  If  a  noble  old  park 
tree  is  pointed  out  to  him,  he  calls  it  a 
pretty  little  scrub  oak,  and  immediately 
boasts  of  the  pines  of  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains, which  he  affirms  are  two  hundred 
feet  high.  Show  him  a  waterfall,  and  it  is 
a  noisy  babbling  little  cascade  compared 
with  Niagara ;  or  a  lake,  and  it  is  a 
mere  duck  pond  in  comparison  with  Erie, 
Superior,  Champlain,  or  Michigan.  It 
has    been    remarked   by   most   travellers. 


246  THE   DUKE   OF   KENT 

that  this  sort  of  thing  is  so  common  in 
the  States,  that  it  may  be  said  to  be  al- 
most universal.  This  is  not  now  the  case. 
It  has  prevailed  more  generally  hereto- 
fore than  at  present,  but  it  is  now  not 
much  more  obvious  than  in  the  people  of 
any  other  country.  The  necessity  for  it  no 
longer  e,rists.  That  the  Americans  are 
proud  of  having  won  their  independence 
at  the  point  of  the  sword,  from  the  most 
powerful  nation  in  the  world,  under  all 
the  manifold  disadvantages  of  poverty, 
dispersion,  disunion,  want  of  discipline  in 
their  soldiers,  and  experience  in  their  offi- 
cers, is  not  to  be  wondered  at.  They 
have  reason  to  be  proud  of  it.  It  is  the 
greatest  achievement  of  modern  times. 
That  they  are  proud  of  the  consummate 
skill  of  their  forefathers  in  framing  a  con- 
stitution the  best  suited  to  their  position 
and  their  wants,  and  one  withal  the  most 
difficult  in  the  world  to  adjust,  not  only 


AND    HIS   TRUMPETER.  247 

with  proper  checks  and  balances,  but  with 
any  checks  at  all, — at  a  time  too  when 
there  was  no  model  before  them,  and  all 
experience  against  them,  is  still  less  to  be 
wondered  at.  Nor  have  we  any  reason  to 
object  to  the  honest  pride  they  exhibit  of 
their  noble  country,  their  enlightened  and 
enterprising  people,  their  beautiful  cities, 
their  magnificent  rivers,  their  gigantic 
undertakings.  The  sudden  rise  of  na- 
tions, like  the  sudden  rise  of  individuals, 
begets  under  similar  circumstances  simi- 
lar effects.  While  there  was  the  fresh- 
ness of  novelty  about  all  these  things, 
there  was  national  vanity.  It  is  now  an 
old  story  —  their  laurels  sit  easy  on 
them.  They  are  accustomed  to  them, 
and  they  occupy  less  of  their  thoughts, 
and  of  course  less  of  their  conversation, 
than  formerly.  At  first,  too,  strange 
as  it  may  seem,  there  ednsted  a  necessity 
/or  it. 


248  THE    DUKE    OF    KENT 

Good  policy  dictated  the  expediency 
of  cultivating  this  self-complacency  in  the 
people,  however  much  good  taste  might 
forbid  it.  As  their  constitution  was  based 
on  self-government,  it  was  indispensable 
to  raise  the  people  in  their  own  estimation, 
and  to  make  them  feel  the  heavy  respon- 
sibility that  rested  upon  them,  in  order 
that  they  might  qualify  themselves  for  the 
part  they  were  called  upon  to  act.  As 
they  were  weak,  it  was  needful  to  confirm 
their  courage  by  strengthening  their  self- 
reliance.  As  they  were  poor,  it  was  pro- 
per to  elevate  their  tone  of  mind,  by 
constantly  setting  before  them  their  high 
destiny ;  and  as  their  Republic  was  viewed 
with  jealousy  and  alarm  by  Europe,  it  was 
important  to  attach  the  nation  to  it,  in 
the  event  of  aggression,  by  extolling  it 
above  all  others.  The  first  generation,  to 
whom  all  this  was  new,  has  now  passed 
away ;  the  second  has  nearly  disappeared, 


AND   HIS   TRUMPETER.  249 

and  with  the  novelty,  the  excess  of  na- 
tional vanity  which  it  necessarily  engen- 
dered will  cease  also.  Personal  vanity 
stands  on  wholly  different  grounds.  There 
not  only  is  no  necessity,  but  no  justification 
for  it  whatever.  It  is  always  offensive, 
sometimes  even  disgusting.  Mr.  Hope- 
well, who  was  in  the  habit  of  admonishinsj 
the  Attacli6  whenever  he  thouo^ht  admo- 
nition  necessary,  took  occasion  to-day  to 
enlarge  on  both  points.  As  to  the  first,  he 
observed,  that  it  was  an  American  failing, 
and  boasting  abroad,  as  he  often  did,  in 
extravagant  terms  of  his  country  was  a 
serious  injury  to  it,  for  it  always  pro- 
duced argument,  and  as  those  who  argue 
always  convince  themselves  in  proportion 
as  they  fail  to  convince  others,  the  only 
result  of  such  discussions  was  to  induce 
strangers  to  search  for  objections  to  the 
United  States  that  they  knew  not  before, 
and  then  adopt  them  for  ever.     But  as  for 

M    5 


250  THE    DUKE    OF    KENT 

personal  boasts,    he   said,  they  were  be- 
neath contempt. 

"  Tell  you  what  it  is,  Minister,"  said 
Mr.  Slick,  "I  am  not  the  fool  you  take 
me  to  be.  I  deny  the  charge.  I  don't 
boast  a  bit  more  nor  any  foreigner,  in 
fact,  I  don't  think  I  boast  at  all.  Hear 
old  Bull  here,  every  day,  talkin'  about 
the  low  Irish,  the  poor,  mean,  proud 
Scotch,  the  Yankee  fellers,  the  horrid 
foreigners,  the  '  nothin'  but  a  colonist,' 
and  so  on.  He  asks  me  out  to  enter- 
tain me,  and  then  sings  '  Britannia  rules 
the  waves.'  My  old  grandmother  used 
to  rule  a  coi)y  book,  and  I  wrote  on  it. 
I  guess  the  British  rule  the  waves,  and 
we  write  victory  on  it.  Then  hear  that 
noisy,  splutterin'  crittur,  Bull-Frog.  He 
talks  you  dead  about  the  Grand  Nation, 
the  beautiful  France,  and  the  capitol  of 
the  world, — Paris.  What  do  I  do  ?  why 
I  only  say,  '  our  great,  almighty  republic  is 


