The Attache; Or, Sam Slick In England(Fiscle Part-3) - Thomas Chandler Haliburton (reading well txt) 📗

Volume 1 Chapter 11 (Cottages) Pg 63

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

Volume 1 Chapter 11 (Cottages) Pg 64

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

Volume 1 Chapter 11 (Cottages) Pg 65

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,