straight about them, but their long backs, and he was asleep in his chair, overcome by the united effects of the heat, the brandy and fatigue."

Does one speak of the United States, of the Republic, of Webster, Clay, Jefferson, John Adams, Bunker-Hill, or the heroes of the Revolution, this dialect, which is always bargainmaking with the thought, this response which juggles half their signification, keeping always for itself a concealed passage, by which it may wriggle out of its obvious meaning, this dialect gives place to positive assertion; to the most comical mixture of shop talk and college emphasis. "Calculate your best," says Sam, "it is sartain sure that we are letter A,' No. 1, among the nations; first column, without tare, deduction, subtraction, or damage. I speculate that them who don't agree to that, can't do a sum in simple addition, and don't know the first rules of cipherin'. It is clear that we have the most splendid location between the poles; it's ginerally acknowledged. The greatest man livin' is General Jackson; he goes ahead of Napoleon Bonaparte by a long chalk. I don't mention Van Buren, Webster, Amos Kendal, and a whole raft of statesmen, who are up to every thing. England can lick the world, and we can lick England." This last sentence is the well-beloved of Sam Slick, and finishes all his harangues.

“The folks of Halifax," says Sam, "take it all out in talking they talk of steamboats, whalers, and rail-roads—but they all end where they begin—in talk. I don't think I'd be out in my latitude, if I was to say they beat the women kind at that. One fellow says, I talk of going to England-another says, I talk of going to the country-while a third says, I talk of going to sleep. If we happen to speak of such things, we say, 'I'm right off down East; or I'm away off South,' and away we go jist like a streak of lightning

"When we want folks to talk, we pay 'em for it, such as our ministers, lawyers, and members of Congress; but then we expect the use of their tongues, and not their hands; and when we pay folks to work, we expect the use of their hands, and not their tongues. I guess work don't come kind o' natural to the people of this province, no more than it does to a full bred horse. I expect they think they have a little too much blood in 'em for work, for they are near about as proud as they are lazy.

"Now the bees know how to sarve out such chaps, for they have their drones too. Well, they reckon its no fun, a making honey all summer for these idle critters to eat all winter- —so they give 'em Lynch Law. They have a regular built mob of citizens, and string up the drones like the Vixburg gamblers. Their maxim is, and not a bad one neither, I guess, no work no honey.'”

"The Blacks and Whites in the States show their teeth and snarl, they are jist ready to fall to. The Protestants and Catholics begin to lay back their ears, and turn tail for kickin. The Abolitionists and Planters are at it like two bulls in a pastur. Mob-Law and Lynch-Law are working like yeast in a barrel, and frothing at the bunghole. Nullification and Tariff are like a charcoal pit, all covered up, but burning inside, and sending out smoke at every crack, enough to stifle a horse. General Government and State Government every now and then square off and spar, and the first blow given will bring a genuine set-to. Surplus Revenue is another bone of contention; like a shin of beef thrown among a pack of dogs, it will set the whole on 'em by the ears.

"You have heerd tell of cotton rags dipt in tupentine, haven't you, how they produce combustion? Well, I guess we have the elements of spontaneous combustion among us in

abundance; when it does break out, if you don't see an eruption of human gore worse than Etna lava, then I'm mistaken. There'll be the very devil to pay, that's a fact. I expect the blacks will butcher the Southern whites, and the Northerners will have to turn out and butcher them again; and all this shoot, hang, cut, stab, and burn business will sweeten our folks' temper, as raw meat does that of a dog-it fairly makes me sick to think on it. The explosion may clear the air again, and all be tranquil once more, but its an even chance if it don't leave us the three steamboat options, to be blown sky high, to be scalded to death, or drowned.'

After this Sam lights his cigar.

"But," says the other speaker, "the testimony of all my friends the travellers is against you.".