AND   HIS    TRUMPETER.  251 

the  toploftiest  nation  atween  the  Poles/ 
That  aint  boastin',  nor  crackin',  nor  no- 
thin'  of  the  sort.  It 's  only  jist  a  fact,  like 
— all  men  must  die — or  any  other  truth. 
Oh,  catch  me  a-boastin' !  I  know  a  trick 
worth  two  of  that.  It  aint  pleasant  to 
be  your  own  trumpeter  always,  I  can  tell 
you.  It  reminds  me,"  said  he  (for  he 
could  never  talk  for  five  minutes  without 
an  illustration),  "  it  reminds  me  of  what 
happened  to  Queen's  father  in  Nova  Sco- 
tia, Prince  Edward  as  they  called  him  then. 
"  Oncet  upon  a  time  he  was  travellin' 
on  the  Great  Western  road,  and  most  of 
the  rivers,  those  days,  had  ferry-boats  and 
no  bridges.  So  his  trumpeter  was  sent 
afore  him  to  ^nounce  his  comin',  with  a 
great  French  horn,  to  the  ferryman  who 
lived  on  t'other  side  of  the  water. 
Well,  his  trumpeter  was  a  Jarman,  and 
didn't  speak  a  word  of  English.  JNIost 
all  that  family  was  very  fond  of  Jarmans, 


252  THE    DUKE    OF    KENT 

tliey  settle  them  everywhere  a'most. 
When  he  came  to  the  ferry,  the  magis- 
trates and  nobs,  and  big  bugs  of  the  county 
were  all  drawn  up  in  state,  waitin'  for 
Prince.  In  those  days  abusin'  and  in- 
sultin'  a  Governor,  kickin'  up  shindy  in  a 
province,  and  play  in'  the  devil  there,  war'nt 
no  recommendation  in  Downin'-street.  Co- 
lonists hadn't  got  their  eyes  open  then, 
and  at  that  time  there  was  no  school  for 
the  blind.  It  was  Pullet  Thompson  taught 
them  to  read.  Poor  critturs !  they  didn't 
know  no  better  then,  so  out  they  all  goes 
to  meet  King's  son,  and  pay  their  respects, 
and  when  Kissinkirk  came  to  the  bank, 
and  they  seed  him  all  dressed  in  green, 
covered  with  gold-lace,  and  splenderiferous 
cocked-hat  on,  with  lace  on  it,  and  a  great 
big,  old-fashioned  brass  French-horn,  that 
was  rubbed  bright  enough  to  put  out  eyes, 
a-hangin"'  over  his  shoulder,  they  took  him 
for  the  Prince,  for  they'd  never  seed  no- 


AND   HIS   TRUMPETER.  253 

thin'  half  so  fine  afore.  The  bugle  they 
took  for  gold,  'cause,  in  course,  a  Prince 
wouldn't  wear  notliin''  but  gold,  and  they 
thought  it  was  his  huntin'  horn — and  his 
bein'  alone  they  took  for  state,  'cause  he 
was  too  big  for  any  one  to  ride  with.  So 
they  all  off  hats  at  once  to  old  Kissinkirk, 
the  Jarman  trumpeter.  Lord,  when  he 
seed  that,  he  was  bungfungered  ! 

"  '  Thun  sie  ihren  hut  an  du  verdamn- 
ter  thor,'  sais  he,  which  means,  in  English, 
'  Put  on  your  hats,  you  cussed  fools.' 
Well,  they  was  fairly  stumpt.  They 
looked  fust  at  him  and  bowed,  and  then 
at  each  other ;  and  stared  vacant ;  and 
then  he  sais  agin,  'Mynheers,  damn!' 
for  that  was  the  only  English  word  he 
knew,  and  then  he  stampt  agin,  and  sais 
over  in  Dutch  once  more  to  put  on  their 
hats  ;  and  then  called  over  as  many 
(crooked)  Jarman  oaths  as  would  reach 
across  the  river  if  they  were  stretched  out 


254  THE    DUKE  OF    KENT 

strait.  *  What  in  natur'  is  that  ? '  sais 
one  ;  '  Why,  high  Dutch,'  sais  an  old 
man;  '  I  heerd  the  Waldecker  troops  at 
the  evakyation  of  New  York  speak  it. 
Don't  you  know  the  King's  father  was  a 
high  Dutchman,  from  Brunswick  ;  in 
course  the  Prince  can't  speak  English.' 
'  Well,'  sais  the  other,  '  do  you  know 
what  it  means  ? '  'In  course  I  do,'  sais 
Loyalist,'  (and  oh  if  some  o'  them  boys 
couldn't  lie,  I  don't  know  who  could, 
that 's  all ;  by  their  own  accounts  it 's  a 
wonder  how  we  ever  got  independence, 
for  them  fellers  swore  they  won  every 
battle  that  was  fought,)  *  in  course  I  do,' 
sais  he,  '  that  is,'  sais  he,  '  I  used  to  did  to 
speak  it  at  Long  Island,  but  that 's  a  long 
time  ago.  Yes,  I  understand  a  leetle,'  sais 
Loyalist.  '  His  Royal  Highness'  excellent 
Majesty  sais, — Man  the  ferry-boat,  and  let 
the  magistrates  row  me  over  the  ferry. — 
It  is  a  beautiful  language,  is  Dutch.'    '  So 


AND   HIS    TRUMPETER.  ZOO 


it  is,'  sais  they,  '  if  one  could  only  under- 
stand it,'  and  off  they  goes,  and  spreads 
out  a  great  roll  of  home-spun  cloth  for 
him  to  walk  on,  and  then  they  form  two 
lines  for  him  to  pass  through  to  the  boat. 
Lord !  when  he  comes  to  the  cloth  he 
stops  agin,  and  stamps  like  a  jackass  when 
the  flies  tease  him,  and  gives  the  cloth 
a  kick  up,  and  wouldn't  walk  on  it,  and 
sais  in  high  Dutch,  in  a  high  Jarman 
voice  too,  '  You  infarnal  fools  ! — you  stu- 
pid blockheads  ! — you  cussed  jackasses ! ' 
and  a  great  deal  more  of  them  pretty 
words,  and  then  walked  on.  '  Oh  dear  !' 
sais  they,  '  only  see  how  he  kicks  the 
cloth  ;  that 's  cause  it 's  homespun.  Oh 
dear!  but  what  does  he  say?'  sais  they. 
Well,  Loyalist  felt  stumpt ;  he  knew  some 
screw  was  loose  with  the  Prince  by  the 
way  he  shook  his  fist,  but  what  he 
couldn't  tell ;  but  as  he  had  begun  to  lie 
he  had  to  go  knee  deep  into  it,  and  push 


