CHAPTER II. A JUICY DAY IN THE COUNTRY.
All our preparations for the voyage having been completed, we spentthe last day at our disposal, in visiting Brooklyn. The weather wasuncommonly fine, the sky being perfectly clear and unclouded; and thoughthe sun shone out brilliantly, the heat was tempered by a cool, bracing,westwardly wind. Its influence was perceptible on the spirits of everybody on board the ferry-boat that transported us across the harbour.
"Squire," said Mr. Slick, aint this as pretty a day as you'll see atweenthis and Nova Scotia?--You can't beat American weather, when it chooses,in no part of the world I've ever been in yet. This day is a tip-topper,and it's the last we'll see of the kind till we get back agin, _I_ know.Take a fool's advice, for once, and stick to it, as long as there is anyof it left, for you'll see the difference when you get to England. Therenever was so rainy a place in the univarse, as that, I don't think,unless it's Ireland, and the only difference atween them two is that itrains every day amost in England, and in Ireland it rains every day andevery night too. It's awful, and you must keep out of a country-house insuch weather, or you'll go for it; it will kill you, that's sartain. Ishall never forget a juicy day I once spent in one of them dismal oldplaces. I'll tell you how I came to be there.
"The last time I was to England, I was a dinin' with our consulto Liverpool, and a very gentleman-like old man he was too; he wasappointed by Washington, and had been there ever since our gloriousrevolution. Folks gave him a great name, they said he was a credit tous. Well, I met at his table one day an old country squire, that livedsomewhere down in Shropshire, close on to Wales, and says he to me,arter cloth was off and cigars on, 'Mr. Slick,' says he, 'I'll be veryglad to see you to Norman Manor,' (that was the place where he staid,when he was to home). 'If you will return with me I shall be gladto shew you the country in my neighbourhood, which is said to beconsiderable pretty.'
"'Well,' says I, 'as I have nothin' above particular to see to, I don'tcare if I do go.'
"So off we started; and this I will say, he was as kind as he cleverlyknew how to be, and that is sayin' a great deal for a man that didn'tknow nothin' out of sight of his own clearin' hardly.
"Now, when we got there, the house was chock full of company, andconsiderin' it warn't an overly large one, and that Britishers won'tstay in a house, unless every feller gets a separate bed, it's a wonderto me, how he stowed away as many as he did. Says he, 'Excuse yourquarters, Mr. Slick, but I find more company nor I expected here. Ina day or two, some on 'em will be off, and then you shall be betterprovided.'
"With that I was showed up a great staircase, and out o' that by adoor-way into a narrer entry and from that into an old T like lookingbuilding, that stuck out behind the house. It warn't the common companysleepin' room, I expect, but kinder make shifts, tho' they was goodenough too for the matter o' that; at all events I don't want no better.
"Well, I had hardly got well housed a'most, afore it came on to rain, asif it was in rael right down airnest. It warn't just a roarin', racin',sneezin' rain like a thunder shower, but it kept a steady travellin'gait, up hill and down dale, and no breathin' time nor batin' spell.It didn't look as if it would stop till it was done, that's a fact. Butstill as it was too late to go out agin that arternoon, I didn't thinkmuch about it then. I hadn't no notion what was in store for me nextday, no more nor a child; if I had, I'd a double deal sooner hangedmyself, than gone brousing in such place as that, in sticky weather.
"A wet day is considerable tiresome, any where or any way you can fixit; but it's wus at an English country house than any where else, causeyou are among strangers, formal, cold, gallus polite, and as thick inthe head-piece as a puncheon. You hante nothin' to do yourself and theynever have nothin' to do; they don't know nothin' about America, anddon't want to. Your talk don't interest them, and they can't talk tointerest nobody but themselves; all you've got to do, is to pull outyour watch and see how time goes; how much of the day is left, and thengo to the winder and see how the sky looks, and whether there is anychance of holdin' up or no. Well, that time I went to bed a littleairlier than common, for I felt considerable sleepy, and considerablestrange too; so as soon as I cleverly could, I off and turned in.
