The Attache; Or, Sam Slick In England(Fiscle Part-3) by Thomas Chandler Haliburton (english novels for beginners .txt) 📕

He Did,  Upon My Soul."

"No,  Don't Send State-Secretary To Minister,  Send Him To

Me At Eleven O'clock To-Night,  For I Shall Be The

Toploftiest Feller About That Time You've Seen This While

Past,  I Tell You. Stop Till I Touch Land Once More,  That's

All; The Way I'll Stretch My Legs Ain't No Matter."

He Then Uttered The Negro Ejaculation "Chah!--Chah!" And

Putting His Arms A-Kimbo,  Danced In A Most Extraordinary

Style To The Music Of A Song,  Which He Gave With Great

Expression:

  "Oh Hab You Nebber Heerd Ob De Battle Ob Orleens,

   Where De Dandy Yankee Lads Gave De Britishers De Beans;

   Oh De Louisiana Boys Dey Did It Pretty Slick,

   When Dey Cotch Ole Packenham And Rode Him Up A Creek.

   Wee My Zippy Dooden Dooden Dooden,  Dooden Dooden Dey,

   Wee My Zippy Dooden Dooden Dooden,  Dooden Dooden Dey.

"Oh Yes,  Send Secretary To Me At Eleven Or Twelve To-Night,

I'll Be In Tune Then,  Jist About Up To Concart Pitch.

I'll Smoke With Him,  Or Drink With Him,  Or Swap Stories

With Him,  Or Wrastle With Him,  Or Make A Fool Of Him,  Or

Lick Him,  Or Any Thing He Likes; And When I've Done,  I'll

Rise Up,  Tweak The Fore-Top-Knot Of My Head By The Nose,

Bow Pretty,  And Say 'Remember Me,  Your Honour? Don't

Forget The Tip?' Lord,  How I Long To Walk Into Some O'

These Chaps,  And Give 'Em The Beans! And I Will Yet Afore

I'm Many Days Older,  Hang Me If I Don't. I Shall Bust,

I Do Expect; And If I Do,  Them That Ain't Drownded Will

Be Scalded,  I Know. Chah!--Chah!

  "Oh De British Name Is Bull,  And De French Name Is Frog,

   And Noisy Critters Too,  When A Braggin' On A Log,--

   But I Is An Alligator,  A Floatin' Down Stream.

   And I'll Chaw Both The Bullies Up,  As I Would An Ice-Cream:

   Wee My Zippy Dooden Dooden Dooden,  Dooden Dooden Dee,

   Wee My Zippy Dooden Dooden Dooden,  Dooden Dooden Dee.

"Yes,  I've Been Pent Up In That Drawer-Like Lookin' Berth,

Till I've Growed Like A Pine-Tree With Its Branches Off--

Straight Up And Down. My Legs Is Like A Pair Of Compasses

That's Got Wet; They Are Rusty On The Hinges,  And Won't

Work. I'll Play Leapfrog Up The Street,  Over Every

Feller's Head,  Till I Get To The Liners' Hotel; I Hope

I May Be Shot If I Don't. Jube,  You Villain,  Stand Still

There On The Deck,  And Hold Up Stiff,  You Nigger. Warny

Once--Warny Twice--Warny Three Times; Now I Come."

And He Ran Forward,  And Putting A Hand On Each Shoulder,

Jumped Over Him.

"Turn Round Agin,  You Young Sucking Satan,  You; And Don't

Give One Mite Or Morsel,  Or You Might 'Break Massa's

Precious Neck,' P'raps. Warny Once--Warny Twice--Warny

Three Times."

And He Repeated The Feat Again.

"That's The Way I'll Shin It Up Street,  With A Hop,  Skip

And A Jump. Won't I Make Old Bull Stare,  When He Finds

His Head Under My Coat Tails,  And Me Jist Makin' A Lever

Of Him? He'll Think He Has Run Foul Of A Snag,  _I_ Know.