256*  THE    DUKE    OF   KENT 

on.  '  He  sais,  he  hopes  he  may  die  this 
blessed  minit  if  he  wont  tell  his  father,  the 
old  King,  when  he  returns  to  home,  how 
well  you  have  behaved,'  sais  he,  '  and 
that  it 's  a  pity  to  soil  such  beautiful 
cloth.'  '  Oh  !'  sais  they, '  was  that  it? '  we 
was  afraid  somethin'  or  another  had  gone 
wrong;  come,  let's  give  three  cheers  for 
the  Prince's  Most  Excellent  Majesty,'  and 
they  made  the  woods  and  the  river  ring 
agin.  Oh,  how  mad  Kissenkirk  was ! 
he  expected  the  Prince  would  tie  him  up 
and  give  him  five  hundred  lashes  for  his 
impedence  in  representin'  of  him.  Oh ! 
he  was  ready  to  bust  with  rage  and  vexa- 
tion. He  darsn't  strike  any  one,  or  he 
would  have  given  'em  a  slap  with  the 
horn  in  a  moment,  he  was  so  wrathy. 
So  what  does  he  do  as  they  was  holdin' 
the  boat,  but  ups  trumpet  and  blew  a 
blast  in  the  Gustos'  ear,  all  of  a  sudden, 
that  left  him  hard  of  hearin'  on  that  side 


AND   HIS    TRUMPETER.  257 

for  a  month ;  and  be  sais  in  high  Dutch, 
'  Tunder  and  blitzen  !  Take  that,  you 
old  fool ;  I  wish  I  could  blow  you  into  the 
river.'  Well,  they  rowed  him  over  the 
river,  and  then  formed  agin  two  lines, 
and  Kissenkirk  passed  up  atween  'em  as 
sulky  as  a  bear ;  and  then  he  put  his  hand 
in  his  pocket,  and  took  out  somethin',  and 
held  it  out  to  Gustos,  who  dropt  right 
down  on  his  knee  in  a  minit,  and 
received  it,  and  it  was  a  fourpenny  bit. 
Then  Kissinkirk  waved  his  hand  to  them 
to  be  off  quick-stick,  and  muttered  agin 
somethin'  which  Loyalist  said  was  *  Go 
across  agin  and  wait  for  my  sarvants,' 
which  they  did. .  '  Oh !'  sais  the  magis- 
trates to  Gustos,  as  they  was  a-goin'  back 
agin,  '  how  could  you  take  pay,  squire  ? 
How  could  you  receive  money  from 
Prince  ?  Our  county  is  disgraced  for 
ever.  You  have  made  us  feel  as  mean 
as  Ingians.'     '  I  wouldn't  have  taken  it  if 


258  THE    DUKE   OF    KENT 

it  had  been  worth  anythin,'  sais  Gustos, 
'  but  didn't  you  see  his  delicacy ;  he  knowed 
that  too,  as  well  as  I  did,  so  he  offered  me 
a  fourpenny  bit,  as  much  as  to  say,  You 
are  above  all  pay,  but  accept  the  smal- 
lest thing  possible,  as  a  keepsake  from 
King's  son.'  '  Those  were  his  very  words,' 
sais  loyalist ;  '  I  '11  swear  to  'em,  the  very 
identical  ones.'  '  I  thought  so,'  sais  Gus- 
tos, looking  big.  '  I  hope  1  know  what 
is  due  to  his  Majesty's  Royal  Highness, 
and  what  is  due  to  me,  also,  as  Gustos  of 
this  county.'  And  he  drew  himself  up 
stately,  and  said  nothin',  and  looked  as 
wise  as  the  owl  who  had  been  studyin'  a 
speech  for  five  years,  and  intended  to 
speak  it  when  he  got  it  by  heart.  Jist 
then  down  comes  Prince  and  all  his  party, 
galloppin'  like  mad  to  the  ferry,  for  he 
used  to  ride  always  as  if  old  Nick  was 
at  his  heels ;  jist  like  a  streak  of  lightnin'. 
So  up   goes  the  Gustos  to   prince,   quite 


AND    HIS   TRUMPETER.  259 

free  and  easy,  without  so  much  as  touchin' 
his   hat,    or  givin'  him  the  time  o'  clay. 
'  What  the  plague  kept  you  so  long?'  sais 
he  ;  '  your  master  has  been  waitin'  for  you 
this  half-hour.     Come,  bear  a  hand,  the 
Prince  is  all   alone  over  there.'     It  was 
some  time  afore  Prince  made  out  what  he 
meant ;  but  when  he  did,  if  he  didn't  let 
go  it 's  a  pity.     He  almost  upsot  the  boat, 
he   larfed    so    obstreperous.      One    squall 
o'  larfin'  was  hardly  over   afore   another 
come  on.     Oh,  it  was  a  tempestical  time, 
you   may    depend ;    and    when   he  'd   got 
over  one  fit  of  it,  he  'd  say,  '  Only  think 
of  them   takin'   old  Kissinkirk   for  me  !' 
and  he  'd  larf  agin  ready  to  split.     Kissin- 
kirk was  frightened   to   death ;  he  didn't 
know  how  Prince  would  take  it,  or  what 
he  would  do,  for  he  Avas  an  awful  strict 
officer ;    but  when  he    seed  him   larf  so 
he  knowed  all  was  right.     Poor  old  Kis- 
sinkirk !  the  last  time  I  seed  him  was  to 


260  THE    DUKE   OF    KENT. 

Windsor.  He  lived  in  a  farm-house 
there,  on  charity.  He  'd  larnt  a  little 
English,  though  not  much.  It  was  him 
told  me  the  story;  and  when  he  wound 
it  up,  he  sais,  *  It  tante  always  sho  shafe, 
Mishter  Shlick,  to  be  your  own  drum- 
peter  ;'  and  I  '11  tell  you  what,  Minister, 
I  am  of  the  same  ojiinion  with  the  old 
bugler.  It  is  not  always  safe  to  be  one's 
own  trumpeter,  and  that 's  a  fact." 


REPEAL. 