"Well I am an airly riser myself. I always was from a boy, so I waked upjist about the time when day ought to break, and was a thinkin' to getup; but the shutters was too, and it was as dark as ink in the room, andI heer'd it rainin' away for dear life. 'So,' sais I to myself, 'whatthe dogs is the use of gittin' up so airly? I can't get out and get asmoke, and I can't do nothin' here; so here goes for a second nap.' WellI was soon off agin in a most a beautiful of a snore, when all at onceI heard thump-thump agin the shutter--and the most horrid noise I everheerd since I was raised; it was sunthin' quite onairthly.
"'Hallo!' says I to myself, 'what in natur is all this hubbub about?Can this here confounded old house be harnted? Is them spirits that'sjabbering gibberish there, or is I wide awake or no?' So I sets rightup on my hind legs in bed, rubs my eyes, opens my ears and listensagin, when whop went every shutter agin, with a dead heavy sound, likesomethin' or another thrown agin 'em, or fallin' agin 'em, and thencomes the unknown tongues in discord chorus like. Sais I, 'I know now,it's them cussed navigators. They've besot the house, and are a givin'lip to frighten folks. It's regular banditti.'
"So I jist hops out of bed, and feels for my trunk, and outs withmy talkin' irons, that was all ready loaded, pokes my way to thewinder--shoves the sash up and outs with the shutter, ready to let slipamong 'em. And what do you think it was?--Hundreds and hundreds of themnasty, dirty, filthy, ugly, black devils of rooks, located in the treesat the back eend of the house. Old Nick couldn't have slept near 'em;caw caw, caw, all mixt up together in one jumble of a sound, like"jawe."
"You black, evil-lookin', foul-mouthed villains,' sais I, 'I'd likeno better sport than jist to sit here, all this blessed day with thesepistols, and drop you one arter another, _I_ know.' But they was pets,was them rooks, and of course like all pets, everlastin' nuisances toevery body else.
"Well, when a man's in a feeze, there's no more sleep that hitch; so Idresses and sits up; but what was I to do? It was jist half past four,and as it was a rainin' like every thing, I know'd breakfast wouldn't beready till eleven o'clock, for nobody wouldn't get up if they could helpit--they wouldn't be such fools; so there was jail for six hours and ahalf.
"Well, I walked up and down the room, as easy as I could, not to wakenfolks; but three steps and a round turn makes you kinder dizzy, so Isits down again to chaw the cud of vexation.
"'Ain't this a handsum fix?' sais I, 'but it sarves you right, whatbusniss had you here at all? you always was a fool, and always will beto the eend of the chapter.--'What in natur are you a scoldin' for?'sais I: 'that won't mend the matter; how's time? They must soon be astirrin' now, I guess.' Well, as I am a livin' sinner, it was only fiveo'clock; 'oh dear,' sais I, 'time is like women and pigs the more youwant it to go, the more it won't. What on airth shall I do?--guess, I'llstrap my rasor.'
"Well, I strapped and strapped away, until it would cut a single hairpulled strait up on eend out o' your head, without bendin' it--take itoff slick. 'Now,' sais I, 'I'll mend my trowsers I tore, a goin' tosee the ruin on the road yesterday; so I takes out Sister Sall's littleneedle-case, and sows away till I got them to look considerable jamagin; 'and then,' sais I, 'here's a gallus button off, I'll jist fixthat,' and when that was done, there was a hole to my yarn sock, so Iturned too and darned that.
"'Now,' sais I, 'how goes it? I'm considerable sharp set. It must begettin' tolerable late now.' It wanted a quarter to six. 'My! sakes,'sais I, 'five hours and a quarter yet afore feedin' time; well if thatdon't pass. What shall I do next?' 'I'll tell you what to do,' sais I,'smoke, that will take the edge of your appetite off, and if they don'tlike it, they may lump it; what business have they to keep them horridscreetchin' infarnal, sleepless rooks to disturb people that way?' Well,I takes a lucifer, and lights a cigar, and I puts my head u
p the chimblyto let the smoke off, and it felt good, I promise _you_. I don't know asI ever enjoyed one half so much afore. It had a rael first chop flavourhad that cigar.
