"With a deficiency that made the nation scratch their head, and stare
agin."

"I could go through the details with you, as far as my imperfect
information extends, or more imperfect memory would let me; but it
is all the same, and always will be, here, in France, with us, in the
colonies, and everywhere else. Whenever property, talent, and virtue are
all on one side, and only ignorant numbers, with a mere sprinkling of
property and talent to agitate 'em and make use of 'em, or misinformed
or mistaken virtue to sanction 'em on the other side, no honest man can
take long to deliberate which side he will choose.

"As to those conservatives, I don't know what to say, Sam; I should like
to put you right if I could. But I'll tell you what puzzles me. I ask
myself what is a Tory? I find he is a man who goes the whole figur' for
the support of the monarchy, in its three orders, of king, lords, and
commons, as by law established; that he is for the connexion of Church
and State and so on; and that as the wealthiest man in England, he
offers to prove his sincerity, by paying the greatest part of the taxes
to uphold these things. Well, then I ask what is Consarvitism? I am told
that it means, what it imports, a conservation of things as they are.
Where, then, is the difference? _If there is no difference, it is a mere
juggle to change the name: if there is a difference, the word is worse
than a juggle, for it don't import any_."

"Tell you what," said Mr. Slick, "I heerd an old critter to Halifax once
describe 'em beautiful. He said he could tell a man's politicks by his
shirt. 'A Tory, Sir,' said he, for he was a pompious old boy was old
Blue-Nose; 'a Tory, Sir,' said he, 'is a gentleman every inch of him,
stock, lock, and barrel; and he puts a clean frill shirt on every day.
A Whig, Sir,' says he, 'is a gentleman every other inch of him, and
he puts an onfrilled one on every other day. A Radical, Sir, ain't no
gentleman at all, and he only puts one on of a Sunday. But a Chartist,
Sir, is a loafer; he never puts one on till the old one won't hold
together no longer, and drops off in, pieces.'"

"Pooh!" said Mr. Hopewell, "now don't talk nonsense; but as I was
a-goin' to say, I am a plain man, and a straightforward man, Sam; what I
say, I mean; and what I mean, I say. Private and public life are subject
to the same rules; and truth and manliness are two qualities that
will carry you through this world much better than policy, or tact,
or expediency, or any other word that ever was devised to conceal, or
mystify a deviation from the straight line. They have a sartificate of
character, these consarvitives, in having the support of the Tories; but
that don't quite satisfy me. It may, perhaps, mean no more than this,
arter all--they are the best sarvants we have; but not as good as we
want. However, I shall know more about it soon; and when I do, I will
give you my opinion candidly. One thing, however, is certain, a change
in the institutions of a country I could accede to, approve, and
support, if necessary and good; but I never can approve of either an
individual or a party--'_changing a name_.'"

CHAPTER X. THE NELSON MONUMENT.

The following day being dry, we walked out to view the wonders of this
great commercial city of England, Liverpool. The side-paths were filled
with an active and busy population, and the main streets thronged with
heavily-laden waggons, conveying to the docks the manufactures of the
country, or carrying inward the productions of foreign nations. It was
an animating and busy scene.

"This," said Mr. Hopewell, "is solitude. It is in a place like this,
that you feel yourself to be an isolated being, when you are surrounded
by multitudes who have no sympathy with you, to whom you are not only
wholly unknown, but not one of whom you have ever seen before.

"The solitude of the vast American forest is not equal to this.
Encompassed by the great objects of nature, you recognise nature's God
every where; you feel his presence, and rely on his protection. Every
thing in a city is artificial, the predominant idea is man; and man,
under circumstances like the present, is neither your friend nor
protector. You form no part of the social system here. Gregarious by
nature, you cannot associate; dependent, you cannot attach yourself; a
rational being, you cannot interchange ideas. In seeking the wilderness
you enter the abode of solitude, and are naturally and voluntarily
alone. On visiting a city, on the contrary, you enter the residence of
man, and if you are forced into isolation there, to you it is worse than
a desert.

"I know of nothing so depressing as this feeling of unconnected
individuality, amidst a dense population like this. But, my friend,
there is One who never forsakes us either in the throng or the
wilderness, whose ear is always open to our petitions, and who has
invited us to rely on his goodness and mercy."

"You hadn't ought to feel lonely here, Minister," said Mr. Slick. "It's
a place we have a right to boast of is Liverpool; we built it, and I'll
tell you what it is, to build two such cities as New York and Liverpool
in the short time we did, is sunthin' to brag of. If there had been no
New York, there would have been no Liverpool; but if there had been no
Liverpool, there would have been a New York though. They couldn't do
nothin' without us. We had to build them elegant line-packets for 'em;
they couldn't build one that could sail, and if she sail'd she couldn't
steer, and if she sail'd and steer'd, she upsot; there was always a
screw loose somewhere.

"It cost us a great deal too to build them ere great docks. They cover
about seventy acres, I reckon. We have to pay heavy port dues to keep
'em up, and pay interest on capital. The worst of it is, too, while we
pay for all this, we hante got the direction of the works."

"If you have paid for all these things," said I, "you had better
lay claim to Liverpool. Like the disputed territory (to which it now
appears, you knew you had no legal or equitable claim), it is probable
you will have half of it ceded to you, for the purpose of conciliation.
I admire this boast of yours uncommonly. It reminds me of the
conversation we had some years ago, about the device on your "naval
button," of the eagle holding an anchor in its claws--that national
emblem of ill-directed ambition and vulgar pretension."

"I thank you for that hint," said Mr. Slick, "I was in jeest like; but
there is more in it, for all that, than you'd think. It ain't literal
fact, but it is figurative truth. But now I'll shew you sunthin' in
this town, that's as false as parjury, sunthin that's a disgrace to this
country and an insult to our great nation, and there is no jeest in it
nother, but a downright lie; and, since you go for to throw up to me our
naval button with its 'eagle and anchor,' I'll point out to you sunthin'
a hundred thousand million times wus. What was the name o' that English
admiral folks made such a touss about; that cripple-gaited, one-eyed,
one-armed little naval critter?"

"Do you mean Lord Nelson?"

"I do," said he, and pointing to his monument, he continued, "There
he is as big as life, five feet nothin', with his shoes on. Now examine
that monument, and tell me if the English don't know how to brag, as
well as some other folks, and whether they don't brag too sumtimes, when
they hante got no right to. There is four figures there a representing
the four quarters of the globe in chains, and among them America, a
crouchin' down, and a-beggin' for life, like a mean heathen Ingin. Well,
jist do the civil now, and tell me when that little braggin' feller ever
whipped us, will you? Just tell me the day of the year he was ever able
to do it, since his mammy cut the apron string and let him run to seek
his fortin'. Heavens and airth, we'd a chawed him right up!

"No, there never was an officer among you, that had any thing to brag
of about us but one, and he wasn't a Britisher--he was a despisable
Blue-nose colonist boy of Halifax. When his captain was took below
wounded, he was leftenant, so he jist ups and takes command o' the
Shannon, and fit like a tiger and took our splendid frigate the
Chesapeake, and that was sumthing to brag on. And what did he get for
it? Why colony sarce, half-pay, and leave to make room for Englishers
to go over his head; and here is a lyin' false monument, erected to this
man that never even see'd one of our national ships, much less smelt
thunder and lightning out of one, that English like, has got this for
what he didn't do.

"I am sorry Mr. Lett [Footnote: This was the man that blew up the Brock
monument in Canada. _He was a Patriot_.] is dead to Canada, or I'd give
him a hint about this. I'd say, 'I hope none of our free and enlightened
citizens will blow this lyin', swaggerin', bullyin' monument up? I
should be sorry for 'em to take notice of such vulgar insolence as this;
for bullies will brag.' He'd wink and say, 'I won't non-concur with you,
Mr. Slick. I hope it won't be blowed up; but wishes like dreams come
con_trary_ ways sometimes, and I shouldn't much wonder if it bragged
till it bust some night.' It would go for it, that's a fact. For Mr.
Lett has a kind of nateral genius for blowin' up of monuments.

