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

Mangel Wurzel,  And Took A Thousand Days To Fat,  And

Weighed Ever So Many Thousands Too. I Don't Believe It,

But I Don't Say So,  Out Of Manners,  For I'll Take My Oath

He Was Fatted On Porter,  Because He Looks Exactly Like

The Footman On All Fours. He Is A Walking "_Brown Stout_,"

That Feller.

"There Is A Hunter,  Come,  I Like Hosses; But This Brute

Was Painted When At Grass,  And Is Too Fat To Look Well,

Guess He Was A Goodish Hoss In His Day Though. He Ain't

A Bad Cut That's A Fact.

"Hullo! What's This Pictur? Why,  This Is From Our Side

Of The Water,  As I Am A Livin' Sinner,  This Is A

New-Foundlander,  This Dog; Yes,  And He Is Of The True

Genu_Wine_ Breed Too,  Look At His Broad Forehead--His

Dew-Claws--His Little Ears; (Sir Littleeared Must Have

Been Named Arter Him),  His Long Hair--His Beautiful Eye.

He Is A First Chop Article That; But,  Oh Lord,  He Is Too

Shockin' Fat Altogether. He Is Like Mother Gary's

Chickens,  They Are All Fat And Feathers. A Wick Run

Through 'Em Makes A Candle. This Critter Is All Hair And

Blubber,  If He Goes Too Near The Grate,  He'll Catch Into

A Blaze And Set Fire To The House.

"There's Our Friend The Host With Cap And Gold Tassel

On,  Ridin' On His Back,  And There's His Younger Brother,

(That Died To Cambridge From Settin' Up All Night For

His Degree,  And Suppin' On Dry Mathematics,  And Swallerin'

"Newton" Whole) Younger Brother Like,  Walkin' On Foot,

And Leadin' The Dog By The Head,  While The Heir Is A

Scoldin' Him For Not Goin' Faster.

"Then,  There Is An Old Aunty That A Forten Come From.

She Looks Like A Bale O' Cotton,  Fust Screwed As Tight

As Possible,  And Then Corded Hard. Lord,  If They Had Only

A Given Her A Pinch Of Snuff,  When She Was Full Dressed

And Trussed,  And Sot Her A Sneezin',  She'd A Blowed Up,

And The Fortin Would Have Come Twenty Years Sooner.

"Yes,  It's A Family Pictur,  Indeed,  They Are All Family

Picture. They Are All Fine Animals,  But Over Fed And

Under Worked.

"Now It's Up And Take A Turn In The Gardens. There Is

Some Splendid Flowers On That Slope. You And The Galls

Go To Look At 'Em,  And Jist As You Get There,  The Grass

Is Juicy From The Everlastin' Rain,  And Awful Slippy; Up

Go Your Heels,  And Down Goes Stranger On The Broad Of

His Back,  Slippin' And Slidin' And Coastin' Right Down

The Bank,  Slap Over The Light Mud-Earth Bed,  And Crushin'

The Flowers As Flat As A Pancake,  And You Yaller Ochered

All Over,  Clean Away From The Scruff Of Your Neck,  Down

To The Tip Eend Of Your Heel. The Galls Larf,  The Helps

Larf,  And The,  Bed-Room Maid Larfs; And Who The Plague

Can Blame Them? Old Marm Don't Larf Though,  Because She

Is Too Perlite,  And Besides,  She's Lost Her Flowers,  And

That's No Larfin' Matter; And You Don't Larf,  'Cause You

Feel A Little The Nastiest You Ever Did,  And Jist As Near

Like A Fool As To Be Taken For One,  In The Dark,  That's

A Fact.

"Well,  You Renew The Outer Man,  And Try It Agin,  And It's

Look At The Stable And Hosses With Sir Host,  And The

Dogs,  And The Carriages,  And Two American Trees,  And A

Peacock,  And A Guinea Hen,  And A Gold Pheasant,  And A

Silver Pheasant,  And All That,  And Then Lunch. Who The

Plague Can Eat Lunch,  That's Only Jist Breakfasted?

"So Away Goes Lunch,  And Off Goes You And The 'Sir,' A

Trampousin' And A Trapsein' Over The Wet Grass Agin (I

Should Like To Know What Ain't Wet In This Country),  And

Ploughed Fields,  And Wide Ditches Chock Full Of Dirty

Water,  If You Slip In,  To Souse You Most Ridikelous; And

Over Gates That's Nailed Up,  And Stiles That's Got No

Steps For Fear Of Thoroughfare,  And Through Underwood

That's Loaded With Rain-Drops,  Away Off To Tother Eend

Of The Estate,  To See The Most Beautiful Field Of Turnips

That Ever Was Seen,  Only The Flies Eat All The Plants

Up; And Then Back By Another Path,  That's Slumpier Than

T'other,  And Twice As Long,  That You May See An Old Wall

With Two Broke-Out Winders,  All Covered With Ivy,  Which

Is Called A Ruin. And Well Named It Is,  Too,  For I Tore

A Bran New Pair Of Trousers,  Most Onhandsum,  A Scramblin'

Over The Fences To See It,  And Ruined A Pair Of Shoes

That Was All Squashed Out Of Shape By The Wet And Mud.

