The Attache; Or, Sam Slick In England(Fiscle Part-3) by Thomas Chandler Haliburton (best reads txt) 📖

Not Be Able To

Detain Him Long In This Country,  Unless His Attention

Should Be Kept Fully Occupied By A Constant Change Of

Scene.

 

Mr. Slick Expressed To Me The Same Fear,  And,  Knowing

That I Had Been Talking Of Going To Scotland,  Entreated

Me Not To Be Long Absent,  For He Felt Convinced That As

Soon As He Should Be Left Alone,  His Thoughts And Wishes

Would At Once Revert To America.

 

"I Will Try To Keep Him Up," Said He,  "As Well As I Can,

But I Can't Do It Alone. If You Do Go,  Don't Leave Us

Long. Whenever I Find Him Dull,  And Can't Cheer Him Up

No How I Can Fix It,  By Talk,  Or Fun,  Or Sight Seein' Or

Nothin',  I Make Him Vexed,  And That Excites Him,  Stirs

Him Up With A Pot Stick,  And Is Of Great Sarvice To Him.

I Don't Mean Actilly Makin' Him Wrathy In Airnest,  But

Jist Rilin Of Him For His Own Good,  By Pokin' A Mistake

At Him. I'll Shew You,  Presently,  How I Do It."

 

As Soon As Mr. Hopewell Rejoined Us,  He Began To Inquire

Into The Probable Duration Of Our Visit To This Country,

And Expressed A Wish To Return,  As Soon As Possible,  To

Slickville.

 

"Come,  Minister," Said Mr. Slick,  Tapping Him On The

Shoulder,  "As Father Used To Say,  We Must 'Right About

Face' Now. When We Are At Home Let Us Think Of Home,  When

We Are Here,  Let Us Think Of This Place. Let Us Look

A-Head,  Don't Let's Look Back,  For We Can't See Nothin'

There."

 

"Indeed,  Sam," Said He,  With A Sad And Melancholy Air,

"It Would Be Better For Us All If We Looked Back Oftener

Than We Do. From The Errors Of The Past,  We Might Rectify

Our Course For The Future. Prospective Sin Is Often

Clothed In Very Alluring Garments; Past Sin Appears In

All Its Naked Deformity. Looking Back,  Therefore--"

 

"Is Very Well," Said Mr. Slick,  "In The Way Of Preachin';

But Lookin' Back When You Can't See Nothin',  As You Are

Now,  Is Only A Hurtin' Of Your Eyes. I Never Hear That

Word,  'Lookin' Back,' That I Don't Think Of That Funny

Story Of Lot's Wife."

 

"Funny Story Of Lot's Wife,  Sir! Do You Call That A

Funny Story,  Sir?"

 

"I Do,  Sir."

 

"You Do,  Sir?"

 

"Yes,  I Do,  Sir; And I Defy You Or Any Other Man To Say

It Ain't A Funny Story."

 

"Oh Dear,  Dear," Said Mr. Hopewell,  "That I Should Have

Lived To See The Day When You,  My Son,  Would Dare To

Volume 2 Chapter 13 (Looking Back) Pg 173

Speak Of A Divine Judgment As A Funny Story,  And That

You Should Presume So To Address Me."

 

"A Judgment,  Sir?"

 

"Yes,  A Judgment,  Sir."

 

"Do You Call The Story Of Lot's Wife A Judgment?"

 

"Yes,  I Do Call The Story Of Lot's Wife A Judgment; A

Monument Of The Divine Wrath For The Sin Of Disobedience."

 

"What! Mrs. Happy Lot? Do You Call Her A Monument Of

Wrath? Well,  Well,  If That Don't Beat All,  Minister. If

You Had A Been A-Tyin' Of The Night-Cap Last Night I

Shouldn't A Wondered At Your Talkin' At That Pace. But

To Call That Dear Little Woman,  Mrs. Happy Lot,  That

Dancin',  Laughin' Tormentin',  Little Critter,  A Monument

Of Wrath,  Beats All To Immortal Smash."

 

"Why Who Are You A-Talkin' Of,  Sam?"