"Now you talk of our Eagle takin' an anchor in its claws as bad taste.
I won't say it isn't; but it is a nation sight better nor this. See what
the little admiral critter is about! why he is a stampin' and a jabbin'
of the iron heel of his boot into the lifeless body of a fallen foe!
It's horrid disgustin', and ain't overly brave nother; and to make
matters wus, as if this warn't bad enough, them four emblem figures,
have great heavy iron chains on 'em, and a great enormous sneezer of
a lion has one part o' the chain in its mouth, and is a-growlin' and
a-grinnin' and a-snarling at 'em like mad, as much as to say, 'if you
dare to move the sixteen hundredth part of an inch, I will fall to and
make mincemeat of you, in less than half no time. I don't think there
never was nothin' so bad as this, ever seen since the days of old daddy
Adam down to this present blessed day, I don't indeed. So don't come for
to go, Squire, to tarnt me with the Eagle and the anchor no more, for I
don't like it a bit; you'd better look to your '_Nelson monument_' and
let us alone. So come now!"

Amidst much that was coarse, and more that was exaggerated, there was
still some foundation for the remarks of the Attache.

"You arrogate a little too much to yourselves," I observed, "in
considering the United States as all America. At the time these
brilliant deeds were achieved, which this monument is intended to
commemorate, the Spaniards owned a very much greater portion of the
transatlantic continent than you now do, and their navy composed a part
of the hostile fleets which were destroyed by Lord Nelson. At that time,
also, you had no navy, or at all events, so few ships, as scarcely
to deserve the name of one; nor had you won for yourselves that high
character, which you now so justly enjoy, for skill and gallantry. I
agree with you, however, in thinking the monument is in bad taste. The
name of Lord Nelson is its own monument. It will survive when these
perishable structures, which the pride or the gratitude of his
countrymen have erected to perpetuate his fame, shall have mouldered
into dust, and been forgotten for ever. If visible objects are thought
necessary to suggest the mention of his name oftener that it would
otherwise occur to the mind, they should be such as to improve the
taste, as well as awaken the patriotism of the beholder. As an American,
there is nothing to which you have a right to object, but as a critic,
I admit that there is much that you cannot approve in the '_Nelson
Monument_.'"

CHAPTER XI. COTTAGES.

On the tenth day after we landed at Liverpool, we arrived in London and
settled ourselves very comfortably in lodgings at No. 202, Piccadilly,
where every possible attention was paid to us by our landlord and his
wife, Mr. and Mrs. Weeks. We performed the journey in a post-chaise,
fearing that the rapid motion of a rail car might have an unpleasant
effect upon the health of Mr. Hope well.

Of the little incidents of travel that occurred to us, or of the various
objects of attraction on the route, it is not my intention to give
any account. Our journey was doubtless much like the journeys of other
people, and every thing of local interest is to be found in Guide Books,
or topographical works, which are within the reach of every body.

This book, however imperfect its execution may be, is altogether of
another kind. I shall therefore pass over this and other subsequent
journeys, with no other remark, than that they were performed, until
something shall occur illustrative of the objects I have in view.

On this occasion I shall select from my diary a description of the
labourer's cottage, and the parish church; because the one shews the
habits, tastes, and condition of the poor of this country, in contrast
with that of America--and the other, the relative means of religious
instruction, and its effect on the lower orders.

On the Saturday morning, while preparing to resume our journey, which
was now nearly half completed, Mr. Hopewell expressed a desire to remain
at the inn where we were, until the following Monday. As the day was
fine, he said he should like to ramble about the neighbourhood, and
enjoy the fresh air. His attention was soon drawn to some very beautiful
new cottages.

"These," said he, "are no doubt erected at the expense, and for the
gratification of some great landed proprietor. They are not the abodes
of ordinary labourers, but designed for some favoured dependant or aged
servant. They are expensive toys, but still they are not without their
use. They diffuse a taste among the peasantry--they present them with
models, which, though they cannot imitate in costliness of material or
finish, they can copy in arrangement, and in that sort of decoration,
which flowers, and vines, and culture, and care can give. Let us seek
one which is peculiarly the poor man's cottage, and let us go in and see
who and what they are, how they live, and above all, how they think and
talk. Here is a lane, let us follow it, till we come to a habitation."

We turned into a grass road, bounded on either side by a high straggling
thorn hedge. At its termination was an irregular cottage with a thatched
roof, which projected over the windows in front. The latter were
latticed with diamond-shaped panes of glass, and were four in number,
one on each side of the door and two just under the roof. The door was
made of two transverse parts, the upper half of which was open. On one
side was a basket-like cage containing a magpie, and on the other, a
cat lay extended on a bench, dozing in the warmth of the sun. The blue
smoke, curling upwards from a crooked chimney, afforded proof of some
one being within.

We therefore opened a little gate, and proceeded through a neat garden,
in which flowers and vegetables were intermixed. It had a gay appearance
from the pear, apple, thorn and cherry being all in full bloom. We were
received at the door by a middle-aged woman, with the ruddy glow of
health on her cheeks, and dressed in coarse, plain, but remarkably neat
and suitable, attire. As this was a cottage selected at random, and
visited without previous intimation of our intention, I took particular
notice of every thing I saw, because I regarded its appearance as a fair
specimen of its constant and daily state.

Mr. Hopewell needed no introduction. His appearance told what he was.
His great stature and erect bearing, his intelligent and amiable face,
his noble forehead, his beautiful snow-white locks, his precise and
antique dress, his simplicity of manner, every thing, in short, about
him, at once attracted attention and conciliated favour.

Mrs. Hodgins, for such was her name, received us with that mixture of
respect and ease, which shewed she was accustomed to converse with her
superiors. She was dressed in a blue homespun gown, (the sleeves of
which were drawn up to her elbows and the lower part tucked through her
pocket-hole,) a black stuff petticoat, black stockings and shoes with
the soles more than half an inch thick. She wore also, a large white
apron, and a neat and by no means unbecoming cap. She informed us her
husband was a gardener's labourer, that supported his family by his
daily work, and by the proceeds of the little garden attached to the
house, and invited us to come in and sit down.

The apartment into which the door opened, was a kitchen or common room.
On one side, was a large fire-place, the mantel-piece or shelf, of
which was filled with brass candlesticks, large and small, some queer
old-fashioned lamps, snuffers and trays, polished to a degree of
brightness, that was dazzling. A dresser was carried round the wall,
filled with plates and dishes, and underneath were exhibited the
ordinary culinary utensils, in excellent order. A small table stood
before the fire, with a cloth of spotless whiteness spread upon it, as
if in preparation for a meal. A few stools completed the furniture.

Passing through this place, we were shewn into the parlour, a small room
with a sanded floor. Against the sides were placed some old, dark, and
highly polished chairs, of antique form and rude workmanship. The
walls were decorated with several coloured prints, illustrative of the
Pilgrim's Progress and hung in small red frames of about six inches
square. The fire-place was filled with moss, and its mantel-shelf had
its china sheep and sheperdesses, and a small looking-glass, the whole
being surmounted by a gun hung transversely. The Lord's Prayer and the
Ten Commandments worked in worsted, were suspended in a wooden frame
between the windows, which had white muslin blinds, and opened on
hinges, like a door. A cupboard made to fit the corner, in a manner
to economise room, was filled with china mugs, cups and saucers of
different sizes and patterns, some old tea-spoons and a plated tea-pot.

There was a small table opposite to the window, which Contained half
a dozen books. One of these was large, handsomely bound, and decorated
with gilt edged paper. Mr. Hopewell opened it, and expressed great
satisfaction at finding such an edition of a bible in such a house. Mrs.
Hodgins explained that this was a present from her eldest son, who had
thus appropriated his first earnings to the gratification of his mother.

"Creditable to you both, dear," said Mr. Hopewell: "to you, because it
is a proof how well you have instructed him; and to him, that he so well
appreciated and so faithfully remembered those lessons of duty."