"'When that was done,' sais I, 'What do you say to another?' 'Well, Idon't know,' sais I, 'I should like it, that's a fact; but holdin' ofmy head crooked up chimbly that way, has a' most broke my neck; I've gotthe cramp in it like.'
"So I sot, and shook my head first a one side and then the other, andthen turned it on its hinges as far as it would go, till it felt aboutright, and then I lights another, and puts my head in the flue again.
"Well, smokin' makes, a feller feel kinder good-natured, and I began tothink it warn't quite so bad arter all, when whop went my cigar rightout of my mouth into my bosom, atween the shirt and the skin, and burntme like a gally nipper. Both my eyes was fill'd at the same time, andI got a crack on the pate from some critter or another that clawed andscratched my head like any thing, and then seemed to empty a bushel ofsut on me, and I looked like a chimbly sweep, and felt like old Scratchhimself. My smoke had brought down a chimbly swaller, or a martin, orsome such varmint, for it up and off agin' afore I could catch it, towring its infarnal neck off, that's a fact.
"Well, here was somethin' to do, and no mistake: here was to clean andgroom up agin' till all was in its right shape; and a pretty job it was,I tell you. I thought I never should get the sut out of my hair, andthen never get it out of my brush again, and my eyes smarted so, theydid nothing but water, and wink, and make faces. But I did; I worked onand worked on, till all was sot right once more.
"'Now,' sais I, 'how's time?' 'half past seven,' sais I, 'and threehours and a half more yet to breakfast. Well,' sais I, 'I can't standthis--and what's more I won't: I begin to get my Ebenezer up, and feelwolfish. I'll ring up the handsum chamber-maid, and just fall to, andchaw her right up--I'm savagerous.'* 'That's cowardly,' sais I, 'callthe footman, pick a quarrel with him and kick him down stairs, speak butone word to him, and let that be strong enough to skin the coon arter ithas killed him, the noise will wake up folks _I_ know, and then we shallhave sunthin' to eat.'
[* Footnote: The word "savagerous" is not of "Yankee" but of "Westernorigin."--Its use in this place is best explained by the followingextract from the Third Series of the Clockmaker. "In order that thesketch which I am now about to give may be fully understood, it maybe necessary to request the reader to recollect that Mr. Slick is a_Yankee_, a designation the origin of which is now not very obvious,but it has been assumed by, and conceded by common consent to, theinhabitants of New England. It is a name, though sometimes satiricallyused, of which they have great reason to be proud, as it is descriptiveof a most cultivated, intelligent, enterprising, frugal, and industriouspopulation, who may well challenge a comparison with the inhabitants ofany other country in the world; but it has only a local application.
"The United States cover an immense extent of territory, and theinhabitants of different parts of the Union differ as widely incharacter, feelings, and even in appearance, as the people of differentcountries usually do. These sections differ also in dialect and inhumour, as much as in other things, and to as great, if not a greaterextent, than the natives of different parts of Great Britain vary fromeach other. It is customary in Europe to call all Americans, Yankees;but it is as much a misnomer as it would be to call all EuropeansFrenchmen. Throughout these works it will be observed, that Mr. Slick'spronunciation is that of the Yankee, or an inhabitant of the _ruraldistricts_ of New England. His conversation is generally purely so; butin some instances he uses, as his countrymen frequently do from choice,phrases which, though Americanisms, are not of Eastern origin. Whollyto exclude these would be to violate the usages of American life; tointroduce them oftener would be to confound two dissimilar dialects,and to make an equal departure from the truth. Every section has its owncharacteristic dialect, a very small portion of which it has impartedto its neighbours. The dry, quaint humour of New England is occasionallyfound in the west, and the rich gasconade and exaggerative language ofthe west migrates not unfrequently to the east. This idiomaticexchange is perceptibly on the increase. It arises from the travellingpropensities of the Americans, and the constant intercourse mutuallymaintained by the inhabitants of the different States. A droll oran original expression is thus imported and adopted, and, though notindigenous, soon becomes engrafted on the general stock of the languageof the country."--3rd Series, p. 142.]