261 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


Ever  since  we  have  been  in  London 
we  have  taken  "  The  Times  "  and  "  The 
Morning  Chronicle,"  so  as  to  have  before 
us  both  sides  of  every  question.  This  morn- 
ing, these  papers  were,  as  usual,  laid  on 
the  breakfast  table ;  and  Mr.  Slick,  after 
dancinff  at  their  contents,  turned  to  Mr. 
Hopewell,  and  said,  "  Minister,  what's  your 
opinion  of  O'Connell's  proceedings?  What 
do  you  think  of  him  V 

"I  think  differently  from  most  men, 
Sam,"  he  said  ;  "  I  neither  join  in  the  un- 
qualified praise  of  his  friends,  nor  in  the 
wholesale  abuse  of  his  enemies,  for  there 


262  REPEAL. 

is  much  to  approve  and  much  to  censure 
in  him.  He  has  done,  perhaps,  as  much 
good  and  as  much  harm  to  Ireland  as  her 
best  friend  or  her  worst  enemy.  I  am 
an  old  man  now,  daily  treading  on  the 
confines  of  the  grave,  and  not  knowing 
the  moment  the  ground  may  sink  under 
me  and  precipitate  me  into  it.  I  look, 
therefore,  on  all  human  things  with  calm- 
ness and  impartiality,  and  besides  being 
an  American  and  a  Republican,  I  have 
no  direct  interest  in  the  man's  success  or 
failure,  farther  than  they  may  affect  the 
happiness  of  the  great  human  family. 
Looking  at  the  struggle,  therefore,  as  from 
an  eminence,  a  mere  spectator,  I  can  see 
the  errors  of  both  sides,  as  clearly  as  a  by- 
stander does  those  of  two  competitors  at  a 
game  of  chess.  My  eyesight,  however, 
is  dim,  and  I  find  I  cannot  trust  to  the 
report  of  others.  Party  spirit  runs  so 
high  in   Ireland,    it  is   difficult  to  ascer- 


REPEAL.  263 

tain  the  truth  of  anything.  Facts  are 
sometimes  invented,  often  distorted,  and 
always  magnified.  No  man  either  thinks 
kindly  or  speaks  temperately  of  another, 
but  a  deadly  animosity  has  superseded 
Christian  charity  in  that  unhappy  land. 
We  must  not  trust  to  the  opinions  of 
others,  therefore,  but  endeavour  to  form 
our  own.  Now,  he  is  charged  with  being 
a  Roman  Catholic.  The  answer  to  this  is, 
he  has  a  right  to  be  one  if  he  chooses — as 
much  right  as  I  have  to  be  a  Churchman ; 
that  if  I  differ  from  him  on  some  points, 
I  concur  with  him  in  more,  and  only  grieve 
we  cannot  agree  in  all ;  and  that  whatever 
objections  I  have  to  his  Church,  I  have  a 
thousand  times  more  respect  for  it  than  I 
have  for  a  thousand  dissenting  political 
sects,  that  disfigure  and  degrade  the  Chris- 
tian world.  Then  they  say,  '  Oh,  yes,  but 
he  is  a  bigoted  Papist !'  Well,  if  they 
have  nothing  worse   than   this  to  allege 


264  REPEAL. 

against  him,  it  don't  amount  to  much. 
Bigotry  means  an  unusual  devotion,  and 
an  extraordinary  attachment  to  one's 
church.  I  don't  see  how  a  sincere  and 
zealous  man  can  be  otherwise  than  bi- 
ofoted.  It  would  be  well  if  he  were  imi- 
tated  in  this  respect  by  Protestants.  In- 
stead of  joining  schismatics  and  sectarians, 
a  little  more  bigoted  attachment  to  our 
excellent  Mother  Church  would  be  safer 
and  more  respectable  for  them,  and  more 
conducive  to  the  interests  of  true  religion. 
But  the  great  charge  is,  he  is  an  Agitator ; 
now  I  don't  like  agitation  even  in  a  good 
cause.  It  is  easy  to  open  flood-gates,  but 
always  difficult,  and  sometimes  impossible, 
to  close  them  again.  No ;  I  do  not  like 
asfitation.  It  is  a  fearful  word.  But  if 
ever  there  was  a  man  justified  in  resorting 
to  it,  which  I  doubt,  it  was  O'Connell. 
A  Romish  Catholic  by  birth,  and,  if  you 
will  have  it,  a  bigoted  one  by  education. 


REPEAL.  265 

he  saw  his  countrymen  labouring  under 
disabilities   on   account  of  their   faith, — 
what  could  be  more  natural  for  him  than 
to  suppose  that  he  was  serving  both  God 
and   his   country,    by  freeing  his  Church 
from  its  distinctive  and  degrading  badge, 
and    elevating    Irishmen    to    a    political 
equality  with  Englishmen.     The  blessings 
of  the  priesthood,  and  the  gratitude  of  the 
people,  hailed  him  wherever  he  went ;  and 
when  he  attained  the  victory,  and  wrested 
the  concession  from  him  who  wrested  the 
sceptre    from    Napoleon,   he   earned    the 
title,  which  he  has  since  worn,   of  'the 
Liberator,''      What  a  noble  and  elevated 
position   he    then    stood   in !     But,   Sam, 
agitation  is  progressive.     The  impetus  of 
his  onward  course  was  too  great  to   suffer 
him  to  rest,  and  the  '  Liberator'  has  sunk 
again  into  the  Agitator,  without  the  sanc- 
tity of  the  cause  to  justify,  or  the  approval 
of  mankind  to  reward  him.     Had  he  then 
VOL.  I.  N 


266  REPEAL. 

paused  for  a  moment,  even  for  a  moment, 
■when  he  gained  emancipation,  and  looked 
around  him,  what  a  prospect  lay  before 
him  which  ever  way  he  turned,  for  diffus- 
ing peace  and  happiness  over  Ireland ! 
Having  secured  an  equality  of  political 
rights  to  his  countrymen,  and  elevated  the 
position  of  the  peasantry, — had  he  then 
endeavoured  to  secure  the  rights  of  the 
landlord,  and  revive  the  sympathy  between 
them  and  their  tenants,  which  agitation 
had  extinguished; — had  he,  by  suppress- 
ing crime  and  outrage,  rendered  it  safe  for 
absentees  to  return,  or  for  capital  to  flow 
into  his  impoverished  country, — had  he 
looked  into  the  future  for  images  of  do- 
mestic comfort  and  tranquillity  to  delight 
the  imagination,  instead  of  resorting  to 
the  dark  vistas  of  the  past  for  scenes  of 
oppression  and  violence  to  inflame  the 
passions  of  his  countrymen, — had  he  held 
out  the  right  hand  of  fellowship  to  his 


REPEAL.  267 

Protestant  brethren,  and  invited  and  in- 
duced them  to  live  in  the  unity  of  love 
and  the  bonds  of  peace  with  their  Romish 
neighbours,  his  second  victory  would  have 
surpassed  the  first,  and  the  stern  Liberator 
would  have  been  again  crowned  amid  the 
benedictions  of  all,  as  '  the  Father'  of  his 
country.  But,  alas !  agitation  has  no 
tranquil  eddies  to  repose  in ;  it  rides  on 
the  billow  and  the  tempest,  and  lives  but 
on  the  troubled  waters  of  the  deep. 