He then inquired into the state of her family, whether the boy who was
training a peach-tree against the end of the house was her son, and many
other matters not necessary to record with the same precision that I
have enumerated the furniture.

"Oh, here is a pretty little child!" said he. "Come here, dear, and
shake hands along with me. What beautiful hair she has! and she looks
so clean and nice, too. Every thing and every body here is so neat, so
tidy, and so appropriate. Kiss me, dear; and then talk to me; for I love
little children. 'Suffer them to come unto me,' said our Master, 'for of
such is the kingdom of Heaven:' that is, that we should resemble these
little ones in our innocence."

He then took her on his knee. "Can you say the Lord's Prayer, dear?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Very good. And the ten Commandments?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Who taught you?"

"My mother, Sir; and the parson taught me the Catechism."

"Why, Sam, this child can say the Lord's Prayer, the ten Commandments,
and the Catechism. Ain't this beautiful? Tell me the fifth, dear."

And the child repeated it distinctly and accurately.

"Right. Now, dear, always bear that in mind, especially towards your
mother. You have an excellent mother; her cares and her toils are many;
and amidst them all, how well she has done her duty to you. The only way
she can be repaid, is to find that you are what she desires you to be,
a good girl. God commands this return to be made, and offers you the
reward of length of days. Here is a piece of money for you. And now,
dear," placing her again upon her feet, "you never saw so old a man
as me, and never will again; and one, too, that came from a far-off
country, three thousand miles off; it would take you a long time to
count three thousand; it is so far. Whenever you do what you ought not,
think of the advice of the 'old Minister.'"

Here Mr. Slick beckoned the mother to the door, and whispered something
to her, of which, the only words that met my ear were "a trump," "a
brick," "the other man like him ain't made yet," "do it, he'll talk,
then."

To which she replied, "I have--oh yes, Sir--by all means."

She then advanced to Mr. Hopewell, and asked him if he would like to
smoke.

"Indeed I would, dear, but I have no pipe here."

She said her old man smoked of an evening, after his work was done, and
that she could give him a pipe and some tobacco, if he would condescend
to use them; and going to the cupboard, she produced a long white clay
pipe and some cut tobacco.

Having filled and lighted his pipe, Mr. Hopewell said, "What church do
you go to, dear?"

"The parish church, Sir."

"Right; you will hear Sound doctrine and good morals preached there. Oh
this a fortunate country, Sam, for the state provides for the religious
instruction of the poor. Where the voluntary system prevails, the poor
have to give from their poverty, or go without; and their gifts are so
small, that they can purchase but little. It's a beautiful system, a
charitable system, a Christian system. Who is your landlord?"

"Squire Merton, Sir; and one of the kindest masters, too, that ever was.
He is so good to the poor; and the ladies. Sir, they are so kind, also.
When my poor daughter Mary was so ill with the lever, I do think she
would have died but for the attentions of those young ladies; and when
she grew better, they sent her wine and nourishing things from their own
table. They will be so glad to see you. Sir, at the Priory. Oh, I wish
you could see them!"

"There it is, Sam," he continued "That illustrates what I always told
you of their social system here. We may boast of our independence, but
that independence produces isolation. There is an individuality about
every man and every family in America, that gives no right of inquiry,
and imposes no duty of relief on any one. Sickness, and sorrow, and
trouble, are not divulged; joy, success, and happiness are not imparted.
If we are independent in our thoughts and actions, so are we left to
sustain the burden of our own ills. How applicable to our state is
that passage of Scripture, 'The heart knoweth its own bitterness, and a
stranger intermeddleth not with its joy.'

"Now, look at this poor family; here is a clergyman provided for them,
whom they do not, and are not even expected to pay; their spiritual
wants are ministered to, faithfully and zealously, as we see by the
instruction of that little child. Here is a friend upon whom they can
rely in their hour of trouble, as the bereaved mother did on Elisha.
'And she went up and laid her child that was dead on the bed of the man
of God, and shut the door on him, and went out.' And when a long train
of agitation, mis-government, and ill-digested changes have deranged
this happy country, as has recently been the case, here is an indulgent
landlord, disposed to lower his rent or give further time for payment,
or if sickness invades any of these cottages, to seek out the sufferer,
to afford the remedies, and by his countenance, his kindness, and
advice, to alleviate their trouble. Here it is, a positive duty arising
from their relative situations of landlord and tenant. The tenants
support the owner, the landlord protects the tenants: the duties are
reciprocal.

"With _us_ the duties, as far as Christian duties can be said to be
optional, are voluntary; and the voluntary discharge of duties, like
the voluntary support of religion, we know, from sad experience, to be
sometimes imperfectly performed, at others intermitted, and often wholly
neglected. Oh! it is a happy country this, a great and a good country;
and how base, how wicked, how diabolical it is to try to set such
a family as this against their best friends, their pastor and their
landlord; to instil dissatisfaction and distrust into their simple
minds, and to teach them to loathe the hand, that proffers nothing but
regard or relief. It is shocking, isn't it?"

"That's what I often say, Sir," said Mrs. Hodgins, "to my old man, to
keep away from them Chartists."

"Chartists! dear, who are they? I never heard of them."

"Why, Sir, they are the men that want the five pints."

"Five pints! why you don't say so; oh! they are bad men, have nothing to
do with them. Five pints! why that is two quarts and a half; that is
too much to drink if it was water; and if any thing else, it is beastly
drunkenness. Have nothing to do with them."

"Oh! no, Sir, it is five points of law."

"Tut--tut--tut! what have you got to do with law, my dear?"

"By gosh, Aunty," said Mr. Slick, "you had better not cut that pie: you
will find it rather sour in the apple sarce, and tough in the paste, I
tell _you_."

"Yes, Sir," she replied, "but they are a unsettling of his mind. What
shall I do? for I don't like these night meetings, and he always comes
home from 'em cross and sour-like."

"Well, I am sorry to hear that," said Mr. Hopewell, "I wish I could see
him; but I can't, for I am bound on a journey. I am sorry to hear
it, dear. Sam, this country is so beautiful, so highly cultivated, so
adorned by nature and art, and contains so much comfort and happiness,
that it resembles almost the garden of Eden. But, Sam, the Serpent is
here, the Serpent is here beyond a doubt. It changes its shape, and
alters its name, and takes a new colour, but still it is the Serpent,
and it ought to be crushed. Sometimes it calls itself liberal, then
radical, then chartist, then agitator, then repealer, then political
dissenter, then anti-corn leaguer, and so on. Sometimes it stings the
clergy, and coils round them, and almost strangles them, for it knows
the Church is its greatest enemy, and it is furious against it. Then it
attacks the peers, and covers them with its froth and slaver, and then
it bites the landlord. Then it changes form, and shoots at the Queen, or
her ministers, and sets fire to buildings, and burns up corn to increase
distress; and, when hunted away, it dives down into the collieries, or
visits the manufactories, and maddens the people, and urges them on to
plunder and destruction. It's a melancholy thing to think of; but he is
as of old, alive and active, seeing whom he can allure and deceive, and
whoever listens is ruined for ever.

"Stay, dear, I'll tell you what I will do for you. I'll inquire about
these Chartists; and when I go to London, I will write a little tract
so plain that any child may read it and understand it; and call it _The
Chartist_, and get it printed, and I will send you one for your husband,
and two or three others, to give to those whom they may benefit.

"And now, dear, I must go. You and I will never meet again in this
world; but I shall often think of you, and often speak of you. I shall
tell my people of the comforts, of the neatness, of the beauty of an
English cottage. May God bless you, and so regulate your mind as to
preserve in you a reverence for his holy word, an obedience to the
commands of your Spiritual Pastor, and a respect for all that are placed
in authority over you!"

