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."

it.

“

He has not the good nature to profess for political life that admiring esteem which we Frenchmen, new to it, bestow upon "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 lectle 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,

made of wood by a native artist, and painted so nateral no soul could tell 'em from stone.

I.

"The avenue was all planked beautiful, and it was lined with flowers in pots and jars, and looked a touch above common, I tell you. While I was astoppin to look at it, who should drive by but the milkman with his cart. Says I, stranger, says I, I suppose you don't know who lives here, do you? I guess you are a stranger, said he, ain't you? Well, says I I don't exactly know as I ain't, but who lives here? The Rev. Ahab Meldrum, said he, I reckon. Ahab Meldrum, said I, to myself; I wonder if it can be the Ahab Meldrum I was to school with to Slickville, to minister's, when we was boys. It can't be possible it's him, for he was fitter for a State's prisoner than a State's preacher, by a long chalk. He was a poor stick to make a preacher on, for minister couldn't beat nothin' into him a'most, he was so cussed stupid; but I'll see any how; so I walks right through the gate, and raps away at the door, and a tidy, well-rigged nigger help opens it, and shows me into a'most an elegant farnished room. I was most darnted to sit down on the chairs, they were so splendid, for fear I should spile 'em. There was mirrors and varses, and lamps, and picturs, and crinkum crankums, and notions of all sorts and sizes in it. It looked like a bazar a'most, it was filled with such an everlastin' sight of curiosities.

"The room was considerable dark too, for the blinds was shot, and I was skear'd to move for fear o' doin' mischief. Presently in comes Ahab slowly sailin' in, like a boat droppin' down stream in a calm, with a pair o' purple slippers on, and a figured silk dressin'-gound, and carrying a'most a beautiful-bound book in his hand. May I presume, says he, to inquire who I have the onexpected pleasure of seeing this mornin'. If you'll gist through open one o' them are shutters,

says I, I guess the light will save us the trouble of axin' names. I know who you be by your voice any how, tho' it's considerable softer than it was ten years ago. I'm Sam Slick, says I,-what left o' me at least. Verily, said he, friend Samuel, I'm glad to see you; and how did you leave that excellent man and distinguished scholar, the Rev. Mr. Hopewell, and my good friend your father? Is the old gentleman still alive? if so, he must anow be ripe full of years as he is full of honors. Your mother, I think I heer'd was dead-gathered to her fathers-peace be with her !—she had a good and a kind heart. I loved her as a child; but the Lord taketh whom he loveth. Ahab, says I, I have but a few minutes to stay with you, and if you think to draw the wool over my eyes, it might perhaps take you a longer time than you are thinking on, or than I have to spare;-there are some friends you've forgot to inquire after tho',-there's Polly Bacon and her little boy.

"Spare me, Samuel, spare me, my friend, says he; open not that wound afresh, I beseech thee. Well, says I, none o' your nonsense then; show me into a room where I can spit, and feel to home, and put my feet upon the chairs without adamagin' things, and I'll sit and smoke and chat with you a few minutes; in fact, I don't care if I stop and breakfast with you, for I feel considerable peckish this mornin'. Sam, says he, atakin' hold of my hand, you were always right up and down, and as straight as a shingle in your dealin's. I can trust you, I know, but mind—and he put his fingers on his lipsmum is the word;-bye gones are bye gones-you wouldn't blow an old chum among his friends, would you? I scorn a nasty, dirty, mean action, says I, as I do a nigger. Come, foller me, then, says he ;-and he led me into a back room, with an oncarpeted painted floor, farnished plain, and some shelves in it, with books and pipes and cigars, pig-tail and