"  Instead  of  this  happy  condition,  what 
is  now  the  state  of  Ireland  ?  The  land- 
lord flies  in  alarm  from  a  home  that  is 
no  longer  safe  from  the  midnight  ma- 
rauder. The  capitalist  refuses  to  open 
his  purse  to  develope  the  resources  of  a 
country,  that  is  threatened  with  a  civil 
war.  Men  of  different  creeds  pass  each 
other  with  looks  of  defiance,  and  with 
that  stern  silence  that  marks  the  fixed 
resolve,  to  '  do  or  die.'     The  Government, 

N  '2 


268  REPEAL. 

instead  of  being  able  to  ameliorate  the 
condition  of  the  poor,  is  engaged  in  gar- 
risoning its  forts,  supplying  its  arsenals, 
and  preparing  for  war ;  while  the  poor 
deluded  people  are  drawn  away  from  their 
peaceful  and  honest  pursuits,  to  assemble 
in  large  bodies,  that  they  may  be  in- 
flamed by  seditious  speeches,  and  derive 
fresh  confidence  from  the  strength  or 
impunity  of  numbers. 

"  May  God  of  his  infinite  goodness  have 
mercy  on  the  author  of  all  these  evils, 
and  so  purify  his  heart  from  the  mistaken 
motives  that  now  urge  him  onwards  in 
his  unhappy  course,  that  he  may  turn 
and  repent  him  of  his  evil  way,  while 
return  is  yet  practicable,  and  repentance 
not  too  late  ! 

"  Now,  what  is  all  this  excitement  to 
lead  to  ?  A  Repeal  of  the  Union  ?  what 
is  that  ?  Is  it  independence,  or  is  it 
merely  a  demand  for  a  dependant  local 


REPEAL.  269 

legislature?  If  it  is  independence,  look 
into  futurity,  and  behold  the  state  of 
Ireland  at  the  end  of  a  few  years.  You 
see  that  the  Protestants  of  the  North 
have  driven  out  all  of  the  opposite  faith, 
and  that  the  Catholics,  on  their  part, 
have  exiled  or  exterminated  all  the  he- 
retics from  the  South.  You  behold  a 
Chinese  wall  of  separation  running  across 
the  island,  and  two  independent,  petty, 
separate  States,  holding  but  little  inter- 
course, and  hating  each  other  with  an 
intensity  only  to  be  equalled  by  tribes 
of  savages.  And  how  is  this  unhappy 
condition  to  be  attained?  By  a  cruel, 
a  wicked,  and  a  merciless  civil  war,  for 
no  war  is  so  bloody  as  a  domestic  one, 
especially  where  religion,  terrified  at  its 
horrors,  flies  from  the  country  in  alarm, 
and  the  banner  of  the  Cross  is  torn  from 
the  altar  to  be  desecrated  in  the  battle- 
field.    Sam,   I   have   seen  one,  may  my 


270  REPEAL. 

eyes  never  behold  another.  No  tongue 
can  tell,  no  pen  describe,  no  imagination 
conceive  its  horrors.  Even  now,  after  the 
lapse  of  half  a  century,  I  shudder  at  the 
recollection  of  it.  If  it  be  not  indepen- 
dence that  is  sought,  but  a  local  legis- 
lature, then  Ireland  descends  from  an  in- 
tegral part  of  the  empire  into  a  colony, 
and  the  social  position  of  the  people  is 
deteriorated.  Our  friend,  the  Squire,  who, 
at  this  moment,  is  what  O'Connell  de- 
sires to  be,  a  colonist,  is  labouring  in- 
cessantly to  confirm  and  strengthen  the 
connexion  of  the  possessions  abroad  with 
England,  to  break  down  all  distinctions, 
to  procure  for  his  countrymen  equal  rights 
and  privileges,  and  either  to  abolish  that 
word  '  English,'  and  substitute  '  British,' 
or  to  obliterate  the  term  'Colonial,'  and 
extend  the  generic  term  of  English  to  all. 
He  is  demanding  a  closer  and  more  in- 
timate connexion,  and  instead  of  exclud- 


REPEAL.  271 

ing  Colonists  from  Parliament,  is  anxious 
for  them  to  be  represented  there.  In 
so  doing  he  evinces  both  his  patriotism 
and  his  loyalty.  O'Connell,  on  the  con- 
trary, is  struggling  to  revive  the  distinc- 
tion of  races,  to  awaken  the  hostility  of 
separate  creeds,  to  dissolve  the  Political 
Union.  If  he  effects  his  purpose,  he 
merely  weakens  England,  but  he  ruins 
Ireland.  This  line  of  conduct  may  ori- 
ginate in  his  bigotry,  and  probably  it  does, 
but  vanity,  temper,  and  the  rent,  are  ne- 
vertheless to  be  found  at  the  bottom  of 
this  boiling  cauldron  of  agitation. 

"  Oh !  that  some  Father  Matthew  would 
arise,  some  pious  priest,  some  holy  bishop, 
some  worthy  man,  (for  they  have  many 
excellent  clergymen,  learned  prelates,  and 
great  and  good  men  in  their  Church,) 
and  staff  in  hand,  like  a  pilgrim  of  old, 
preach  up  good  will  to  man,  peace  on 
earth,  and  Unity  of  Spirit.    Even  yet  the 


272  REPEAL. 

struggle  might  be  avoided,  if  the  good 
would  act  wisely,  and  the  wise  act  firmly. 
Even  now  O'Connell,  if  he  would  adopt 
this  course,  and  substitute  conciliation  for 
agitation,  (for  hitherto  conciliation  has 
been  all  on  the  other  side,)  would  soon 
have  the  gratification  to  see  his  country 
prosperous  and  happy.  While  those  who 
now  admire  his  talents,  though  they  de- 
precate his  conduct,  would  gladly  unite 
in  acknowledging  the  merits,  and  heap- 
ing honours  on  the  '  Pacificator  of  all 
Ireland.'  No,  my  friends,  so  far  from 
desiring  to  see  the  Union  dissolved,  as 
a  philanthropist  and  a  Christian,  and  as 
a  politician,  I  say,  '  Esto  Perpetua.'  " 


THE    HORSE    STEALER.  273 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


THE    HORSE    STEALER,    OR    ALL    TRADES    HAVE    TRICKS    BUT 
OUR    OWN. 


After  dinner  to-day  the  conversation 
turned  upon  the  treaties  existing  between 
England  and  the  United  States,  and  I 
expressed  my  regret  that  in  all,  the  Ame- 
ricans had  a  decided  advantage. 

