cule; he
has got no ginger in him, he can neither crack his whip, nor lay it on;
he can neither cut the hide nor sting it. Heavens! if I was there I and
I'm sure it's no great boastin' to say I'm better than such fellers, as
them small fry of white bait is. If I was there, give me a good subject
like that to-night, give me a good horn of lignum vitae--"

"Lignum vitae--what's that?"

"Lord-o-massy on us! you don't know nothin', Squire. Where have you been
all your born days, not to know what lignum vitae is? why lignum vitae,
is hot brandy and water to be sure, pipin' hot, scald an iron pot amost,
and spiced with cloves and sugar in it, stiff enough to make a tea-spoon
stand up in it, as straight as a dead nigger. Wine ain't no good, it
goes off as quick as the white beads off of champaign does, and then
leaves a stupid head-ache behind it. But give me the subject and a horn
of lignum vitae (of the wickedest kind), and then let a feller rile me,
so as to get my back up like a fightin' cat's, and I'll tell you
what I'd do, I'd sarve him as our Slickville boys sarve the cows to
California. One on 'em lays hold of the tail, and the other skins her
as she runs strait an eend. Next year, it's all growed ready for another
flayin'. Fact, I assure you. Lord! I'd skin a feller so, his hide would
never grow agin; I'd make a caution of him to sinners, I know.

"Only hear them fellers now talk of extendin' of the representation;
why the house is a mob now, plaguy little better, I assure you. Like the
house in Cromwell's time, they want "Sam Slick's" purge. But talkin'
of mobs, puts me in mind of a Swoi-ree, I told you I'd describe that to
you, and I don't care if I do now, for I've jist got my talkin' tacks
aboard. A Swoi-ree is--

"We'll talk of that some other time, Mr. Slick," said I; "it is now near
two o'clock, I must retire."

"Well, well," said he, "I suppose it is e'en a'most time to be a movin'.
But, Squire, you are a Britisher, why the plague don't you get into the
house? you know more about colony matters than the whole bilin' of" them
put together, quite as much about other things, and speak like a--"

"Come, come, Mr. Slick," said I, rising and lighting my bed-room candle,
"it is now high time to bid you good night, for you are beginning to
talk _Bunkum_."

CHAPTER IX. THROWING THE LAVENDER.

Mr. Slick's character, like that of many of his countrymen, is not so
easily understood as a person might suppose