Finding these preliminary remarks taken in good part, he commenced the process of “cramming.”
“But oh, my friend,” said he, with a most sanctimonious air, “did you visit, and I am ashamed as an American citizen to ask the question, I feel the blood a tannin’ of my cheek when I inquire, did you visit the South? That land that is polluted with slavery, that land where the boastin’ and crackin’ of freemen pile up the agony pangs on the corroding wounds inflicted by the iron chains of the slave, until natur can’t stand it no more; my heart bleeds like a stuck critter, when I think of this plague spot on the body politic. I ought not to speak thus; prudence forbids it, national pride forbids it; but genuwine feelings is too strong for polite forms. ‘Out of the fulness of the heart the mouth speaketh.’ Have you been there?”
“Turkey” was thrown off his guard, he opened his wallet, which was well stocked, and retailed his stories, many of them so very rich, that I doubted the capacity of the Attache to out-Herod him. Mr. Slick received these tales with evident horror, and complimented the narrator with a well simulated groan; and when he had done, said, “Ah, I see how it is, they have purposely kept dark about the most atrocious features of slavery. Have you never seen the Gougin’ School?”
“No, never.”
“What, not seen the Gougin’ School?”
“No, Sir; I never heard of it.”
“Why, you don’t mean to say so?”
“I do, indeed, I assure you.”
“Well, if that don’t pass! And you never even heerd tell of it, eh?”
“Never, Sir. I have never either seen it or heard of it.”