"Well,  I  won't  say  Ave  hante,"  said 
Mr.  Slick.  "  The  truth  is,  we  do  under- 
stand diplomacy,  that 's  a  fact.  Treaties, 
you  see,  are  bargains,  and  a  feller  would 
be  a  fool  to  make  a  bad  bargain,  and  if 
there  aint  no  rael  cheatin'  in  it,  why  a 
man  has  a  right  to  make  as  good  a  one 
as    he    can.     We    got    the    best   of  the 

n5 


274  THE    HORSE    STEALER. 

Boundary  Line,  that's  a  fact,  but  then 
Webster  aint  a  erittur  that  looks  as  if 
the  yeast  was  left  out  of  him  by  mis- 
take, he  aint  quite  as  soft  as  dough,  and 
he  aint  onderbaked  nother.  Well,  the 
tariff  is  a  good  job  for  us  too,  so  is  the 
fishery  story,  and  the  Oregon  will  be  all 
right  in  the  eend  too.  We  write  our 
clauses,  so  they  bind ;  your  diplomatists 
write  them  so  you  can  drive  a  stage- 
coach and  six  through  'em,  and  not  touch 
the  hobs  on  either  side.  Our  socdo- 
lagers  is  too  deep  for  any  on  'em.  So 
polite,  makes  such  soft-sawder  speeches, 
or  talks  so  big ;  hints  at  a  great  American 
market,  advantages  of  peace,  difficulty  of 
keepin'  our  folks  from  goin'  to  war; 
boast  of  our  old  home,  same  kindred  and 
language,  magnanimity  and  good  faith  of 
England ;  calls  compensation  for  losses 
only  a  little  affair  of  money,  knows  how 
to  word  a  sentence  so  it  will  read  like 


THE   HORSE   STEALER.  275 

a  riddle,  if  you  alter  a  stop,  grand  hand 
at  an  excuse,  gives  an  answer  that  means 
nothing,  dodge  and  come  up  t  'other  side, 
or  dive  so  deep  you  can't  follow  him. 
Yes,  we  have  the  best  of  the  treaty  bu- 
siness, that 's  a  fact.  Lord  !  how  I  have 
often  lahghed  at  that  story  of  Felix  Foyle 
and  the  horse-stealer !  Did  I  ever  tell 
you  that  contrivance  of  his  to  do  the 
Governor  of  Canada  ?" 

"  No,"  I  replied,  "  I  never  heard  of 
it."  He  then  related  the  story,  with  as 
much  glee  as  if  the  moral  delinquency  of 
the  act,  was  excusable  in  a  case  of  such 
ingenuity. 

"  It  beats  all,"  he  said.  "  Felix  Foyle 
lived  in  the  back  part  of  the  State  of 
New  York,  and  carried  on  a  smart  chance 
of  business  in  the  provision  line.  Beef, 
and  pork,  and  flour  was  his  staples,  and 
he  did  a  great  stroke  in  'em.  Perhaps  he 
did  to  the  tune  of  four  hundred  thousand 


276  THE   HORSE  STEALER. 

dollars  a-year,  more  or  less.  Well,  in 
course,  in  such  a  trade  as  that,  he  had 
to  employ  a  good  many  folks,  as  clerks, 
and  salters,  and  agents,  and  what  not, 
and  among  them  was  his  book-keeper, 
Sossipater  Cuddy.  Sossipater  (or  Sassy, 
as  folks  used  to  call  him,  for  he  was  rather 
high  in  the  instep,  and  was  Sassy  by  name 
and  Sassy  by  natur'  too,)  —  well,  Sassy 
was  a  'cute  man,  a  good  judge  of  cattle, 
a  grand  hand  at  a  bargain,  and  a'most  an 
excellent  scholar  at  figures.  He  was  gin- 
erally  allowed  to  be  a  first-rate  business 
man.  Only  to  give  you  an  idee,  now,  of 
that  man's  smartness,  how  ready  and  up 
to  the  notch  he  was  at  all  times,  I  must 
jist  stop  fust,  and  tell  you  the  story  of 
the  cigar. 

"  In  some  of  our  towns  we  don't  allow 
smokin'  in  the  streets,  though  in  most  on 
'em  we  do,  and  where  it  is  agin  law  it  is 
two  dollars  fine  in  a  gineral  way.     Well, 


THE   HORSE    STEALER.  277 

Sassy  went  down  to  Bosten  to  do  a  little 
chore  of  business  there,  where  this  law 
was,  only  he  didn't  know  it.  So,  as  soon 
as  he  gets  off  the  coach,  he  outs  with  his 
case,  takes  a  cigar,  lights  it,  and  walks  on 
smokin'  like  a  furnace  flue.  No  sooner 
said  than  done.  Up  steps  constable,  and 
sais,  '  I  '11  trouble  you  for  two  dollars  for 
smokin'  agin  law  in  the  streets.'  Sassy 
was  as  quick  as  wink  on  him.  '  Smokin'!"" 
sais  he,  'J  warn't  a-smokin\'  '  Oh,  my  \' 
sais  constable,  '  how  you  talk,  man.  I 
won't  say  you  lie,  'cause  it  aint  polite, 
but  it 's  very  like  the  way  I  talk  when 
I  lie.  Didn't  I  see  you  with  my  own 
eyes  ?'  '  No,'  sais  Sassy,  '  you  didn't.  It 
don't  do  always  to  believe  your  own  eyes, 
they  can't  be  depended  on  more  nor  other 
people's.  I  never  trust  mine,  I  can  tell 
you.  I  own  I  had  a  cigar  in  my  mouth, 
but  it  was  because  I  like  the  flavor  of 
the  tobacco,  but  not  to  smoke.     I  take 


278  THE    HORSE   STEALER. 

it  it  don't  convene  with  the  dignity  of  a 
free  and  enlightened  citizen  of  our  al- 
mighty nation  to  break  the  law,  seein' 
that  he  makes  the  law  himself,  and  is 
his  own  sovereign,  and  his  own  subject 
too.  No,  I  warn't  smokin',  and  if  you 
don't  believe  me,  try  this  cigar  yourself, 
and  see  if  it  aint  so.  It  hante  got  no  fire 
in  it."  Well,  constable  takes  the  cigar, 
puts  it  into  his  mug,  and  draws  away  at  it, 
and  out  comes  the  smoke  like  anythin'. 
" '  I'll  trouble  you  for  two  dollars,  Mr. 
High  Sheriff  devil,'  sais  Sassy, '  for  smokin' 
in  the  streets  ;  do  you  underconstand,  my 
old  'coon?'  Well,  constable  was  all  taken 
aback,  he  was  finely  bit.  '  Stranger,'  sais 
he,  '  where  was  you  raised  V  'To  Canady 
line,'  sais  Sassy.'  '  Well,'  sais  he,  '  your  a 
credit  to  your  broghtens  up.  Well,  let 
the  fine  drop,  for  we  are  about  even  I 
guess.  Lets  liquor  ;'  and  he  took  him 
into  a   bar    and  treated  him    to   a  mint 