"Well,  Arter All This Day Of Pleasure,  It Is Time To Rig

Up In Your Go-To-Meetin' Clothes For Dinner; And That

Is The Same As Yesterday,  Only Stupider,  If That's

Possible; And That Is Life In The Country.

"How The Plague Can It Be Otherwise Than Dull? If There

Is Nothin' To See,  There Can't Be Nothin' To Talk About.

Now The Town Is Full Of Things To See. There Is Babbage's

Machine,  And Bank Governor's Machine,  And The Yankee

Woman's Machine,  And The Flyin' Machine,  And All Sorts

Of Machines,  And Galleries,  And Tunnels,  And Mesmerisers,

And Theatres,  And Flower-Shows,  And Cattle-Shows,  And

Beast-Shows,  And Every Kind Of Show,  And What's Better

Nor All,  Beautiful Got-Up Women,  And Men Turned Out In

Fust Chop Style,  Too.

"I Don't Mean To Say Country Women Ain't Handsum Here,

'Cause They Be. There Is No Sun Here; And How In Natur'

Can It Be Otherways Than That They Have Good Complexions.

But It Tante Safe To Be Caged With Them In A House Out

O' Town. Fust Thing You Both Do,  Is To Get Spooney,  Makin'

Eyes And Company-Faces At Each Other,  And Then Think Of

Matin',  Like A Pair Of Doves,  And That Won't Answer For

The Like Of You And Me. The Fact Is,  Squire,  If You Want

To See _Women_,  You Musn't Go To A House In The Country,

Nor To Mere Good Company In Town For It,  Tho' There Be

First Chop Articles In Both; But You Must Go Among The

Big Bugs The Top-Lofty Nobility,  In London; For Since

The Days Of Old Marm Eve,  Down To This Instant Present

Time,  I Don't Think There Ever Was Or Ever Will Be Such

Splendiferous Galls As Is There. Lord,  The Fust Time I

Seed 'Em It Put Me In Mind Of What Happened To Me At New

Brunswick Once. Governor Of Maine Sent Me Over To Their

Governor's,  Official-Like,  With A State Letter,  And The

British Officers Axed Me To Dine To Their Mess. Well,

The English Brags So Like Niggers,  I Thought I'd Prove

'Em,  And Set 'Em Off On Their Old Trade Jist For Fun.

So,  Says I,  Stranger Captain,  Sais I,  Is All These Forks

And Spoons,  And Plates And Covers,  And Urns,  And What

Nots,  Rael Genu_Wine_ Solid Silver,  The Clear Thing,  And

No Mistake. 'Sartainly,' Said He,  'We Have Nothin' But

Silver Here.' He Did,  Upon My Soul,  Just As Cool,  As If

It Was All True; Well You Can't Tell A Mili_Tary_ What

He Sais Ain't Credible,  Or You Have To Fight Him. It's

Considered Ongenteel,  So I Jist Puts My Finger On My

Nose,  And Winks,  As Much As To Say,  'I Ain't Such A Cussed

Fool As You Take Me To Be,  I Can Tell You.'

"When He Seed I'd Found Him Out,  He Larfed Like Any Thing.

Guess He Found That Was No Go,  For I Warn't Born In The

Woods To Be Scared By An Owl,  That's A Fact. Well,  The

Fust Time I Went To Lord's Party,  I Thought It Was Another

Brag Agin; I Never See Nothin' Like It. Heavens And

Airth,  I Most Jumpt Out O' My Skin. Where Onder The Sun,

Sais I To Myself,  Did He Rake And Scrape Together Such

Super-Superior Galls As These. This Party Is A Kind O'

Consarvitory,  He Has Got All The Raree Plants And Sweetest

Roses In England Here,  And Must Have Ransacked The Whole

Country For 'Em. Knowin' I Was A Judge Of Woman Kind,

He Wants Me To Think They Are All This Way; But It's

Onpossible. They Are Only "Shew Frigates" Arter All; It

Don't Stand To Reason,  They Can't Be All Clippers. He

Can't Put The Leake Into Me That Way,  So It Tante No Use

Tryin'. Well,  The Next Time,  I Seed Jist Such Another

Covey Of Partridges,  Same Plumage,  Same Step,  And Same

Breed. Well Done,  Sais I,  They Are Intarmed To Pull The

Wool Over My Eyes,  That's A Fact,  But They Won't Find

That No Easy Matter,  I Know. Guess They Must Be Done Now,

They Can't Show Another Presarve Like Them Agin In All

Britain. What Trouble They Do Take To Brag Here,  Don't

They? Well,  To Make A Long Story Short; How Do You Think

It Eventuated,  Squire? Why Every Party I Went To,  Had As

Grand A Shew As Them,  Only Some On 'Em Was Better,  Fact

I Assure You,  It's Gospel Truth; There Ain't A Word Of

A Lie In It,  Text To The Letter. I Never See Nothin' Like

It,  Since I Was Raised,  Nor Dreamed Nothin' Like It,  And

What's More,  I Don't Think The World Has Nothin' Like It

Nother. It Beats All Natur. It Takes The Rag Off Quite.

If That Old Turk,  Mahomed,  Had Seed These Galls,  He

Wouldn't A Bragged About His Beautiful Ones In Paradise

So For Everlastinly,  I Know; For These English Heifers

Would Have Beat 'Em All Holler,