"Your friends!' said the Clockmaker, with such a tone of ineffable contempt, that I felt a strong inclination to knock him down for his insolence-your friends! Ensigns and leftenants, I guess, from the British marchin regiments in the colonies, that run over five thousand miles of country in five weeks, on leave of absence, and then return, looking as wise as the monkey that had seen the world. When they get back they are so chock full of knowledge of the Yankees, that it runs over of itself, like a hogshead of molasses, rolled about in hot weather-a white froth and scum bubbles out of the bung; wishywashy trash they call tours, sketches, travels, letters, and what not; vapid stuff, jist sweet enough to catch flies, cockroaches, and half-fledged galls. It puts me in mind of my French. I larnt French at night school one winter of our minister Joshua Hopewell (he was the most larned man of the age, for he taught himself een amost every language in Europe ;) well, next spring, when I went to Boston I met a Frenchman, and I began to jabber away French to him: Polly woes a French shay,' says I. I don't under

stand Yankee yet, says he. You don't understand! says I, why it's French. I guess you didn't expect to hear such good French, did you, away down east here? but we speak it real well, and its generally allowed we speak English, too, better than the British. 'Oh,' says he, 'you one very droll Yankee, dat very good joke, sare; you talk Indian and call it French.' But, says I, Mister Mountshear, it is French, I vow; real merchantable, without wainy edge or shakes-all clear stuff; it will pass survey in any market—its ready stuck and seasoned. 'Oh, very like,' say he, bowin as polite as a black waiter at New Orleens, 'very like, only I never heerd it afore; oh, very good French dat-clear stuff, no doubt, but I no understand-its all my fault, I dare say, sare.'

"The fact is, the American of the United States has funds, quickness and good appearance-quick as a fox, supple as an eel, sharp as a weasel. I oughtn't to say it, but it's known. He eclipses creation; he's worth ready money."

At this last expression Sam is silent, eloquence can go no further, and he delicately changes the subject.

But Sam has reason to be proud. Never has the real situation of the United States, so dangerous, so flourishing, so active, been exhibited so profoundly and simply. And so he treats every topic, "My rules," says the philosophical Clockmaker," are not numerous, but they're sure, they go right to the point, and that's a fact. Everything can be ciphered. No man nor woman can resist soft sawder. What is that to me. With them three rules you can go to the end of the world, and no mistake."

He has not the good nature to profess for political life that admiring esteem which we Frenchmen, new to it, bestow upon it. "When one is used to politics," he says, one never goes straight; it's impossible. Politics turns and twists us. You can't trust people of that trade. They always walk crooked,

like porters with heavy burdens. At last they get bent. The politician who is loyal, honest, sincere even to his friends is a marvel. Did you ever clean your knives with brick-dust? It is a long and bad way; the blade gets bright, but the steel wears out; it's so with politics.'

SECTION II.

HISTORY OF AHAB MELDRUM, THE KORKONITE.

Alabama has plenty of those cities, which spring out of the earth as if by the blow of an enchanter's rod, which have more streets than houses, more houses than inhabitants. There, as in the other States, the worship and clergy are not supported by the State but by individual contributions. If a minister be abandoned by his flock, the church becomes a store-house, the parsonage goes to ruin, and that is the end of the matter. This is called the "Voluntary System," of which Sam Slick has more than one story to tell.

"I recollect when I was up to Alabama, to one of the new cities lately built there, I was awalkin' one mornin' airly out o' town to get a leetle fresh air, for the weather was so plaguy sultry I could hardly breathe a'most, and I seed a most splendid location there near the road; a beautiful white two-story house, with a grand virandah runnin' all round it, painted green, and green vernitians to the winders, and a white palisade fence in front, lined with a row of Lombardy poplars, and two rows of 'em leadin' up to the front door, like two files of sodgers with fixt baganuts; each side of the avenue was a grass plot, and a beautiful image of Adam stood in the centre of one on 'em—and of Eve, with a fig-leaf apron on, in t'other,