The Attache; Or, Sam Slick In England(Fiscle Part-3) - Thomas Chandler Haliburton (reading well txt) 📗
- Author: Thomas Chandler Haliburton
Book online «The Attache; Or, Sam Slick In England(Fiscle Part-3) - Thomas Chandler Haliburton (reading well txt) 📗». Author Thomas Chandler Haliburton
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?'
Volume 1 Chapter 7 (A Gentleman At Large) Pg 38
"'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_.'"
Volume 1 Chapter 8 (Seeing Liverpool) Pg 39
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
Volume 1 Chapter 8 (Seeing Liverpool) Pg 40His 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
Comments (0)