"I was ready to bile right over, when as luck would have it, the rainstopt all of a sudden, the sun broke out o' prison, and I thought Inever seed any thing look so green and so beautiful as the countrydid. 'Come,' sais I, 'now for a walk down the avenue, and a comfortablesmoke, and if the man at the gate is up and stirrin', I will just pop inand breakfast with him and his wife. There is some natur there, but hereit's all cussed rooks and chimbly swallers, and heavy men and fatwomen, and lazy helps, and Sunday every day in the week.' So I fills mycigar-case and outs into the passage.
"But here was a fix! One of the doors opened into the great staircase,and which was it? 'Ay,' sais I, 'which is it, do you know?' 'Upon mysoul, I don't know,' sais I; 'but try, it's no use to be caged up herelike a painter, and out I will, that's a fact.'
"So I stops and studies, 'that's it,' sais I, and I opens a door: it wasa bedroom--it was the likely chambermaid's.
"'Softly, Sir,' sais she, a puttin' of her finger on her lip, 'don'tmake no noise; Missus will hear you.'
"'Yes,' sais I, 'I won't make no noise;' and I outs and shuts the doortoo arter me gently.
"'What next?' sais I; 'why you fool, you,' sais I, 'why didn't you axthe sarvant maid, which door it was?' 'Why I was so conflastrigated,'sais I, 'I didn't think of it. Try that door,' well I opened another, itbelonged to one o' the horrid hansum stranger galls that dined at tableyesterday. When she seed me, she gave a scream, popt her head onder theclothes, like a terrapin, and vanished--well I vanished too.
"'Ain't this too bad?' sais I; 'I wish I could open a man's door, I'dlick him out of spite; I hope I may be shot if I don't, and I doubledup my fist, for I didn't like it a spec, and opened another door--it wasthe housekeeper's. 'Come,' sais I, 'I won't be balked no more.' She sotup and fixed her cap. A woman never forgets the becomins.
"'Anything I can do for you, Sir?' sais she, and she raelly did lookpretty; all good natur'd people, it appears to me, do look so.
"'Will you be so good as to tell me, which door leads to the staircase,Marm?' sais I.
"'Oh, is that all?' sais she, (I suppose, she thort I wanted her toget up and get breakfast for me,) 'it's the first on the right, and shefixed her cap agin' and laid down, and I took the first on the right andoff like a blowed out candle. There was the staircase. I walked down,took my hat, onbolted the outer door, and what a beautiful day wasthere. I lit my cigar, I breathed freely, and I strolled down theavenue.
"The bushes glistened, and the grass glistened, and the air was sweet,and the birds sung, and there was natur' once more. I walked to thelodge; they had breakfasted had the old folks, so I chatted away withthem for a considerable of a spell about matters and things in general,and then turned towards the house agin'. 'Hallo!' sais I, 'what's this?warn't that a drop of rain?' I looks up, it was another shower by Gosh.I pulls foot for dear life: it was tall walking you may depend, but theshower wins, (comprehens_ive_ as my legs be), and down it comes, as hardas all possest. 'Take it easy, Sam,' sais I, 'your flint is fixed; youare wet thro'--runnin' won't dry you,' and I settled down to a carelesswalk, quite desperate.
"'Nothin' in natur', unless it is an Ingin, is so treacherous as theclimate here. It jist clears up on purpose I do believe, to tempt youout without your umbreller, and jist as sure as you trust it and leaveit to home, it clouds right up, and sarves you out for it--it doesindeed. What a sight of new clothes I've spilte here, for the rain has asort of dye in it. It stains so, it alters the colour of the cloth, forthe smoke is filled with gas and all sorts of chemicals. Well, back Igoes to my room agin' to the rooks, chimb
ly swallers, and all, leavin'a great endurin' streak of wet arter me all the way, like a crackedpitcher that leaks; onriggs, and puts on dry clothes from head to foot.
"By this time breakfast is ready; but the English don't do nothin' likeother folks; I don't know whether it's affectation, or bein' wrong inthe head--a little of both I guess. Now where do you suppose the solidpart of breakfast is, Squire? Why, it's on the side-board--I hope I maybe shot if it ain't--well, the tea and coffee are on the table, to makeit as onconvenient as possible.