"Well, it is pretty, too, is this cottage," said Mr. Slick, as we
strolled back to the inn, "but the handsumestest thing is to hear that
good old soul talk dictionary that way, aint it? How nateral he is!
Guess they don't often see such a 'postle as that in these diggins. Yes,
it's pretty is this cottage; but it's small, arter all. You feel like a
squirrel in a cage, in it; you have to run round and round, and don't go
forward none. What would a man do with a rifle here? For my part, I have
a taste for the wild woods; it comes on me regular in the fall, like the
lake fever, and I up gun, and off for a week or two, and camp out, and
get a snuff of the spruce-wood air, and a good appetite, and a bit of
fresh ven'son to sup on at night.

"I shall be off to the highlands this fall; but, cuss em, they hante got
no woods there; nothin' but heather, and thats only high enough to tear
your clothes. That's the reason the Scotch don't wear no breeches, they
don't like to get 'em ragged up that way for everlastinly, they can't
afford it; so they let em scratch and tear their skin, for that will
grow agin, and trowsers won't.

"Yes, it's a pretty cottage that, and a nice tidy body that too, is Mrs.
Hodgins. I've seen the time when I would have given a good deal to have
been so well housed as that. There is some little difference atween that
cottage and a log hut of a poor back emigrant settler, you and I know
where. Did ever I tell you of the night I spent at Lake Teal, with old
Judge Sandford?"

"No, not that I recollect."

"Well, once upon a time I was a-goin' from Mill-bridge to Shadbrooke,
on a little matter of bisness, and an awful bad and lonely road it was,
too. There was scarcely no settlers in it, and the road was all made
of sticks, stones, mud holes, and broken bridges. It was een amost
onpassible, and who should I overtake on the way but the Judge, and his
guide, on horseback, and Lawyer Traverse a-joggin' along in his gig, at
the rate of two miles an hour at the fardest.

"'Mornin,' sais the Judge, for he was a sociable man, and had a kind
word for every body, had the Judge. Few men 'know'd human natur' better
nor he did, and what he used to call the philosophy of life. 'I am
glad to see you on the road, Mr. Slick, sais he, 'for it is so bad I
am afraid there are places that will require our united efforts to pass
'em.'

"Well, I felt kinder sorry for the delay too, for I know'd we should
make a poor journey on't, on account of that lawyer critter's gig, that
hadn't no more busness on that rough track than a steam engine had. But
I see'd the Judge wanted me to stay company, and help him along, and so
I did. He was fond of a joke, was the old Judge, and sais he,

"'I'm afraid we shall illustrate that passage o' Scriptur', Mr. Slick,'
said he, '"And their judges shall be overthrown in stony places." It's
jist a road for it, ain't it?'

"Well we chattered along the road this way a leetle, jist a leetle
faster than we travelled, for we made a snail's gallop of it, that's a
fact; and night overtook us, as I suspected it would, at Obi Rafuse's,
at the Great Lake; and as it was the only public for fourteen miles, and
dark was settin' in, we dismounted, but oh, what a house it was!

"Obi was an emigrant, and those emigrants are ginerally so fond of
ownin' the soil, that like misers, they carry as much of it about 'em
on their parsons, in a common way, as they cleverly can. Some on 'em
are awful dirty folks, that's a fact, and Obi was one of them. He kept
public, did Obi; the sign said it was a house of entertainment for man
and beast. For critters that ain't human, I do suppose it spoke the
truth, for it was enough to make a hoss larf, if he could understand it,
that's a fact; but dirt, wretchedness and rags, don't have that effect
on me.

"The house was built of rough spruce logs, (the only thing spruce about
it), with the bark on, and the cracks and seams was stuffed with moss.
The roof was made of coarse slabs, battened and not shingled, and the
chimbly peeped out like a black pot, made of sticks and mud, the way
a crow's nest is. The winders were half broke out, and stopped up with
shingles and old clothes, and a great bank of mud and straw all round,
reached half way up to the roof, to keep the frost out of the cellar. It
looked like an old hat on a dung heap. I pitied the old Judge, because
he was a man that took the world as he found it, and made no complaints.
He know'd if you got the best, it was no use complainin' that the best
warn't good.

"Well, the house stood alone in the middle of a clearin', without an
outhouse of any sort or kind about it, or any fence or enclosure, but
jist rose up as a toodstool grows, all alone in the field. Close behind
it was a thick short second growth of young birches, about fifteen feet
high, which was the only shelter it had, and that was on the wrong side,
for it was towards the south.

"Well, when we alighted, and got the baggage off, away starts the guide
with the Judge's traps, and ups a path through the woods to a settler's,
and leaves us. Away down by the edge of the lake was a little barn,
filled up to the roof with grain and hay, and there was no standin' room
or shelter in it for the hosses. So the lawyer hitches his critter to
a tree, and goes and fetches up some fodder for him, and leaves him for
the night, to weather it as he could. As soon as he goes in, I takes
Old Clay to the barn, for it's a maxim of mine always to look out arter
number one, opens the door, and pulls out sheaf arter sheaf of grain as
fast as I could, and throws it out, till I got a place big enough for
him to crawl in.

"'Now,' sais I, 'old boy,' as I shot to the door arter him, 'if that
hole ain't big enough for you, eat away till it is, that's all.'

"I had hardly got to the house afore the rain, that had threatened all
day, came down like smoke, and the wind got up, and it blew like a young
hurricane, and the lake roared dismal; it was an awful night, and it was
hard to say which was wus, the Storm or the shelter.

"'Of two evils,' sais I to the lawyer, 'choose the least. It ain't a bad
thing to be well housed in a night like this, is it?'

"The critter groaned, for both cases was so 'bad he didn't know which
to take up to defend, so he grinned horrid and said nothin'; and it was
enough to make him grin too, that's a fact. He looked as if he had got
hold on a bill o' pains and penalties instead of a bill of costs that
time, you may depend.

"Inside of the house was three rooms, the keepin' room, where we was all
half circled round the fire, and two sleepin' rooms off of it. One of
these Obi had, who was a-bed, groanin', coughin', and turnin' over and
over all the time on the creakin' bedstead with pleurisy; t'other was
for the judge. The loft was for the old woman, his mother, and the
hearth, or any other soft place we could find, was allocated for lawyer
and me.

"What a scarecrow lookin' critter old aunty was, warn't she? She was all
in rags and tatters, and though she lived 'longside of the lake the
best part of her emigrant life, had never used water since she was
christened. Her eyes were so sunk in her head, they looked like two
burnt holes in a blanket. Her hair was pushed back, and tied so tight
with an eel-skin behind her head, it seemed to take the hide with it.
I 'most wonder how she ever shot to her eyes to go to sleep. She had no
stockins on her legs, and no heels to her shoes, so she couldn't lift
her feet up, for fear of droppin' off her slippers; but she just shoved
and slid about as if she was on ice. She had a small pipe in her mouth,
with about an inch of a stem, to keep her nose warm, and her skin was
so yaller and wrinkled, and hard and oily, she looked jist like a dried
smoked red herrin', she did upon my soul.

"The floor of the room was blacker nor ink, because that is pale
sometimes; and the utenshils, oh, if the fire didn't purify 'em now
and ag'in, all the scrubbin' in the world wouldn't, they was past that.
Whenever the door was opened, in run the pigs, and the old woman hobbled
round arter them, bangin' them with a fryin' pan, till she seemed out
o' breath. Every time she took less and less notice of 'em, for she
was 'most beat out herself, and was busy a gettin' of the tea-kettle to
bile, and it appeared to me she was a-goin' to give in and let 'em sleep
with me and the lawyer, near the fire.

"So I jist puts the tongs in the sparklin' coals and heats the eends on
'em red hot, and the next time they comes in, I watches a chance, outs
with the tongs, and seizes the old sow by the tail, and holds on till
I singes it beautiful. The way she let go ain't no matter, but if she
didn't yell it's a pity, that's all. She made right straight for the
door, dashed in atween old aunty's legs, and carries her out on her
back, ridin' straddle-legs like a man, and tumbles her head over heels
in the duck pond of dirty water outside, and then lays down along side
of her, to put the fire out in its tail and cool itself.

