The Attaché; or, Sam Slick in England — Complete. Thomas Chandler Haliburton

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CHAPTER III. TYING A NIGHT-CAP.

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      In the preceding sketch I have given Mr. Slick’s account of the English climate, and his opinion of the dulness of a country house, as nearly as possible in his own words. It struck me at the time that they were exaggerated views; but if the weather were unpropitious, and the company not well selected, I can easily conceive, that the impression on his mind would be as strong and as unfavourable, as he has described it to have been.

      The climate of England is healthy, and, as it admits of much out-door exercise, and is not subject to any very sudden variation, or violent extremes of heat and cold, it may be said to be good, though not agreeable; but its great humidity is very sensibly felt by Americans and other foreigners accustomed to a dry atmosphere and clear sky. That Mr. Slick should find a rainy day in the country dull, is not to be wondered at; it is probable it would be so any where, to a man who had so few resources, within himself, as the Attache. Much of course depends on the inmates; and the company at the Shropshire house, to which he alludes, do not appear to have been the best calculated to make the state of the weather a matter of indifference to him.

      I cannot say, but that I have at times suffered a depression of spirits from the frequent, and sometimes long continued rains of this country; but I do not know that, as an ardent admirer of scenery, I would desire less humidity, if it diminished, as I fear it would, the extraordinary verdure and great beauty of the English landscape. With respect to my own visits at country houses, I have generally been fortunate in the weather, and always in the company; but I can easily conceive, that a man situated as Mr. Slick appears to have been with respect to both, would find the combination intolerably dull. But to return to my narrative.

      Early on the following day we accompanied our luggage to the wharf, where a small steamer lay to convey us to the usual anchorage ground of the packets, in the bay. We were attended by a large concourse of people. The piety, learning, unaffected simplicity, and kind disposition of my excellent friend, Mr. Hopewell, were well known and fully appreciated by the people of New York, who were anxious to testify their respect for his virtues, and their sympathy for his unmerited persecution, by a personal escort and a cordial farewell.

      “Are all those people going with us, Sam?” said he; “how pleasant it will be to have so many old friends on board, won’t it?”

      “No, Sir,” said the Attache, “they are only a goin’ to see you on board—it is a mark of respect to you. They will go down to the “Tyler,” to take their last farewell of you.”

      “Well, that’s kind now, ain’t it?” he replied. “I suppose they thought I would feel kinder dull and melancholy like, on leaving my native land this way; and I must say I don’t feel jist altogether right neither. Ever so many things rise right up in my mind, not one arter another, but all together like, so that I can’t take ’em one by one and reason ’em down, but they jist overpower me by numbers. You understand me, Sam, don’t you?”

      “Poor old critter!” said Mr. Slick to me in an under-tone, “it’s no wonder he is sad, is it? I must try to cheer him up, if I can. Understand you, minister!” said he, “to be sure I do. I have been that way often and often. That was the case when I was to Lowel factories, with the galls a taking of them off in the paintin’ line. The dear little critters kept up such an everlastin’ almighty clatter, clatter, clatter; jabber, jabber, jabber, all talkin’ and chatterin’ at once, you couldn’t hear no blessed one of them; and they jist fairly stunned a feller. For nothin’ in natur’, unless it be perpetual motion, can equal a woman’s tongue. It’s most a pity we hadn’t some of the angeliferous little dears with us too, for they do make the time pass quick, that’s a fact. I want some on ’em to tie a night-cap for me to-night; I don’t commonly wear one, but I somehow kinder guess, I intend to have one this time, and no mistake.”

      “A night-cap, Sam!” said he; “why what on airth do you mean?”

      “Why, I’ll tell you, minister,” said he, “you recollect sister Sall, don’t you.”

      “Indeed, I do,” said he, “and an excellent girl she is, a dutiful daughter, and a kind and affectionate sister. Yes, she is a good girl is Sally, a very good girl indeed; but what of her?”

      “Well, she was a most a beautiful critter, to brew a glass of whiskey toddy, as I ever see’d in all my travels was sister Sall, and I used to call that tipple, when I took it late, a night-cap; apple jack and white nose ain’t the smallest part of a circumstance to it. On such an occasion as this, minister, when a body is leavin’ the greatest nation atween the poles, to go among benighted, ignorant, insolent foreigners, you wouldn’t object to a night-cap, now would you?”

      “Well, I don’t know as I would, Sam,” said he; “parting from friends whether temporally or for ever, is a sad thing, and the former is typical of the latter. No, I do not know as I would. We may use these things, but not abuse them. Be temperate, be moderate, but it is a sorry heart that knows no pleasure. Take your night-cap, Sam, and then commend yourself to His safe keeping, who rules the wind and the waves to Him who—”

      “Well then, minister, what a dreadful awful looking thing a night-cap is without a tassel, ain’t it? Oh! you must put a tassel on it, and that is another glass. Well then, what is the use of a night-cap, if it has a tassel on it, but has no string, it will slip off your head the very first turn you take; and that is another glass you know. But one string won’t tie a cap; one hand can’t shake hands along with itself: you must have two strings to it, and that brings one glass more. Well then, what is the use of two strings if they ain’t fastened? If you want to keep the cap on, it must be tied, that’s sartain, and that is another go; and then, minister, what an everlastin’ miserable stingy, ongenteel critter a feller must be, that won’t drink to the health of the Female Brewer. Well, that’s another glass to sweethearts and wives, and then turn in for sleep, and that’s what I intend to do to-night. I guess I’ll tie the night-cap this hitch, if I never do agin, and that’s a fact.”

      “Oh Sam, Sam,” said Mr. Hopewell, “for a man that is wide awake and duly sober, I never saw one yet that talked such nonsense as you do. You said, you understood me, but you don’t, one mite or morsel; but men are made differently, some people’s narves operate on the brain sensitively and give them exquisite pain or excessive pleasure; other folks seem as if they had no narves at all. You understand my words, but you don’t enter into my feelings. Distressing images rise up in my mind in such rapid succession, I can’t master them, but they master me. They come slower to СКАЧАТЬ