"Says I, to the lady of the house, as I got up to help myself, for I washungry enough to make beef ache I know. 'Aunty,' sais I, 'you'll excuseme, but why don't you put the eatables on the table, or else put thetea on the side-board? They're like man and wife, they don't ought to beseparated, them two.'
"She looked at me, oh what a look of pity it was", as much as tosay, 'Where have you been all your born days, not to know better northat?--but I guess you don't know better in the States--how could youknow any thing there?' But she only said it was the custom here, for shewas a very purlite old woman, was Aunty.
"Well sense is sense, let it grow where it will, and I guess we raiseabout the best kind, which is common sense, and I warn't to be put downwith short metre, arter that fashion. So I tried the old man; sais I,'Uncle,' sais I, 'if you will divorce the eatables from the drinkablesthat way, why not let the servants come and tend. It's monstrousonconvenient and ridikilous to be a jumpin' up for everlastinly thatway; you can't sit still one blessed minit.'
"'We think it pleasant,' said he, 'sometimes to dispense with theirattendance.'
"'Exactly,' sais I, 'then dispense with sarvants at dinner, for whenthe wine is in, the wit is out.' (I said that to compliment him, for thecritter had no wit in at no time,) 'and they hear all the talk. But atbreakfast every one is only half awake, (especially when you rise soairly as you do in this country,' sais I, but the old critter couldn'tsee a joke, even if he felt it, and he didn't know I was a funnin'.)'Folks are considerably sharp set at breakfast,' sais I, 'and not verytalkat_ive_. That's the right time to have sarvants to tend on you.'
"'What an idea!' said he, and he puckered up his pictur, and the way hestared was a caution to an owl.
"Well, we sot and sot till I was tired, so thinks I, 'what's next?' forit's rainin' agin as hard as ever.' So I took a turn in the studyto sarch for a book, but there was nothin' there, but a Guide to theSessions, Burn's Justice, and a book of London club rules, and two orthree novels. He said he got books from the sarkilatin' library.
"'Lunch is ready.'
"'What, eatin' agin? My goody!' thinks I, 'if you are so fond of it, whythe plague don't you begin airly? If you'd a had it at five o'clock thismorning, I'd a done justice to it; now I couldn't touch it if I was todie.'
"There it was, though. Help yourself, and no thanks, for there is nosarvants agin. The rule here is, no talk no sarvants--and when it's alltalk, it's all sarvants.
"Thinks I to myself, 'now, what shall I do till dinner-time, for itrains so there is no stirrin' out?--Waiter, where is eldest son?--he andI will have a game of billiards, I guess.'
"'He is laying down, sir.'
"'Shows his sense,' sais I, 'I see, he is not the fool I took him to be.If I could sleep in the day, I'de turn in too. Where is second son?'
"'Left this mornin' in the close carriage, sir.'
"'Oh cuss him, it was him then was it?'
"'What, Sir?'
"'That woke them confounded rooks up, out o' their fust nap, and kick'tup such a bobbery. Where is the Parson?'
"'Which one, Sir?'
"'The one that's so fond of fishing.'
"'Ain't up yet, Sir.'
"'Well, the old boy, that wore breeches.'
"Out on a sick visit to one of the cottages, Sir.'
"When he comes in, send him to me, I'm shockin' sick.'
"With that I goes to look arter the two pretty galls in the drawin'room; and there was the ladies a chatterin' away like any thing. Themoment I came in it was as dumb as a quaker's meetin'. They all hauledup at once, like a stage-coach to an inn-door, from a hand-gallop to astock still stand. I seed men warn't wanted there, it warn't the customso airly, so I polled out o' that creek, starn first. They don't likemen in the mornin', in England, do the ladies; they think 'em in theway.
"'What on airth, shall I do?' says I, 'it's nothin' but rain, rain,rain--here in this awful dismal country. Nobody smokes, nobody talks,nobody plays cards, nobody fires at a mark, and nobody trades; onlylet me get thro' this juicy day, and I am done: let me get out of thisscrape, and if I am caught agin, I'll give you leave to tell me ofit, in meetin'. It tante pretty, I do suppose to be a jawin' withthe butler, but I'll make an excuse for a talk, for talk comes kindernateral to me, like suction to a snipe.'