"Aunty took up the screamin' then, where the pig left off; but her voice
warn't so good, poor thing! she was too old for that, it sounded like a
cracked bell; it was loud enough, but it warn't jist so clear. She came
in drippin' and cryin' and scoldin'; she hated water, and what was wus,
this water made her dirtier. It ran off of her like a gutter. The way
she let out agin pigs, travellers and houses of entertainment, was a
caution to sinners. She vowed she'd stop public next mornin', and bile
her kettle with the sign; folks might entertain themselves and be hanged
to 'em, for all her, that they might. Then she mounted a ladder and goes
up into the loft-to change.

"'Judge' sais I, 'I am sorry, too, I singed that pig's tail arter that
fashion, for the smell of pork chops makes me feel kinder hungry, and if
we had 'em, no soul could eat 'em here in such a stye as this. But, dear
me,' sais I, 'You'd better move, Sir; that old woman is juicy, and I
see it a comin' through the cracks of the floor above, like a streak of
molasses.

"'Mr. Slick,' sais he, 'this is dreadful. I never saw any thing so bad
before in all this country; but what can't be cured must be endured, I
do suppose. We must only be good-natured and do the best we can, that's
all. An emigrant house is no place to stop at, is it? There is a tin
case,' sais he, 'containin' a cold tongue and some biscuits, in my
portmanter; please to get them out. You must act as butler to-night, if
you please; for I can't eat any thing that old woman touches.'

"So I spreads one of his napkins on the table, and gets out the
eatables, and then he produced a pocket pistol, for he was a sensible
man was the judge, and we made a small check, for there warn't enough
for a feed.

"Arter that, he takes out a night-cap, and fits it on tight, and then
puts on his cloak, and wraps the hood of it close over his head, and
foldin' himself up in it, he went and laid down without ondressin'. The
lawyer took a stretch for it on the bench, with his gig cushions for a
pillar, and I makes up the fire, sits down on the chair, puts my legs up
on the jamb, draws my hat over my eyes, and folds my arms for sleep.

"'But fust and foremost,' sais I, 'aunty, take a drop of the strong
waters: arter goin' the whole hog that way, you must need some,' and I
poured her out a stiff corker into one of her mugs, put some sugar and
hot water to it, and she tossed it off as if she railly did like it.

"'Darn that pig,' said she, 'it is so poor, its back is as sharp as a
knife. It hurt me properly, that's a fact, and has most broke my crupper
bone.' And she put her hand behind her, and moaned piteous.

"'Pig skin,' sais I, 'aunty, is well enough when made into a saddle, but
it ain't over pleasant to ride on bare back that way,' sais I, 'is it?
And them bristles ain't quite so soft as feathers, I do suppose.'

"I thought I should a died a holdin' in of a haw haw that way. Stifling
a larf a'most stifles oneself, that's a fact. I felt sorry for her, too,
but sorrow won't always keep you from larfin', unless you be sorry for
yourself. So as I didn't want to offend her I ups legs agin to the jam,
and shot my eyes and tried to go to sleep.

"Well, I can snooze through most any thin', but I couldn't get much
sleep that night. The pigs kept close to the door, a shovin' agin it
every now and then, to see all was right for a dash in, if the bears
came; and the geese kept sentry too agin the foxes; and one old feller
would squake out "all's well" every five minuts, as he marched up and
down and back agin on the bankin' of the house.

"But the turkeys was the wust. They was perched upon the lee side of the
roof, and sometimes an eddy of wind would take a feller right slap off
his legs, and send him floppin' and rollin' and sprawlin' and screamin'
down to the ground, and then he'd make most as much fuss a-gettin' up
into line agin. They are very fond of straight, lines is turkeys. I
never see an old gobbler, with his gorget, that I don't think of a
kernel of a marchin' regiment, and if you'll listen to him and watch
him, he'll strut jist like one, and say, 'halt! dress!' oh, he is a
military man is a turkey cock: he wears long spurs, carries a stiff
neck, and charges at red cloth, like a trooper.

"Well then a little cowardly good natured cur, that lodged in an empty
flour barrel, near the wood pile, gave out a long doleful howl, now and
agin, to show these outside passengers, if he couldn't fight for 'em, he
could at all events cry for 'em, and it ain't every goose has a mourner
to her funeral, that's a fact, unless it be the owner.

"In the mornin' I wakes up, and looks round for lawyer, but he was gone.
So I gathers up the brans, and makes up the fire, and walks out. The
pigs didn't try to come in agin, you may depend, when they see'd me;
they didn't like the curlin' tongs, as much as some folks do, and pigs'
tails kinder curl naterally. But there was lawyer a-standin' up by the
grove, lookin' as peeked and as forlorn, as an onmated loon.

"'What's the matter of you, Squire?' sais I. 'You look like a man that
was ready to make a speech; but your witness hadn't come, or you hadn't
got no jury.'

"'Somebody has stole my horse,' said he.

"Well, I know'd he was near-sighted, was lawyer, and couldn't see a pint
clear of his nose, unless it was a pint o' law. So I looks all round and
there was his hoss, a-standin' on the bridge, with his long tail hanging
down straight at one eend, and his long neck and head a banging down
straight at t'other eend, so that you couldn't tell one from t'other or
which eend was towards you. It was a clear cold mornin'. The storm was
over and the wind down, and there was a frost on the ground. The critter
was cold I suppose, and had broke the rope and walked off to stretch his
legs. It was a monstrous mean night to be out in, that's sartain.

"'There is your hoss,' sais I.

"'Where?' sais he.

"'Why on the bridge,' sais I; "he has got his head down and is a-lookin'
atween his fore-legs to see where his tail is, for he is so cold, I do
suppose he can't feel it.'

"Well, as soon as we could, we started; but afore we left, sais the
Judge to me, 'Mr. Slick,' sais he, 'here is a plaister,' taking out
a pound note, 'a plaister for the skin the pig rubbed off of the old
woman. Give it to her, I hope it is big enough to cover it.' And he fell
back on the bed, and larfed and coughed, and coughed and larfed, till
the tears ran down his cheeks.

"Yes," said Mr. Slick, "yes, Squire, this is a pretty cottage of Marm
Hodgins; but we have cottages quite as pretty as this, our side of the
water, arter all. They are not all like Obi Rafuses, the immigrant. The
natives have different guess places, where you might eat off the floor
a'most, all's so clean. P'raps we hante the hedges, and flowers, and
vines and fixin's, and what-nots."

"Which, alone," I said, "make a most important difference. No, Mr.
Slick', there is nothing to be compared to this little cottage.

"I perfectly agree with you, Squire," said Mr. Hopewell, "it is quite
unique. There is not only nothing equal to it, but nothing of its kind
at all like--_an English cottage_."

CHAPTER XII. STEALING THE HEARTS OF THE PEOPLE.

Shortly after our return to the inn, a carriage drove up to the door,
and the cards of Mr. Merton, and the Reverend Mr. Homily, which
were presented by the servant, were soon followed by the gentlemen
themselves.

Mr. Merton said he had been informed by Mrs. Hodgins of our visit to her
cottage, and from her account of our conversation and persons, he was
convinced we could be no other than the party described in the "Sayings
and Doings of Mr. Samuel Slick," as about to visit England with the
Attache. He expressed great pleasure in having the opportunity of making
our acquaintance, and entreated us to spend a few days with him at the
Priory. This invitation we were unfortunately compelled to decline, in
consequence of urgent business in London, where our immediate presence
was indispensable.

The rector then pressed Mr. Hopewell to preach for him, on the following
day at the parish church, which he also declined. He said, that he
had no sermons with him, and that he had very great objections to
extemporaneous preaching, which he thought should never be resorted to
except in cases of absolute necessity. He, however, at last consented to
do so, on condition that Mrs. Hodgins and her husband attended, and
upon being assured that it was their invariable custom to be present,
he said, he thought it not impossible, that he might make an impression
upon _him_, and as it was his maxim never to omit an opportunity of
doing good, he would with the blessing of God, make the attempt.

