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

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       Thomas Chandler Haliburton

      The Attaché; or, Sam Slick in England — Complete

      Published by Good Press, 2019

       [email protected]

      EAN 4064066229986

Table of Contents

       THE ATTACHE; OR SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND.

       CHAPTER I. UNCORKING A BOTTLE.

       CHAPTER II. A JUICY DAY IN THE COUNTRY.

       CHAPTER III. TYING A NIGHT-CAP.

       CHAPTER IV. HOME AND THE SEA.

       CHAPTER V. T’OTHER EEND OF THE GUN.

       CHAPTER VI. SMALL POTATOES AND FEW IN A HILL.

       CHAPTER VII. A GENTLEMAN AT LARGE.

       CHAPTER VIII. SEEING LIVERPOOL.

       CHAPTER IX. CHANGING A NAME.

       CHAPTER X. THE NELSON MONUMENT.

       CHAPTER XI. COTTAGES.

       CHAPTER XII. STEALING THE HEARTS OF THE PEOPLE.

       CHAPTER XIII. NATUR’.

       CHAPTER XIV. THE SOCDOLAGER.

       CHAPTER XV. DINING OUT.

       THE SECOND VOLUME.

       CHAPTER I. THE NOSE OF A SPY

       CHAPTER II. THE PATRON; OR, THE COW’S TAIL.

       CHAPTER III. ASCOT RACES.

       CHAPTER IV. THE GANDER PULLING.

       CHAPTER V. THE BLACK STOLE.

       CHAPTER VI. THE PRINCE DE JOINVILLE’S HORSE.

       CHAPTER VII. LIFE IN THE COUNTRY.

       CHAPTER VIII. BUNKUM.

       CHAPTER IX. THROWING THE LAVENDER.

       CHAPTER X. AIMING HIGH.

       CHAPTER XI. A SWOI-REE.

       CHAPTER XII. TATTERSALL’S OR, THE ELDER AND THE GRAVE DIGGER.

       CHAPTER XIII. LOOKING BACK.

       CHAPTER XIV. CROSSING THE BORDER.

       CHAPTER XV. THE IRISH PREFACE.

       Gentle reader,

THE ATTACHE; OR SAM SLICK IN ENGLAND.

       Table of Contents

CHAPTER I. UNCORKING A BOTTLE.

       Table of Contents

      We left New York in the afternoon of—day of May, 184-, and embarked on board of the good Packet ship “Tyler” for England. Our party consisted of the Reverend Mr. Hopewell, Samuel Slick, Esq., myself, and Jube Japan, a black servant of the Attache.

      I love brevity—I am a man of few words, and, therefore, constitutionally economical of them; but brevity is apt to degenerate into obscurity. Writing a book, however, and book-making, are two very different things: “spinning a yarn” is mechanical, and book-making savours of trade, and is the employment of a manufacturer. The author by profession, weaves his web by the piece, and as there is much competition in this branch of trade, extends it over the greatest possible surface, so as to make the most of his raw material. Hence every work of fancy is made to reach to three volumes, otherwise it will not pay, and a manufacture that does not requite the cost of production, invariably and inevitably terminates in bankruptcy. A thought, therefore, like a pound of cotton, must be well spun out to be valuable. It is very contemptuous to say of a man, that he has but one idea, but it is the highest meed of praise that can be bestowed on a book. A man, who writes thus, can write for ever.

      Now, it is not only not my intention to write for ever, or as Mr. Slick would say “for everlastinly;” but to make my bow and retire very soon from the press altogether. I might assign many reasons for this modest course, all of them plausible, and some of them indeed quite dignified. I like dignity: any man who has lived the greater part of his life in a colony is so accustomed to it, that he becomes quite enamoured of it, and wrapping himself up in it as a cloak, stalks abroad the “observed of all observers.” I could undervalue this species of writing if I thought proper, affect a contempt for idiomatic humour, or hint at the employment being inconsistent with the grave discharge of important official duties, which are so distressingly onerous, as not to leave me a moment for recreation; but these airs, though dignified, will unfortunately not avail me. I shall put my dignity into my pocket, therefore, and disclose the real cause of this diffidence.

      In