 

"Why,  Mrs. Happy Lot,  The Wife Of The Honourable Cranbery

Lot,  Of Umbagog,  To Be Sure. Who Did You Think I Was

A-Talkin' Of?"

 

"Well,  I Thought You Was A-Talkin' Of--Of--Ahem--Of

Subjects Too Serious To Be Talked Of In That Manner; But

I Did You Wrong,  Sam; I Did You Injustice. Give Me Your

Hand,  My Boy. It's Better For Me To Mistake And Apologize,

Than For You To Sin And Repent. I Don't Think I Ever

Heard Of Mr. Lot,  Of Umbagog,  Or Of His Wife Either. Sit

Down Here,  And Tell Me The Story,  For 'With Thee Conversing,

I Forget All Time.'"

 

"Well,  Minister," Said Mr. Slick,  "I'll Tell You The Ins

And Outs Of It; And A Droll Story It Is Too. Miss Lot

Was The Darter Of Enoch Mosher,  The Rich Miser Of Goshen;

As Beautiful A Little Critter Too,  As Ever Slept In

Shoe-Leather. She Looked For All The World Like One Of

The Paris Fashion Prints,  For She Was A Parfect Pictur',

That's A Fact. Her Complexion Was Made Of White And Red

Roses,  Mixed So Beautiful,  You Couldn't Tell Where The

White Eended,  Or The Red Begun,  Natur' Had Used The

Blendin' Brush So Delicate. Her Eyes Were Screw Augurs,

I Tell _You_; They Bored Right Into Your Heart,  And Kinder

Agitated You,  And Made Your Breath Come And Go,  And Your

Pulse Flutter. I Never Felt Nothin' Like 'Em. When Lit

Up,  They Sparkled Like Lamp Reflectors; And At Other

Tunes,  They Was As Soft,  And Mild,  And Clear As Dew-Drops

That Hang On The Bushes At Sun-Rise. When She Loved,

She Loved; And When She Hated,  She Hated About The

Wickedest You Ever See. Her Lips Were Like Heart Cherries

Of The Carnation Kind; So Plump,  And Fall,  And Hard,  You

Volume 2 Chapter 13 (Looking Back) Pg 174

Felt As If You Could Fall To And Eat 'Em Right Up. Her

Voice Was Like A Grand Piany,  All Sorts O' Power In It;

Canary-Birds' Notes At One Eend,  And Thunder At T'other,

Accordin' To The Humour She Was In,  For She Was A'most

A Grand Bit Of Stuff Was Happy,  She'd Put An Edge On A

Knife A'most. She Was A Rael Steel. Her Figur' Was As

Light As A Fairy's,  And Her Waist Was So Taper And Tiny,

It Seemed Jist Made For Puttin' An Arm Round In Walkin'.

She Was As Ac_Tive_ And Springy On Her Feet As A Catamount,

And Near About As Touch Me-Not A Sort Of Customer Too.

She Actilly Did Seem As If She Was Made Out Of Steel

Springs And Chicken-Hawk. If Old Cran,  Was To Slip Off

The Handle,  I Think I Should Make Up To Her,  For She Is

'A Salt,' That's A Fact,  A Most A Heavenly Splice.

 

"Well,  The Honourable Cranbery Lot Put In For Her,  Won

Her,  And Married Her. A Good Speculation It Turned Out

Too,  For He Got The Matter Of One Hundred Thousand Of

Dollars By Her,  If He Got A Cent. As Soon As They Were

Fairly Welded,  Off They Sot To Take The Tour Of Europe,

And They Larfed And Cried,  And Kissed And Quarrelled,

And Fit And Made Up All Over The Continent,  For Her Temper

Was As Onsartain As The Climate Here--Rain One Minit

And Sun The Next; But More Rain Nor Sun.

 

"He Was A Fool,  Was Cranbery. He Didn't Know How To Manage

Her. His Bridle Hand Warn't Good,  I Tell You. A Spry,

Mettlesome Hoss,  And A Dull Critter With No Action,  Don't

Mate Well In Harness,  That's A Fact.