THE   HORSE    STEALER.  279 

julep.  It  was  ginerally  considered  a  great 
bite  that,  and  I  must  say  I  don't  think  it 
was  bad — do  you?  But  to  get  back  to 
where  I  started  from.  Sassy,  as  I  was 
a-sayin',  was  the  book-keeper  of  old 
Felix  Foyle.  The  old  gentleman  sot 
great  store  by  him,  and  couldn't  do 
without  him,  on  no  account,  he  was  so 
ready  like,  and  always  on  hand.  But 
Sassy  thought  he  could  do  without  him, 
tho\  So,  one  fine  day,  he  absgotilated 
with  four  thousand  dollars  in  his  pocket, 
of  Felix's,  and  cut  dirt  for  Canady  as  hard 
as  he  conld  clip.  Felix  Foyle  was  actilly 
in  a  most  beautiful  frizzle  of  a  fix.  He 
knew  who  he  had  to  deal  with,  and  that 
he  might  as  well  follow  a  fox  a'most  as 
Sassy,  he  was  so  everlastin'  cunnin',  and 
that  the  British  wouldn't  give  up  a  debtor 
to  us,  but  only  felons;  so  he  thought  the 
fust  loss  was  the  best,  and  was  abont  givin' 
it  up  as  a  bad  job,  when  an   idee  struck 


280  THE   HORSE   STEALER. 

him,  and  off  he  started  in  chase  with  all 
steam  on.  Felix  was  the  clear  grit  when 
his  dander  was  up,  and  he  never  slept 
night  or  day  till  he  reached  Canady,  too  ; 
got  on  the  trail  of  Sassy,  and  came  up  to 
where  he  was  airthed  at  Niagara.  When 
he  arrived  it  was  about  noon,  so  as  he 
enters  the  tavern  he  sees  Sassy  standin' 
with  his  face  to  the  fire  and  his  back  to 
the  door,  and  what  does  he  do  but  slip  into 
the  meal-room  and  hide  himself  till  night. 
Jist  as  it  was  dark  in  comes  old  Bambrick, 
the  inn-keeper,  with  a  light  in  his  hand, 
and  Felix  slips  behind  him,  and  shuts 
too  the  door,  and  tells  him  he  whole 
story  from  beginnin'  to  eend ;  how  Sassy 
had  sarved  him  ;  and  lists  the  old  fellow 
in  his  sarvice,  and  off  they  set  to  a  magis- 
trate and  get  out  a  warrant,  and  then  they 
goes  to  the  deputy- sheriff  and  gets  Sassy 
arrested.  Sassy  was  so  taken  aback  he 
was  hardly  able  to  speak  for  the  matter  of 


THE    HORSE    STEALER.  281 

a  minit  or  so,  for  he  never  expected 
Felix  would  follow  him  into  Canady  at 
all,  seein'  that  if  he  oncet  reached  British 
side  he  was  safe.  But  he  soon  come  too 
agin,  so  he  ups  and  bullies.  '  Pray,  sir,' 
sals  he,  '  what  do  you  mean  by  this  ? '  '  No- 
thin'  above  partikelar,'  sais  Felix,  quite 
cool,  only  I  guess  I  want  the  pleasure  of 
your  company  back,  that's  all,'  and  then 
turnin'  to  the  onder  sheriff,  '  Squire/  sais 
he,  '  will  you  take  a  turn  or  two  in  the 
entry,  while  Sassy  and  I  settle  a  little  mat- 
ter of  business  together,'  and  out  goes 
Nab.  '  Mr.  Foyle,'  sais  Sassy,  '  I  have  no 
business  to  settle  with  you — arrest  me,  sir, 
at  your  peril,  and  I'll  action  you  in  law 
for  false  imprisonment.'  '  Where's  my 
money?'  sais  Felix — '  where's  my  four 
thousand  dollars  V  '  What  do  I  know 
about  your  money?'  sais  Sassy.  'Well,' 
sais  Felix,  '  it  is  your  business  to  know, 
and  I   paid   you  as   my  book-keeper   to 


282  THE   HORSE    STEALER. 

know,  and  if  you  don't  know  you  must  jist 
return  with  me  and  find  out,  that's  all — so 
come,  let's  us  be  a-movin'.  Well,  Sassy 
larfed  right  out  in  his  face ;  '  why  you 
cussed  fool,'  sais  he,  '  don't  you  know  I 
can't  be  taken  out  o'  this  colony  State,  but 
only  for  crime,  what  a  rael  soft  horn  you 
be  to  have  done  so  much  business  and  not 
know  that?'  '  I  guess  I  got  a  warrant  that 
will  take  you  out  tho','  sais  Felix — 'read 
that,'  a-handin^  of  the  paper  to  him.  '  Now 
I  shall  swear  to  that  agin,  and  send  it  to 
Governor,  and  down  will  come  the  marchin' 
order  in  quick  stick.  I'm  soft  I  know, 
but  1  aint  sticky  for  all  that,  I  ginerally 
come  off  clear  without  leavin'  no  part  be- 
hind.' The  moment  Sassy  read  the  war- 
rant his  face  fell,  and  the  cold  perspiration 
rose  out  like  rain-drops,  and  his  color  went 
and  came,  and  his  knees  shook  like  any- 
thin'.  '  Hoss-stealin' ! '  sais  he,  aloud  to 
himself  —  '  hoss-stealin' !  —  Heavens   and 


THE    HORSE    STEALER.  283 

airth,  what  parjury  ! !  Why,  Felix,'  sais  he, 
'  you  know  devilish  well  I  never  stole 
your  hoss,  man;  how  could  you  go  and 
swear  to  such  an  infarnal  lie  as  that  ? ' 
'  Why  Tm  nothin'  but  "  a  cussed  fool"  and 
a  "  rael  soft  horn,"  you  know,'  sais  Felix, 
'  as  you  said  jist  now,  and  if  I  had  gone 
and  sworn  to  the  debt,  why  you'd  a  kept 
the  money,  gone  to  jail,  and  swore  out, 
and  I'd  a-had  my  trouble  for  my  pains. 
So  you  see  I  swore  you  stole  my  hoss,  for 
that's  a  crime,  tho'  absquotolative  aint, 
and  that  will  force  the  British  Governor 
to  deliver  you  up,  and  when  I  get  you 
into  New  York  state,  why  you  settle  with 
me  for  my  four  thousand  dollars,  and  I 
will  settle  with  you  for  stealin'  my  hoss,' 
and  he  put  his  finger  to  the  tip  eend  of  his 
nose,  and  winked  and  said,  '  young  folks 
think  old  folks  is  fools,  but  old  folks  know 
young  folks  is  fools.  I  warn't  born  yes- 
terday, and  I  had  my  eye-teeth  sharpened 