The next day was remarkably fine, and as the scene was new to me,
and most probably will be so to most of my colonial readers, I shall
endeavour to describe it with some minuteness.

We walked to the church by a path over the hills, and heard the bells of
a number of little churches, summoning the surrounding population to the
House of God. The roads and the paths were crowded with the peasantry
and their children, approaching the church-yard in different directions.
The church and the rectory were contiguous to each other, and situated
in a deep dell.

The former was a long and rather low structure, originally built of
light coloured stone, which had grown grey with time. It had a large
square steeple, with pointed corners, like turrets, each of which was
furnished with a vane, but some of these ornaments were loose and turned
round in a circle, while others stood still and appeared to be examining
with true rustic curiosity, the condition of their neighbours.

The old rectory stood close to the church and was very irregularly
built, one part looking as if it had stepped forward to take a peep at
us, and another as if endeavouring to conceal itself from view, behind
a screen of ivy. The windows which were constructed of diamond-shaped
glass, were almost square, and opened on hinges. Nearly half of the
house was covered by a rose-tree, from which the lattices peered very
inquisitively upon the assembled congregation. Altogether it looked like
the residence of a vigilant man, who could both see and be unseen if he
pleased.

Near the door of the church were groups of men in their clean
smock-frocks and straw hats, and of women in their tidy dark dresses and
white aprons. The children all looked clean, healthy, and cheerful.

The interior of the church was so unlike that of an American one, that
my attention was irresistibly drawn to its peculiarities. It was low,
and divided in the centre by an arch. The floor was of stone, and from
long and constant use, very uneven in places. The pews were much higher
on the sides than ours, and were unpainted and roughly put together;
while the pulpit was a rude square box, and was placed in the corner.
Near the door stood an ancient stone font, of rough workmanship, and
much worn.

The windows were long and narrow, and placed very high in the walls. On
the one over the altar was a very old painting, on stained glass, of the
Virgin, with a hoop and yellow petticoat, crimson vest, a fly cap, and
very thick shoes. The light of this window was still further subdued by
a fine old yew-tree, which stood in the yard close behind it.

There was another window of beautifully stained glass, the light of
which fell on a large monument, many feet square, of white marble. In
the centre of this ancient and beautiful work of art, were two principal
figures, with smaller ones kneeling on each side, having the hands
raised in the attitude of prayer. They were intended to represent some
of the ancestors of the Merton family. The date was as old as 1575. On
various parts of the wall were other and ruder monuments of slate-stone,
the inscriptions and dates of which were nearly effaced by time.

The roof was of a construction now never seen in America; and the old
oak rafters, which were more numerous, than was requisite, either for
strength or ornament, were massive and curiously put together, giving
this part of the building a heavy and gloomy appearance.

As we entered the church, Mr. Hopewell said he had selected a text
suitable to the times, and that he would endeavour to save the
poor people in the neighbourhood from the delusions of the chartist
demagogues, who, it appeared, were endeavouring to undermine the throne
and the altar, and bring universal ruin upon the country.

When he ascended the pulpit to preach, his figure, his great age, and
his sensible and benevolent countenance, attracted universal attention.
I had never seen him officiate till this day; but if I was struck with
his venerable appearance before, I was now lost in admiration of his
rich and deep-toned voice, his peculiar manner, and simple style of
eloquence.

He took for his text these words: "So Absalom stole the hearts of the
men of Israel." He depicted, in a very striking manner, the arts of this
intriguing and ungrateful man to ingratiate himself with the people, and
render the government unpopular. He traced his whole course, from his
standing at the crowded thoroughfare, and lamenting that the king had
deputed no one to hear and decide upon the controversies of the people,
to his untimely end, and the destruction of his ignorant followers. He
made a powerful application of the seditious words of Absalom: "Oh that
_I_ were a judge in the land, that every man which hath a suit or cause
might come unto me, and _I_ would do him justice." He showed the effect
of these empty and wicked promises upon his followers, who in the holy
record of this unnatural rebellion are described as "men who went out in
their simplicity, and knew not anything."

He then said that similar arts were used in all ages for similar
purposes; and that these professions of disinterested patriotism were
the common pretences by which wicked men availed themselves of the
animal force of those "who assemble in their simplicity, and know not
any thing," to achieve their own personal aggrandisement, and warned
them, to give no heed to such dishonest people. He then drew a picture
of the real blessings they enjoyed in this happy country, which, though
not without an admixture of evil, were as many and as great as the
imperfect and unequal condition of man was capable either of imparting
or receiving.

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

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

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

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

It was thus that this good man, while honouring this poor woman, avoided
the appearance of condescension, and received her arm as a favour to
himself.

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

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

In this way they chatted, until they arrived at the cottage, which
Hodgins had just reached by a shorter, but more rugged path.

"It is such a lovely afternoon," said Mr. Hopewell, "I believe I will
rest in this arbour here awhile, and enjoy the fresh breeze, and the
perfume of your honeysuckles and flowers."

"Wouldn't a pipe be better, Minister?" said Mr. Slick. "For my part, I
don't think any thing equal to the flavour of rael good gene_wine_ first
chop tobacco."

"Well, it is a great refreshment, is tobacco," said Mr. Hopewell. "I
don't care if I do take a pipe. Bring me one, Mr. Hodgins, and one for
yourself also, and I will smoke and talk with you awhile, for they seem
as natural to each other, as eating and drinking do."

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

We then walked up and down the shady lane, smoking our cigars, and Mr.
Slick observed, "Well, there is a nation sight of difference, too, ain't
there, atween this country church, and a country meetin' house our side
of the water; I won't say in your country or my country; but I say _our_
side of the water--and then it won't rile nobody; for your folks will
say I mean the States, and our citizens will say I mean the colonies;
but you and I know who the cap fits, one or t'other, or both, don't we?

"Now here, this old-fashioned church, ain't quite up to the notch, and
is a leetle behind the enlightment of the age like, with its queer old
fixin's and what not; but still it looks solemcoly' don't it, and the
dim light seems as if we warn't expected to be a lookin' about, and as
if outer world was shot out, from sight and thort, and it warn't _man's_
house nother.

"I don't know whether it was that dear old man's preachin', and he is
a brick ain't he? or, whether it's the place, or the place and him
together; but somehow, or somehow else, I feel more serious to-day
than common, that's a fact. The people too are all so plain dressed, so
decent, so devout and no show, it looks like airnest.

"The only fashionable people here was the Squire's sarvants; and they
_did_ look genteel, and no mistake. Elegant men, and most splendid
lookin' women they was too. I thought it was some noble, or aid's,
or big bug's family; but Mrs. Hodgins says they are the people of
the Squire's about here, the butlers and ladies' maids; and superfine
uppercrust lookin' folks they be too.

"Then every body walks here, even Squire Merton and his splendiriferous
galls walked like the poorest of the poor, there was no carriage to the
door, nor no hosses hitched to the gate, or tied to the back of waggons,
or people gossipin' outside; but all come in and minded their business,
as if it was worth attendin' to; and then arter church was finished off,
I liked the way the big folks talked to the little folks, and enquired
arter their families. It may he actin', but if it is, it's plaguy good
actin', I _tell_ you.

"I'm a thinkin' it tante a rael gentleman that's proud, but only a hop.
You've seen a hop grow, hante you? It shoots up in a night, the matter
of several inches right out of the ground, as stiff as a poker, straight
up and down, with a spick and span new green coat and a red nose, as
proud as Lucifer. Well, I call all upstarts 'hops,' and I believe it's
only "hops" arter all that's scorny.

"Yes, I kinder like an English country church, only it's a leetle, jist
a leetle too old fashioned for me. Folks look a leetle too much like
grandfather Slick, and the boys used to laugh at him, and call him a
benighted Britisher. Perhaps that's the cause of my prejudice, and yet I
must say, British or no British, it tante bad, is it?

