The Attache; Or, Sam Slick In England(Fiscle Part-3), Thomas Chandler Haliburton [best ereader for pdf TXT] 📗

General Russell Down To Private Chartist,  Clap 'Em Into

A Caterwaulin' Or Catalapsin' Sleep,  Or Whatever The Word

Is,  And Make 'Em Tell The Secrets Of Their Hearts,  As

Dupotet Did The Clear-Voyancing Gall,  And Jist Hear What

They'll Tell You.

 

"Lord John Will Say--'I Was Sincere!' (And I Believe On

My Soul He Was. He Is Wrong Beyond All Doubt,  But He Is

An Honest Man,  And A Clever Man,  And If He Had Taken His

_Own_ Way More,  And Given Powlet Thompson _His_ Less,  He

Would A' Been A Great Colony Secretary; And More's The

Pity He Is In Such Company. He'll Get Off His Beam Ends,

And Right Himself Though,  Yet,  I Guess.) Well,  He'd

Say--'I Was Sincere,  I Was Disinterested; But I Am

Disappointed. I Have Awakened A Pack Of Hungry Villains

Who Have Sharp Teeth,  Long Claws,  And The Appetite Of

The Devil. They Have Swallered All I Gave 'Em,  And Now

Would Eat Me Up Without Salt,  If They Could. Oh,  That I

Could Hark Back! _There Is No Satisfyin' A Movement

Party_.'

 

"Now What Do The Men Say,  (I Don't Mean Men Of Rank,  But

The Men In The Ranks),--'Where's All The Fine Things We

Were Promised When Reform Gained The Day?' Sais They,

'Ay,  Where Are They? For We Are Wuss Off Than Ever,  Now,

Havin' Lost All Our Old Friends,  And Got Bilked By Our

New Ones Tarnationly. What Did All Their Fine Speeches

End In At Last? Bunkum; Damn The Thing But Bunkum.

 

"But That Aint The Wust Of It,  Nother. Bunkum,  Like Lyin',

Is Plaguy Apt To Make A Man Believe His Own Bams At Last.

From Telling 'Em So Often,  He Forgets Whether He Grow'd

'Em Or Dreamt 'Em,  And So He Stands' Right Up On End,

Kisses The Book,  And Swears To 'Em,  As Positive As The

Irishman Did To The Gun,  Which He Said He Know'd Ever

Since It Was A Pistol. Now,  _That's Bunkum_.

 

"But To Get Back To What We Was A Talkin' Of,  Did You

Ever Hear Such Bad Speakin' In Your Life,  Now Tell Me

Candid? Because If You Have,  I Never Did,  That's All.

Both Sides Was Bad,  It Aint Easy To Say Which Is Wus,

Six Of One And Half A Dozen Of T'other,  Nothin To Brag

Of Nary Way. That Government Man,  That Spoke In Their

Favour,  Warn't His Speech Rich?

 

"Lord Love You! I Aint No Speaker,  I Never Made But One

Speech Since I Was Raised,  And That Was Afore A Slickville

Legislatur,  And Then I Broke Down. I Know'd Who I Was

A Talkin' Afore; They Was Men That Had Cut Their Eye-Teeth,

And That You Could'nt Pull The Wool Over Their Eyes,

Nohow You Could Fix It,  And I Was Young Then. Now I'm

Growed Up,  I Guess,  And I've Got My Narves In The Right

Place,  And As Taught As A Drum; And I _Could_ Speak If

I Was In The House O' Commons,  That's A Fact. If A Man

Volume 2 Chapter 8 (Bunkum) Pg 140

Was To Try There,  That Was Worth Any Thin',  He'd Find He

Was A Flute Without Knowin' It. They Don't Onderstand

Nothin' But Latin And Greek,  And I'd Buoy Out Them Sand

Banks,  Keep The Lead Agoin',  Stick To The Channel,  And

Never Take Ground,  I Know. The Way I'd Cut Water Aint No

Matter. Oh Solomon! What A Field For Good Speakin' That

Question Was To-Night,  If They Only Had Half An Eye,  Them

Fellers,  And What A'most A Beautiful Mess They Made Of

It On Both Sides!

