You’d better cry over him, hadn’t you. Buss him, call him brother, hug him, give him the “Abolition” kiss, write an article on slavery, like Dickens; marry him to a white gall to England, get him a saint’s darter with a good fortin, and well soon see whether her father was a talkin’ cant or no, about niggers. Cuss ‘em, let any o’ these Britishers give me slack, and I’ll give ‘em cranberry for their goose, I know. I’d jump right down their throat with spurs on, and gallop their sarce out.”
“Mr. Slick I’ve done; I shall say no more; we part, and part for ever. I had no idea whatever, that a man, whose whole conduct has evinced a kind heart, and cheerful disposition, could have entertained such a revengeful spirit, or given utterance to such unchristian and uncharitable language, as you have used to-day. We part”—
“No, we don’t,” said he; “don’t kick afore you are spurred. I guess I have feelins as well as other folks have, that’s a fact; one can’t help being ryled to hear foreigners talk this way; and these critters are enough to make a man spotty on the back. I won’t deny I’ve got some grit, but I ain’t ugly. Pat me on the back and I soon cool down, drop in a soft word and I won’t bile over; but don’t talk big, don’t threaten, or I curl directly.”
“Mr. Slick,” said I, “neither my countrymen, the Nova Scotians, nor your friends, the Americans, took any thing amiss, in our previous remarks, because, though satirical, they were good natured. There was nothing malicious in them. They were not made for the mere purpose of shewing them up, but were incidental to the topic we were discussing, and their whole tenor shewed that while “we were alive to the ludicrous, we fully appreciated, and properly valued their many excellent and sterling qualities. My countrymen, for whose good I published them, had the most reason to complain, for I took the liberty to apply ridicule to them with no sparing hand. They understood the motive, and joined in the laugh, which was raised at their expense. Let us treat the English in the same style; let us keep our temper. John Bull is a good-natured fellow, and has no objection to a joke, provided it is not made the vehicle of conveying an insult. Don’t adopt Cooper’s maxims; nobody approves of them, on either side of the water; don’t be too thin-skinned. If the English have been amused by the sketches their tourists have drawn of, the Yankees, perhaps the Americans may laugh over our sketches of the English. Let us make both of them smile, if we can, and endeavour to offend neither. If Dickens omitted to mention the festivals that were given in honour of his arrival in the States, he was doubtless actuated by a desire to avoid the appearance of personal vanity. A man cannot well make himself the hero of his own book.”
“Well, well,” said he, “I believe the black ox did tread on my toe that time. I don’t know but what you’re right. Soft words are good enough in their way, but still they butter no parsnips, as the sayin’ is. John may be a good-natured critter, tho’ I never see’d any of it yet; and he may be fond of a joke, and p’raps is, seein’ that he haw-haws considerable loud at his own. Let’s try him at all events. We’ll soon see how he likes other folks’ jokes; I have my scruple about him, I must say. I am dubersome whether he will say ‘chee, chee, chee’ when he gets ‘T’other eend of the gun.’”
CHAPTER VI. SMALL POTATOES AND FEW IN A HILL.
“Pray Sir,” said one of my fellow passengers, “can you tell me why the Nova Scotians are called ‘Blue-noses?’”
“It is the name of a potatoe,” said I, “which they produce in great perfection, and boast to be the best in the world. The Americans have, in consequence, given them the nick-name of “Blue-noses.’”
“And now,” said Mr. Slick,” as you have told the entire stranger, who a Blue-nose is, I’ll jist up and tell him what he is.