Lord,  I'll Shack Right Over Their Heads,  As They Do Over

A Colonist; Only When They Do,  They Never Say Warny Wunst,

Cuss 'Em,  They Arn't Civil Enough For That. They Arn't

Paid For It--There Is No Parquisite To Be Got By It.

Won't I Tuck In The Champaine To-Night,  That's All,  Till

I Get The Steam Up Right,  And Make The Paddles Work?

Won't I Have A Lark Of The Rael Kentuck Breed? Won't I

Trip Up A Policeman's Heels,  Thunder The Knockers Of The

Street Doors,  And Ring The Bells And Leave No Card? Won't

I Have A Shy At A Lamp,  And Then Off Hot Foot To The

Hotel? Won't I Say,  'Waiter,  How Dare You Do That?'

"'What,  Sir?'

"'Tread On My Foot.'

"'I Didn't,  Sir.'

"'You Did,  Sir. Take That!' Knock Him Down Like Wink,

And Help Him Up On His Feet Agin With A Kick On His

Western Eend. Kiss The Barmaid,  About The Quickest And

Wickedest She Ever Heerd Tell Of,  And Then Off To Bed As

Sober As A Judge. 'Chambermaid,  Bring A Pan Of Coals And

Air My Bed.' 'Yes,  Sir.' Foller Close At Her Heels,  Jist

Put A Hand On Each Short Rib,  Tickle Her Till She Spills

The Red Hot Coals All Over The Floor,  And Begins To Cry

Over 'Em To Put 'Em Out,  Whip The Candle Out Of Her Hand,

Leave Her To Her Lamentations,  And Then Off To Roost In

No Time. And When I Get There,  Won't I Strike Out All

Abroad--Take Up The Room Of Three Men With Their Clothes

On--Lay All Over And Over The Bed,  And Feel Once More I

Am A Free Man And A '_Gentleman At Large_.'"

On Looking Back To Any Given Period Of Our Life,  We

Generally Find That The Intervening Time Appears Much

Shorter Than It Really Is. We See At Once The Starting-Post

And The Terminus,  And The Mind Takes In At One View The

Entire Space.

But This Observation Is More Peculiarly Applicable To A

Short Passage Across The Atlantic. Knowing How Great The

Distance Is,  And Accustomed To Consider The Voyage As

The Work Of Many Weeks,  We Are So Astonished At Finding

Ourselves Transported In A Few Days,  From One Continent

To Another,  That We Can Hardly Credit The Evidence Of

Our Own Senses.

Who Is There That On Landing Has Not Asked Himself The

Question,  "Is It Possible That I Am In England? It Seems

But As Yesterday That I Was In America,  To-Day I Am In

Europe. Is It A Dream,  Or A Reality?"

The River And The Docks--The Country And The Town--The

People And Their Accent--The Verdure And The Climate Are

All New To Me. I Have Not Been Prepared For This; I Have

Not Been Led On Imperceptibly,  By Travelling Mile After

Mile By Land From My Own Home,  To Accustom My Senses To

The Gradual Change Of Country. There Has Been No Border

To Pass,  Where The Language,  The Dress,  The Habits,  And

Outward Appearances Assimilate. There Has Been No Blending

Of Colours--No Dissolving Views In The Retrospect--No

Opening Or Expanding Ones In Prospect. I Have No Difficulty

In Ascertaining The Point Where One Terminates And The

Other Begins.

The Change Is Sudden And Startling. The Last Time I

Slept On Shore,  Was In America--To-Night I Sleep In

England. The Effect Is Magical--One Country Is Withdrawn

From View,  And Another Is Suddenly Presented To My

Astonished Gaze. I Am Bewildered; I Rouse Myself,  And

Rubbing My Eyes,  Again Ask Whether I Am Awake? Is This

England? That Great Country,  That World Of Itself; Old

England,  That Place I Was Taught To Call Home _Par

Excellence_,  The Home Of Other Homes,  Whose Flag,  I Called

Our Flag? (No,  I Am Wrong,  I Have Been Accustomed To Call

Our Flag,  The Flag Of England; Our Church,  Not The Church

Of Nova Scotia,  Nor The Colonial Nor The Episcopal,  Nor

The Established,  But The Church Of England.) Is It Then

That England,  Whose Language I Speak,  Whose Subject I

Am,  The Mistress Of The World,  The Country Of Kings And

Queens,  And Nobles And Prelates,  And Sages And Heroes?