 

"I Ain't A Vain Man,  And Never Was. You Know,  Squire,

I Hante A Mossel Of It In My Composition; No,  If You Was

To Look At Me With A Ship's Glass You Wouldn't See A

Grease Spot Of It In Me. I Don't Think Any Of Us Yankees

Is Vain People; It's A Thing Don't Grow In Our Diggins.

We Have Too Much Sense In A Giniral Way For That; Indeed

If We Wanted Any,  We Couldn't Get None For Love Nor Money,

For John Bull Has A Monopoly Of It. He Won't Open The

Trade. It's A Home Market He Looks To,  And The Best Of

It Is,  He Thinks He Hante None To Spare.

 

"Oh,  John Bull,  John Bull,  When You Are Full Rigged,  With

Your White Cravat And White Waistcoat Like Young England,

And Have Got Your Go-To-Meetin' Clothes On,  If You Ain't

A Sneezer,  It's A Pity,  That's All. No,  I Ain't A Vain

Man,  I Despise It,  As I Do A Nigger; But,  Squire,  What

A Glorious Field The Subject To-Night Is For A Man That

Knows What's What,  And Was Up To Snuff,  Ain't It? Airth

And Seas! If I Was There,  I Could Speak On Either Side;

For Like Waterloo It's A Fair Field; It's Good Ground

For Both Parties. Heavens What A Speech I Could Make!

I'd Electrify 'Em And Kill 'Em Dead Like Lightnin',  And

Then Galvanise 'Em And Fetch' Em To Life Agin,  And Then

Give Them Exhiliratin' Gass And Set 'Em A Larfin',  Till

They Fairly Wet Themselves Agin With Cryin'. Wouldn't It

Be Fun,  That's All? I Could Sting Peel So If I Liked,

He'd Think A Galley Nipper Had Bit Him,  And He'd Spring

Right Off The Floor On To The Table At One Jump,  Gout Or

No Gout,  Ravin' Mad With Pain And Say,  'I'm Bit Thro'

The Boot By Gosh;' Or If I Was To Take His Side,  For I

Care So Little About The British,  All Sides Is Alike To

Me,  I'd Make Them Irish Members Dance Like Ravin',

Distractin' Bed Bugs. I'd Make 'Em Howl,  First Wicked

And Then Dismal,  I Know.

 

"But They Can't Do It,  To Save Their Souls Alive; Some

Has It In 'Em And Can't Get It Out,  Physic 'Em As You

Would,  First With Vanity,  And Then With Office; Others

Have Got A Way Out,  But Have Nothin' To Drive Thro' The

Gate; Some Is So Timid,  They Can't Go Ahead; And Others

Are In Such An Infarnal Hurry,  They Spend The Whole Time

In False Starts.

 

"No,  There,  Is No Good Oratory To Parliament Now,  And

The English Brag So,  I Doubt If It Ever Was So Good,  As

They Say It Was In Old Times. At Any Rate,  It's All Got

Down To "Bunkum" Now. It's Makin' A Speech For Newspapers

And Not For The House. It's To Tell On Voters And Not On

Members. Then,  What A Row They Make,  Don't They? Hear,

Hear,  Hear; Divide,  Divide,  Divide; Oh,  Oh,  Oh; Haw,  Haw,

Haw. It Tante Much Different From Stump Oratory In America

Arter All,  Or Speakin' Off A Whiskey Barrel,  Is It? It's

A Sort Of Divil Me-Kear-Kind O' Audience; Independent

Critters,  That Look At A Feller Full In The Face,  As

Sarcy As The Divil; As Much As To Say,  'Talk Away,  My

Old 'Coon,  You Won't Alter Me,  I Can Tell You,  It's All

_Bunkum_.'

 

"Lord,  I Shall Never Forget Poor Old Davy Crocket's Last

Speech; There Was No "Bunkum" In That. He Despised It;

All Good Shots Do,  They Aim Right Straight For The Mark

And Hit It. There's No Shootin' Round The Ring,  With Them

Kinder Men. Poor Old Feller,  He Was A Great Hunter; A

Great Shot With The Rifle,  A Great Wit,  And A Great Man.

He Didn't Leave His _Span_ Behind Him,  When He Slipt Off

The Handle,  I Know.