284  THE    HORSE   STEALER. 

before  your'n  were  througli  the  gums,  I 
guess — you  liante  got  the  Bosten  con- 
stable to  deal  with  now,  I  can  tell  you,  but 
old  Felix  Foyle  himself,  and  he  aint  so  blind 
but  what  he  can  feel  his  way  along  I  guess 
— do  you  take  my  meanin',  my  young 
'coon?'  '  Tm  sold,'  sais  Sassy,  and  he 
sot  down,  put  both  elbows  on  the  table, 
and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  and 
fairly  cried  like  a  child.  '  I'm  sold,""  sais 
he.  '  Buy  your  pardon,  then,'  sais  Felix, 
*  pay  down  the  four  thousand  dollars 
and  you  are  a  free  and  enlightened 
citizen  once  more.'  Sassy  got  up,  un- 
locked his  portmanter,  and  counted  it 
out  all  in  paper  rolls  jist  as  he  received 
it.  '  There  it  is,'  sais  he,  '  and  I  must 
say  you  desarve  it ;  that  was  a  great 
stroke  of  your'n.'  '  Stop  a  bit,'  sais 
Felix,  seein'  more  money  there,  all  his 
savin's  for  years,  '  we  aint  done  yet, 
I  must   have   500   dollars    for  expenses.' 


THE    HORSE    STEALER.  285 

'  There,  d — n  you,'  sais  Sassy,  throwin' 
another  roll  at  him,  '  there  it  is  ;  are  you 
done  yet  ? '  '  No,'  sais  Felix,  '  not  yet ; 
now  you  have  done  me  justice,  I  must 
do  you  the  same,  and  clear  your  cha- 
racter. Call  in  that  gentleman,  the  con- 
stable, from  the  entry,  and  I  Avill  go  a 
treat  of  half  a  pint  of  brandy. — Mr.  Officer,' 
sais  Felix, — '  here  is  some  mistake,  this 
gentleman  has  convinced  me  he  was 
only  follerin',  as  my  clerk,  a  debtor  of 
mine  here,  and  when  he  transacts  his 
business,  will  return,  havin'  left  his  hoss 
at  the  lines,  where  I  can  get  him  if 
I  choose ;  and  I  must  say  I  am  glad 
on't  for  the  credit  of  the  nation  abroad. 
Fill  your  glass,  here's  a  five  dollar  bill  for 
your  fees,  and  here's  to  your  good  health. 
If  you  want  provision  to  ship  off  in  the 
way  of  trade,  I'm  Felix  Foyle,  and  shall 
be  happy  to  accommodate  you.' 

"  Now,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  "  that  is  what 


286  THE    HORSE    STEALER. 

I  call  a  rael  clever  trick,  a  great  card 
that,  warn't  it  ?  He  desarves  credit,  does 
Felix,  it  aint  every  one  would  a-been 
up   to    trap   that  way,  is  it  ? " 

"  Sam,"  said  his  father,  rising  with 
great  dignity  and  formality  of  manner, 
"  was  that  man,  Felix  Foyle,  ever  a 
military  man?" 

"  No,  sir ;  he  never  had  a  commission, 
even   in   the  militia,  as   I   knows   on." 

"  I  thought  not,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  no 
man,  that  had  seen  miliary  life,  could 
ever  tell  a  lie,  much  less  take  a  false 
oath.  That  feller,  sir,  is  a  villain,  and 
I  wish  Washington  and  I  had  him  to 
the  halberts;  by  the  'tarnal,  we'd  teach 
him  to  disgrace  our  great  name  before 
those  benidited  colonists.  A  liar,  sir ! 
as  Doctor  Franklin  said,  (the  great  Doctor 
Franklin,  him  that  burn't  up  two  forts 
of  the  British  in  the  revolution  war, 
by  bringin'  down    lightnin'  on  'em   from 


THE    HORSE    STEALER.  287 

Heaven  by  a  wire  string,) — a  liar,  sir ! 
Show  me  a  liar,  and  I  '11  show  you  a 
thief." 

"  What  was  he  ?"   said  Mr.  Hopewell. 

"  A  raarchant  in  the  provision  line,'" 
said  the  Attache. 

"  No,  no ;  I  didn't  mean  that,"  he  re- 
plied.    "  What  sect  did  he  belong  to  ? " 

"  Oh  !  now  I  onderstand.  Oh  !  a  wet 
Quaker  to  be  sure,  they  are  the  'cutest 
people  its  ginerally  allowed  we  have  in 
all   our   nation." 

"Ah!"  said  the  Minister,  "I  was  cer- 
tain he  was  not  brought  up  in  the  Church. 
We  teach  morals  as  well  as  doctrines,  and 
endeavour  to  make  our  people  exhibit 
the  soundness  of  the  one  by  the  purity 
of  the  other.  I  felt  assured,  either  that 
he  could  not  be  a  churchman,  or  that 
his  parish  minister  must  have  grossly 
and  wickedly  neglected  his  duty  in  not 
inculcating   better    principles."  * 


288  THE    HORSE   STEALER. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Slick,  with  a  very 
significant  laugh,  "  and  he  warn't  a  clock- 
maker,  nother." 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  his  father,  gravely, 
"  I  hope  not,  Sam.  Some  on  'em,"  (look- 
ing steadily  at  his  son,)  "  some  on  'em 
are  so  iley  and  slippery,  they  do  squeeze 
between  a  truth  and  a  lie  so,  you  wonder 
how  it  was  ever  possible  for  mortal  man 
to  go  thro',  but  for  the  honor  of  the  clock- 
makers,  I  hope  he  warn't  one." 

"No,"'  said  Mr.  Slick,  "he  warn't,  I 
assure  you.  But  you  Father,  and  Mi- 
nister, and  me,  are  all  pretty  much  tarred 
with  the  same  stick,  I  guess  — we  all 
think,  all  trades  hare  tricks  hut  our  own.''' 


END    OF    THE   FIRST  VOLUME. 


London; 
Printed  by  S.  &  J.  Bentley,  Wilson,  and  Fley, 
Bangor  House,  Shoe  Lane. 


* . 


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