"The meetin' houses 'our side of the water,' no matter where, but away
up in the back country, how teetotally different they be! bean't they?
A great big, handsome wooden house, chock full of winders, painted so
white as to put your eyes out, and so full of light within, that inside
seems all out-doors, and no tree nor bush, nor nothin' near it but
the road fence, with a man to preach in it, that is so strict and
straight-laced he will do _any thing_ of a week day, and _nothin'_ of
a Sunday. Congregations are rigged out in their spic and span bran new
clothes, silks, satins, ribbins, leghorns, palmetters, kiss-me-quicks,
and all sorts of rigs, and the men in their long-tail-blues, pig-skin
pads calf-skin boots and sheep-skin saddle-cloths. Here they publish a
book of fashions, there they publish 'em in meetin'; and instead of a
pictur, have the rael naked truth.

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

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

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

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

"'Whose side-saddle is this?'

"'Slim Sall Dowdie's.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Now jist foller them two rulin' elders, Sourcrout and Coldslaugh; they
are plaguy jealous of their neighbour, elder Josh Chisel, that exhorted
to-day. 'How did you like Brother Josh, to-day?' says Sourcrout, a
utterin' of it through his nose. Good men always speak through the nose.
It's what comes out o' the mouth that defiles a man; but there is no
mistake in the nose; it's the porch of the temple that. 'How did you
like Brother Josh?'

"'Well, he wasn't very peeowerful.'

"'Was he ever peeowerful?'

"'Well, when a boy, they say he was considerable sum as a wrastler.'

"Sourcrout won't larf, because it's agin rules; but he gig goggles like
a turkey-cock, and says he, 'It's for ever and ever the same thing with
Brother Josh. He is like an over-shot mill, one everlastin' wishy-washy
stream.'

"'When the water ain't quite enough to turn the wheel, and only
spatters, spatters, spatters,' says Coldslaugh.

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

"'He is so fond of temperance,' says Coldslaugh, 'he wanted to make his
hay jine society, and drink cold water, too.'

"Sourcrout gig goggles ag'in, till he takes a fit of the asmy, sets down
on a stump, claps both hands on his sides, and coughs, and coughs till
he finds coughing no joke no more. Oh dear, dear convarted men, though
they won't larf themselves, make others larf the worst kind, sometimes;
don't they?

"I do believe, on my soul, if religion was altogether left to the
voluntary in this world, it would die a nateral death; not that _men
wouldn't support it_, but because it would be supported _under false
pretences_. Truth can't be long upheld by falsehood. Hypocrisy would
change its features, and intolerance its name; and religion would
soon degenerate into a cold, intriguing, onprincipled, marciless
superstition, that's a fact.

"Yes, on the whole, I rather like these plain, decent, onpretendin',
country churches here, although t'other ones remind me of old times,
when I was an ontamed one too. Yes, I like an English church; but as
for Minister pretendin' for to come for to go for to preach agin that
beautiful long-haired young rebel, Squire Absalom, for 'stealin' the
hearts of the people,' why it's rather takin' the rag off the bush,
ain't it?

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

CHAPTER XIII. NATUR'.

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

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

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

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

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

   When I was young and unmarried,
      my shoes they were new.
   But now I am old and am married,
      the water runs troo,'

Do that, and you have got sunthin' worth lookin' at, quite
pictures-quee, as Sister Sall used to say. And because why? _You have
got sunthin' nateral_.

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

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

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

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

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

"'I guess so,' sais he.

"'Then put in a brook jist in front of it, runnin' over stones, and
foamin' and a bubblin' up like any thing.'

"'It's in,' sais he.

"'Then jab two forked sticks in the ground ten feet apart, this side of
the brook,' sais you, 'and clap a pole across atween the forks. Is that
down?' sais you.

"'Yes,' sais he.

"'Then,' sais you, 'hang a pot on that horizontal pole, make a clear
little wood fire onderneath; paint two covered carts near it. Let an
old hoss drink at the stream, and two donkeys make a feed off a patch of
thistles. Have-you stuck that in?'

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

"'Oh! cuss the cost!' sais you. 'Do you jist obey orders, and break
owners, that's all you have to do, Old Loyalist.'

"'Very well,' sais he, 'here goes.'

"'Well, then,' sais you, 'paint a party of gipsies there; mind their
different coloured clothes, and different attitudes, and different
occupations. Here a man mendin' a harness, there a woman pickin' a
stolen fowl, there a man skinnin' a rabbit, there a woman with her
petticoat up, a puttin' of a patch in it. Here two boys a fishin', and
there a little gall a playin' with a dog, that's a racin' and a yelpin',
and a barkin' like mad.'

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XIV. THE SOCDOLAGER.

As soon as I found my friend Mr. Hopewell comfortably settled in his
lodgings, I went to the office of the Belgian Consul and other persons
to obtain the necessary passports for visiting Germany, where I had a
son at school. Mr. Slick proceeded at the same time to the residence of
his Excellency Abednego Layman, who had been sent to this country by the
United States on a special mission, relative to the Tariff.

On my return from the city in the afternoon, he told me he had presented
his credentials to "the Socdolager," and was most graciously and
cordially received; but still, I could not fail to observe that there
was an evident air of disappointment about him.

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

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

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

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

"'Your knowledge of human natur, (added to your'n of soft sawder,' sais
I,) 'will raise our great nation, I guess, in the scale o' European
estimation.'

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

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

"It was a raw spot, that, and I always touched him on it for fun.

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

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

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

"'Hope,' sais he, 'is the attribute of a Christian, Slick, for he hopes
beyond this world; but I changed on principle.'

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

"'Now,' sais he, a pretendin' to take no notice of this,' you know we
have the Voluntary with us, Mr. Slick.' He said "_Mister_" that time,
for he began to get formal on puppus to stop jokes; but, dear me, where
all men are equal what's the use of one man tryin' to look big? He must
take to growin' agin I guess to do that. 'You know we have the Voluntary
with us, Mr. Slick,' sais he.

"'Jist so,' sais I.

"'Well, what's the meanin' of that?'

"'Why,' sais I, 'that you support religion or let it alone, as you like;
that you can take it up as a pedlar does his pack, carry it till you are
tired, then lay it down, set on it, and let it support you."

"'Exactly,' sais he; 'it is voluntary on the hearer, and it's jist so
with the minister, too; for his preachin' is voluntary also. He can
preach or lot it alone, as he likes. It's voluntary all through. It's a
bad rule that won't work both ways.'

"'Well,' says I, 'there is a good deal in that, too.' I said that just
to lead him on.

"'A good deal!' sais he, 'why it's every thing. But I didn't rest on
that alone; I propounded this maxim to myself. Every man, sais I, is
bound to sarve his fellow citizens to his utmost. That's true; ain't it,
Mr. Slick?'

"'Guess so,' sais I.

"'Well then, I asked myself this here question: Can I sarve my fellow
citizens best by bein' minister to Peach settlement, 'tendin' on a
little village of two thousand souls, and preachin' my throat sore, or
bein' special minister to Saint Jimses, and sarvin' our great Republic
and its thirteen millions? Why, no reasonable man can doubt; so I give
up preachin'.'

"'Well,' sais I, 'Abednego, you are a Socdolager, that's a fact; you are
a great man, and a great scholard. Now a great scholard, when he can't
do a sum the way it's stated, jist states it so--he _can_ do it. Now the
right way to state that sum is arter this fashion: "Which is best, to
endeavour to save the souls of two thousand people under my spiritual
charge, or let them go to Old Nick and save a piece of wild land in
Maine, get pay for an old steamer burnt to Canada, and uphold the slave
trade for the interest of the States.'

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

"'Well,' says I, 'how do we stand here in Europe? Do we maintain the
high pitch we had, or do we sing a note lower than we did?'

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

"'What's our position to Europe?' sais I, 'jist now; is it letter A,
No. 1?'

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

"'Sartainly,' sais I; 'it's only fit for talk over a cigar, alone. It
don't always answer a good, purpose to blart every thing out. But our
_po_sition,' says I, among the nations of the airth, is it what our
everlastin' Union is entitled to?'