"'Waiter?'
"'Sir.'
"'Galls don't like to be tree'd here of a mornin' do they?'
"'Sir.'
"'It's usual for the ladies,' sais I, 'to be together in the airly partof the forenoon here, ain't it, afore the gentlemen jine them?'
"'Yes, Sir.'
"'It puts me in mind,' sais I, 'of the old seals down to SableIsland--you know where Sable Isle is, don't you?'
"'Yes, Sir, it's in the cathedral down here.'
"'No, no, not that, it's an island on the coast of Nova Scotia. You knowwhere that is sartainly.'
"'I never heard of it, Sir.'
"'Well, Lord love you! you know what an old seal is?'
"'Oh, yes, sir, I'll get you my master's in a moment.'
And off he sot full chisel.
"Cus him! he is as stupid as a rook, that crittur, it's no use to tellhim a story, and now I think of it, I will go and smoke them black impsof darkness,--the rooks.'
"So I goes up stairs, as slowly as I cleverly could, jist liftin' onefoot arter another as if it had a fifty-six tied to it, on pupus tospend time; lit a cigar, opened the window nearest the rooks, andsmoked, but oh the rain killed all the smoke in a minite; it didn't evenmake one on 'em sneeze. 'Dull musick this, Sam,' sais I, 'ain't it? Tellyou what: I'll put on my ile-skin, take an umbreller and go and talk tothe stable helps, for I feel as lonely as a catamount, and as dull as abachelor beaver. So I trampousses off to the stable, and says I to thehead man, 'A smart little hoss that,' sais I, 'you are a cleaning of: helooks like a first chop article that.'
"'Y mae',' sais he.
"'Hullo,' sais I, 'what in natur' is this? Is it him that can't speakEnglish, or me that can't onderstand? for one on us is a fool, that'ssartain. I'll try him agin.
"So I sais to him, 'He looks,' sais I, 'as if he'd trot a considerablegood stick, that horse,' sais I, 'I guess he is a goer.'
"Y' mae, ye un trotter da,' sais he.
"'Creation!' sais I, 'if this don't beat gineral trainin'. I have heerdin my time, broken French, broken Scotch, broken Irish, broken Yankee,broken Nigger, and broken Indgin; but I have hearn two pure gene_wine_languages to-day, and no mistake, rael rook, and rael Britton, and Idon't exactly know which I like wus. It's no use to stand talkin' tothis critter. Good-bye,' sais I.
"Now what do you think he said? Why, you would suppose he'd say good-byetoo, wouldn't you? Well, he didn't, nor nothin' like it, but he jistups, and sais, 'Forwelloaugh,' he did, upon my soul. I never felt sostumpt afore in all my life. Sais I, 'Friend, here is half a dollar foryou; it arn't often I'm brought to a dead stare, and when I am, I amwillin' to pay for it.'
"There's two languages, Squire, that's univarsal: the language of love,and the language of money; the galls onderstand the one, and the menonderstand the other, all the wide world over, from Canton to Niagara. Ino sooner showed him the half dollar, than it walked into his pocket, aplaguy sight quicker than it will walk out, I guess.
"Sais I, 'Friend, you've taken the consait out of me properly. CaptainHall said there warn't a man, woman, or child, in the whole of thethirteen united univarsal worlds of our great Republic, that could speakpure English, and I was a goin' t
o kick him for it; but he is right,arter all. There ain't one livin' soul on us can; I don't believe theyever as much as heerd it, for I never did, till this blessed day, andthere are few things I haven't either see'd, or heern tell of. Yes,we can't speak English, do you take?' 'Dim comrag,' sais he, which inYankee, means, "that's no English," and he stood, looked puzzled, andscratched his head, rael hansum, 'Dim comrag,' sais he.