 

"After Goin' Every Where,  And Every Where Else Amost,

Where Should They Get To But The Alps. One Arternoon,  A

Sincerely Cold One It Was Too,  And The Weather,  Violent

Slippy,  Dark Overtook Them Before They Reached The Top

Of One Of The Highest And Steepest Of Them Mountains,

And They Had To Spend The Night At A Poor Squatter's

Shanty.

 

"Well,  Next Mornin',  Jist At Day-Break,  And Sun-Rise On

Them Everlastin' Hills Is Tall Sun-Rise,  And No Mistake,

P'rhaps Nothin Was Ever Seen So Fine Except The First

One,  Since Creation. It Takes The Rag Off Quite. Well,

She Was An Enterprisin' Little Toad,  Was Miss Lot Too,

Afeered Of Nothin' A'most; So Nothin' Would Sarve Her

But She Must Out And Have A Scramb Up To The Tip-Topest

Part Of The Peak Afore Breakfast.

 

"Well,  The Squatter There,  Who Was A Kind O' Guide,  Did

What He Could To Dispersuade Her,  But All To No Purpose;

Go She Would,  And A Headstrong Woman And A Runaway Hoss

Are Jist Two Things It's Out Of All Reason To Try To

Stop; The Only Way Is To Urge 'Em On,  And Then,  Bein'

Contr_Ary_ By Natur',  They Stop Of Themselves.

 

Volume 2 Chapter 13 (Looking Back) Pg 175

"'Well,' Sais The Guide,  'If You Will Go,  Marm,  Do Take

This Pike Staff,  Marm,' Sais He; (A Sort Of Walkin'-Stick

With A Spike To The Eend Of It),  'For You Can't Get Either

Up Or Down Them Slopes Without It,  It Is So Almighty

Slippy There.' So She Took The Staff,  And Off She Sot

And Climbed And Climbed Ever So Far,  Till She Didn't Look

No Bigger Than A Snowbird.

 

"At Last She Came To A Small Flat Place,  Like A Table,

And Then She Turned Round To Rest,  Get Breath,  And Take

A Look At The Glorious View; And Jist As She Hove-To,  Up

Went Her Little Heels,  And Away Went Her Stick,  Right

Over A Big Parpendicular Cliff,  Hundreds And Hundreds,

And Thousands Of Feet Deep. So Deep,  You Couldn't See

The Bottom For The Shadows,  For The Very Snow Looked

Black Down There. There Is No Way In,  It Is So Steep,

But Over The Cliff; And No Way Out,  But One,  And That

Leads To T'other World. I Can't Describe It To You,

Though. I Have See'd It Since Myself. There Are Some

Things Too Big To Lift; Some,  Too Big To Carry After They

Be Lifted; And Some Too Grand For The Tongue To Describe

Too. There's A Notch Where Dictionary Can't Go No Farther,

As Well As Every Other Created Thing,  That's A Fact.

P'rhaps If I Was To Say It Looked Like The Mould That

That 'Are Very Peak Was Cast In,  Afore It Was Cold And

Stiff,  And Sot Up On Eend,  I Should Come As Near The Mark

As Any Thing I Know On.

 

"Well Away She Slid,  Feet And Hands Out,  All Flat On Her

Face,  Right Away,  Arter Her Pike Staff. Most People Would

Have Ginn It Up As Gone Goose,  And Others Been So Frightened

As Not To Do Any Thing At All; Or At Most Only Jist To

Think Of A Prayer,  For There Was No Time To Say One.

 

"But Not So Lot's 'Wife. She Was Of A Conquerin' Natur'.

She Never Gave Nothin' Up,  Till She Couldn't Hold On No

Longer. She Was One O' Them Critters That Go To Bed

Mistress,  And Rise Master; And Just As She Got To The

Edge Of The Precipice,  Her Head Hangin' Over,  And Her

Eyes Lookin' Down,  And She All But Ready To Shoot Out

And Launch Away Into Bottomless Space,  The Ten Commandments

Brought Her Right Short Up. Oh,  She Sais,  The Sudden Joy

Of That Sudden