"'Because,' sais he, 'some day when I am asked out to dinner, some
wag or another of a lord will call me parson, and ask me to crave a
blessin', jist to raise the larf agin me for havin' been a preacher.'

"'If he does,' sais I,' jist say, my Attache does that, and I'll jist up
first and give it to him atween the two eyes; and when that's done, sais
you, my Lord, that's _your grace_ afore meat; pr'aps your lordship will
_return thanks_ arter dinner. Let him try it, that's all. But our great
nation,' sais I, 'tell me, hante that noble stand we made on the right
of sarch, raised us about the toploftiest?'

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

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

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

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

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

"Good airth and seas,' sais I, 'let's pitch Hope, and her tent, and the
hill, all to Old Nick in a heap together, and talk of somethin' else.
You needn't be so perkily ashamed of havin' preached, man. Cromwell was
a great preacher all his life, but it didn't spile him as a Socdolager
one bit, but rather helped him, that's a fact. How 'av we held our
footin' here?'

"'Not well, I am grieved to say,' sais he; 'not well. The failure of the
United States' Bank, the repudiation of debts by several of our States,
the foolish opposition we made to the suppression of the slave-trade,
and above all, the bad faith in the business of the boundary question
has lowered us down, down, e'en a'most to the bottom of the shaft.'

"'Abednego,' sais I, 'we want somethin' besides boastin' and talkin'
big; we want a dash--a great stroke of policy. Washington hanging Andre
that time, gained more than a battle. Jackson by hanging Arbuthnot and
Anbristher, gained his election. M'Kennie for havin' hanged them three
citizens will be made an admiral of yet, see if he don't. Now if Captain
Tyler had said, in his message to Congress, 'Any State that repudiates
its foreign debts, we will first fine it in the whole amount, and then
cut it off from our great, free, enlightened, moral and intellectual
republic, he would have gained by the dash his next election, and run up
our flag to the mast-head in Europe. He would have been popular to home,
and respected abroad, that's as clear as mud,'

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

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

"'Why,' sais he, '_that honesty is the best policy_.'

"When I heerd him say that, I springs right up on eend, like a rope
dancer. 'Give me your hand, Abednego,' sais I; 'you are a man, every
inch of you,' and I squeezed it so hard, it made his eyes water. 'I
always knowed you had an excellent head-piece,' sais I, 'and now I
see the heart is in the right place too. If you have thrown preachin'
overboard, you have kept your morals for ballast, any how. I feel kinder
proud of you; you are jist a fit representat_ive_ for our great nation.
You are a Socdolager, that's a fact. I approbate your notion; it's as
correct as a bootjack. For nations or individuals, it's all the same,
honesty _is_ the best policy, and no mistake. That,' sais I, 'is the
hill, Abednego, for Hope to pitch her tent on, and no mistake,' and I
put my finger to my nose, and winked.

"'Well,' sais he, 'it is; but you are a droll feller, Slick, there is
no standin' your jokes. I'll give you leave to larf if you like, but you
must give me leave to win if I can. Good bye. But mind, Sam, our
dignity is at stake. Let's have no more of Socdolagers, or Preachin', or
Clockmakin', or Hope pitchin' her tent. A word to the wise. Good bye.'

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

CHAPTER XV. DINING OUT.

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

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

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

"England is a stupid country compared to our'n. _There it no variety
where there it no natur_. You have class variety here, but no
individiality. They are insipid, and call it perlite. The men dress
alike, talk alike, and look as much alike as Providence will let 'em.
The club-houses and the tailors have done a good deal towards this, and
so has whiggism and dissent; for they have destroyed distinctions.

"But this is too deep for me. Ask Minister, he will tell you the cause;
I only tell you the fact.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Folks speak low here; steam is valuable, and noise onpolite. They call
it a "_subdued tone_." Poor tame things, they are subdued, that's a
fact; slaves to an arbitrary tyrannical fashion that don't leave 'em no
free will at all. You don't often speak across a table any more nor you
do across a street, but p'raps Mr. Somebody of West Eend of town, will
say to a Mr. Nobody from West Eend of America: 'Niagara is noble.'
Mr. Nobody will say, 'Guess it is, it got its patent afore the "Norman
_Conquest_," I reckon, and afore the "_subdued_ tone" come in fashion.'
Then Mr. Somebody will look like an oracle, and say, 'Great rivers and
great trees in America. You speak good English.' And then he will seem
surprised, but not say it, only you can read the words on his face,
'Upon my soul, you are a'most as white as us.'

"Dinner is over. It's time for ladies to cut stick. Aunt Goosey looks
at the next oldest goosey, and ducks her head, as if she was a goin'
through a gate, and then they all come to their feet, and the goslins
come to their feet, and they all toddle off to the drawin' room
together.

"The decanters now take the "grand tour" of the table, and, like most
travellers, go out with full pockets, and return with empty ones. Talk
has a pair of stays here, and is laced up tight and stiff. Larnin' is
pedantic; politics is onsafe; religion ain't fashionable. You must tread
on neutral ground. Well, neutral ground gets so trampled down by both
sides, and so plundered by all, there ain't any thing fresh or good
grows on it, and it has no cover for game nother.

"Housundever, the ground is tried, it's well beat, but nothin' is put
up, and you get back to where you started. Uncle Gander looks at next
oldest gander hard, bobs his head, and lifts one leg, all ready for a
go, and says, 'Will you take any more wine?' 'No, sais he, 'but I take
the hint, let's jine the ladies.'

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

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

"They are considerable knowin' in this kind o' ware too, are the
English; they vamp 'em up so well, it's hard to tell their age, and I
ain't sure they don't make 'em live longer, than where the art ain't
so well pract_ised_. The mark o' mouth is kept up in a hoss here by the
file, and a hay-cutter saves his teeth, and helps his digestion. Well,
a dentist does the same good turn for a woman; it makes her pass for
several years younger; and helps her looks, mends her voice, and makes
her as smart as a three year old.

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

"Lord, how extremes meet sometimes, as Minister says. _Here_, how,
fashion is the top of the pot, and that pot hangs on the highest hook on
the crane. In _America_, natur can't go no farther; it's the rael thing.
Look at the women kind, now. An Indgian gall, down South, goes most
naked. Well, a splendiferous company gall, here, when she is _full
dressed_ is only _half covered_, and neither of 'em attract you one mite
or morsel. We dine at two and sup at seven; _here_ they lunch at two,
and dine at seven. The words are different, but they are identical
the same. Well, the singin' is amazin' like, too. Who ever heerd them
Italian singers recitin' their jabber, showin' their teeth, and cuttin'
didoes at a great private consart, that wouldn't take his oath he had
heerd niggers at a dignity ball, down South, sing jist the same, and
jist as well. And then do, for goodness' gracious' sake, hear that great
absent man, belongin' to the House o' Commons, when the chaplain says
'Let us pray!' sing right out at once, as if he was to home, 'Oh! by all
means,' as much as to say, 'me and the powers above are ready to hear
you; but don't be long about it.'

"Ain't that for all the world like a camp-meetin', when a reformed
ring-tail roarer calls out to the minister, 'That's a fact, Welly Fobus,
by Gosh; amen!' or when preacher says, 'Who will be saved?' answers, 'Me
and the boys, throw us a hen-coop; the galls will drift down stream on a
bale o' cotton.' Well then, _our_ very lowest, and _their_ very highest,
don't always act pretty, that's a fact. Sometimes '_they repudiate_.'
You take, don't you?

"There is another party to-night; the flock is a thinnin' off agin; and
as I want a cigar most amazin'ly, let's go to a divan, and some other
time, I'll tell you what a swoi_ree_ is. But answer me this here
question now, Squire: when this same thing is acted over and over, day
after day, and no variation, from July to etarnity, don't you think
you'd get a leetle--jist a leetle more tired of it every day, and wish
for natur once more. If you wouldn't I would, that's all."

End of Project Gutenberg's The Attache, by Thomas Chandler Haliburton