"Well, it made me larf spiteful. I felt kinder wicked, and as _I_ hada hat on, and I couldn't scratch my head, I stood jist like him, clownfashion, with my eyes wanderin' and my mouth wide open, and put my handbehind me, and scratched there; and I stared, and looked puzzled too,and made the same identical vacant face he did, and repeated arter himslowly, with another scratch, mocking him like, 'Dim comrag.'
"Such a pair o' fools you never saw, Squire, since the last time youshaved afore a lookin' glass; and the stable boys larfed, and he larfed,and I larfed, and it was the only larf I had all that juicy day.
"Well, I turns agin to the door; but it's the old story overagain--rain, rain, rain; spatter, spatter, spatter,--'I can't stophere with these true Brittons,' sais I, 'guess I'll go and see the oldSquire: he is in his study.'
"So I goes there: 'Squire,' sais I, 'let me offer you a rael gene_wine_Havana cigar; I can recommend it to you.' He thanks me, he don't smoke,but plague take him, he don't say, 'If you are fond of smokin', praysmoke yourself.' And he is writing I won't interrupt him.
"'Waiter, order me a post-chaise, to be here in the mornin', when therooks wake.'
"'Yes, Sir.'
"Come, I'll try the women folk in the drawin'-room, agin'. Ladies don'tmind the rain here; they are used to it. It's like the musk plant, arteryou put it to your nose once, you can't smell it a second time. Oh whatbeautiful galls they be! What a shame it is to bar a feller out such aday as this. One on 'em blushes like a red cabbage, when she speaks tome, that's the one, I reckon, I disturbed this mornin'. Cuss the rooks!I'll pyson them, and that won't make no noise.
"She shows me the consarvitery. 'Take care, Sir, your coat has caughtthis geranium,' and she onhitches it. 'Stop, Sir, you'll break thisjilly flower,' and she lifts off the coat tail agin; in fact, it's socrowded, you can't squeeze along, scarcely, without a doin' of mischiefsomewhere or another.
"Next time, she goes first, and then it's my turn, 'Stop, Miss,' saisI, 'your frock has this rose tree over,' and I loosens it; oncemore, 'Miss, this rose has got tangled,' and I ontangles it from herfurbeloes.
"I wonder what makes my hand shake so, and my heart it bumps so, it hasbust a button off. If I stay in this consarvitery, I shan't consarvemyself long, that's a fact, for this gall has put her whole team on, andis a runnin' me off the road. 'Hullo! what's that? Bell for dressin'for dinner.' Thank Heavens! I shall escape from myself, and from thisbeautiful critter, too, for I'm gettin' spoony, and shall talk sillypresently.
"I don't like to be left alone with a gall, it's plaguy apt to set me asoft sawderin' and a courtin'. There's a sort of nateral attraction likein this world. Two ships in a calm, are sure to get up alongside of eachother, if there is no wind, and they have nothin' to do, but look ateach other; natur' does it. "Well, even, the tongs and the shovel, won'tstand alone long; they're sure to get on the same side of the fire,and be sociable; one on 'em has a loadstone and draws 'tother, that'ssartain. If that's the case with hard-hearted things, like oak andiron, what is it with tender hearted things like humans? Shut me up ina 'sarvatory with a hansum gall of a rainy day, and see if I don't thinkshe is the sweetest flower in it. Yes, I am glad it is the dinner-bell,for I ain't ready to marry yet, and when I am, I guess I must get a gallwhere I got my hoss, in Old Connecticut, and that state takes the shineoff of all creation for geese, galls and onions, that's a fact.
"Well dinner won't wait, so I ups agin once more near the rooks, tobrush up a bit; but there it is agin the same old tune, the wholeblessed day, rain, rain, rain. It's rained all day and don't talk ofstoppin' nother. How I hate the sound, and how streaked I feel. I don'tmind its huskin' my voice, for there is no one to talk to, but cuss it,it has softened my bones.
"Dinner is ready; the rain has damped every body's spirits, andsquenched 'em out; even champaign won't raise 'em agin; feedin' isheavy, talk is heavy, time is heavy, tea is heavy, and there ain'tmusick; the only thing that's light is a bed room candle--heavens andairth how glad I am this '_juicy day_' is over!"
The Attaché; or, Sam Slick in England — Complete Page 2