I Have Read Of It,  So Have I Read Of Old Rome; But The

Sight Of Rome,  Caesar And The Senate Would Not Astonish

Me More Than That Of London,  The Queen And The Parliament.

Both Are Yet Ideal; The Imagination Has Sketched Them,

But When Were Its Sketches Ever True To Nature? I Have

A Veneration For Both,  But,  Gentle Reader,  Excuse The

Confessions Of An Old Man,  For I Have A Soft Spot In The

Heart Yet,  _I Love Old England_. I Love Its Institutions,

Its Literature,  Its People. I Love Its Law,  Because,

While It Protects Property,  It Ensures Liberty. I Love

Its Church,  Not Only Because I Believe It Is The True

Church,  But Because Though Armed With Power,  It Is Tolerant

In Practice. I Love Its Constitution,  Because It Combines

The Stability Of A Monarchy,  With The Most Valuable

Peculiarities Of A Republic,  And Without Violating Nature

By Attempting To Make Men Equal,  Wisely Follow Its

Dictates,  By Securing Freedom To All.

I Like The People,  Though Not All In The Same Degree.

They Are Not What They Were. Dissent,  Reform And Agitation

Have Altered Their Character. It Is Necessary To

Distinguish. A _Real_ Englishman Is Generous,  Loyal And

Brave,  Manly In His Conduct And Gentlemanly In His Feeling.

When I Meet Such A Man As This,  I Cannot But Respect Him;

But When I Find That In Addition To These Good Qualities,

He Has The Further Recommendation Of Being A Churchman

In His Religion And A Tory In His Politics,  I Know Then

That His Heart Is In The Right Place,  And I Love Him.

The Drafts Of These Chapters Were Read To Mr. Slick,  At

His Particular Request,  That He Might Be Assured They

Contained Nothing That Would Injure His Election As

President Of The United States,  In The Event Of The

Slickville Ticket Becoming Hereafter The Favourite One.

This,  He Said,  Was On The Cards,  Strange As It Might

Seem,  For Making A Fool Of John Bull And Turning The

Laugh On Him,  Would He Sure To Take And Be Popular. The

Last Paragraphs,  He Said,  He Affectioned And Approbated

With All His Heart.

"It Is Rather Tall Talkin' That," Said He; "I Like Its

Patronisin' Tone. There Is Sunthin' Goodish In A Colonist

Patronisin' A Britisher. It's Turnin' The Tables On 'Em;

It's Sarvin' 'Em Out In Their Own Way. Lord,  I Think I

See Old Bull Put His Eye-Glass Up And Look At You,  With

A Dead Aim,  And Hear Him Say,  'Come,  This Is Cuttin' It

Rather Fat.' Or,  As The Feller Said To His Second Wife,

When She Tapped Him On The Shoulder,  'Marm,  My First Wife

Was A _Pursy_,  And She Never Presumed To Take That

Liberty.' Yes,  That's Good,  Squire. Go It,  My Shirt-Tails!

You'll Win If You Get In Fust,  See If You Don't.

Patronizin' A Britisher!!! A Critter That Has Lucifer's

Pride,  Arkwright's Wealth,  And Bedlam's Sense,  Ain't It

Rich? Oh,  Wake Snakes And Walk Your Chalks,  Will You!

Give Me Your Figgery-Four Squire,  I'll Go In Up To The

Handle For You. Hit Or Miss,  Rough Or Tumble,  Claw Or

Mud-Scraper,  Any Way,  You Damn Please,  I'm Your Man."

But To Return To My Narrative. I Was