 

"Well He Stood For An Election And Lost It,  Just Afore

He Left The States; So When It Was Over,  He Slings His

Powder Horn On,  Over His Shoulders,  Takes His "Betsey,"

Which Was His Best Rifle,  Onder His Arm,  And Mounts On

A Barrel,  To Talk It Into His Constituents,  And Take

Leave Of 'Em.

 

"'Feller Citizens,' Sais He,  'We've Had A Fair Stand-Up

Fight For It,  And I'm Whipped,  That Are A Fact; And Thar

Is No Denyin' Of It. I've Come Now To Take My Leave Of

You. You May All Go To H--L,  And I'll Go To Texas.'

 

"And He Stepped Right Down,  And Went Over The Boundary,

And Jined The Patriots Agin Mexico,  And Was Killed There.

 

"Why It Will Never Be Forgot,  That Speech. It Struck Into

The Bull's Eye Of The Heart. It Was Noble. It Said So

Much In A Few Words,  And Left The Mind To Fill The Gaps

Up. The Last Words Is A Sayin' Now,  And Always Will Be,

To All Etarnity. Whenever A Feller Wants To Shew How

Indifferent He Is,  He Jist Sais,  'You May Go To (Hem,

Hem,  You Know,) And I'll Go To Texas.' There Is No _Bunkum_

In That,  Squire.

 

"Yes,  There Is No Good Speakin' There,  Speakin' Is No

Use. Every Feller Is Pledged And Supports His Party. A

Speech Don't Alter No Man's Opinions; Yes It _May_ Alter

His _Opinions_,  But It Don't Alter His Vote,  That Ain't

His'n,  It's His Party's. Still,  There Is Some Credit In

A Good Speech,  And Some Fun Too. No Feller There Has Any

Ridicule; He Has Got No Ginger In Him,  He Can Neither

Volume 2 Chapter 8 (Bunkum) Pg 141

Crack His Whip,  Nor Lay It On; He Can Neither Cut The

Hide Nor Sting It. Heavens! If I Was There I And I'm Sure

It's No Great Boastin' To Say I'm Better Than Such Fellers,

As Them Small Fry Of White Bait Is. If I Was There,  Give

Me A Good Subject Like That To-Night,  Give Me A Good Horn

Of Lignum Vitae--"

 

"Lignum Vitae--What's That?"

 

"Lord-O-Massy On Us! You Don't Know Nothin',  Squire.

Where Have You Been All Your Born Days,  Not To Know What

Lignum Vitae Is? Why Lignum Vitae,  Is Hot Brandy And

Water To Be Sure,  Pipin' Hot,  Scald An Iron Pot Amost,

And Spiced With Cloves And Sugar In It,  Stiff Enough To

Make A Tea-Spoon Stand Up In It,  As Straight As A Dead

Nigger. Wine Ain't No Good,  It Goes Off As Quick As The

White Beads Off Of Champaign Does,  And Then Leaves A

Stupid Head-Ache Behind It. But Give Me The Subject And

A Horn Of Lignum Vitae (Of The Wickedest Kind),  And Then

Let A Feller Rile Me,  So As To Get My Back Up Like A

Fightin' Cat's,  And I'll Tell You What I'd Do,  I'd Sarve

Him As Our Slickville Boys Sarve The Cows To California.

One On 'Em Lays Hold Of The Tail,  And The Other Skins

Her As She Runs Strait An Eend. Next Year,  It's All Growed

Ready For Another Flayin'. Fact,  I Assure You. Lord!

I'd Skin A Feller So,  His Hide Would Never Grow Agin;

I'd Make A Caution Of Him To Sinners,  I Know.

 

"Only Hear Them Fellers Now Talk Of Extendin' Of The

Representation; Why The House Is A Mob Now,  Plaguy Little

Better,  I Assure You. Like The House In Cromwell's Time,

They Want "Sam Slick's" Purge. But Talkin' Of Mobs,  Puts

Me In Mind Of A Swoi-Ree,  I Told You I'd Describe That

To You,  And I Don't Care If I Do Now,  For I've Jist Got

My Talkin' Tacks Aboard. A Swoi-Ree Is--

 

"We'll Talk Of That Some Other Time,  Mr. Slick," Said I;

"It Is Now Near Two O'clock,  I Must Retire."

 

"Well,  Well," Said He,  "I Suppose It Is E'en