h, 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.

"One day, Stranger, I was a joggin' along into Windsor on Old Clay, on
a sort of butter and eggs' gait (for a fast walk on a journey tires a
horse considerable), and who should I see a settin' straddle legs "on
the fence, but Squire Gabriel Soogit, with his coat off, a holdin' of
a hoe in one hand, and his hat in t'other, and a blowin' like a porpus
proper tired.

"'Why, Squire Gabe,' sais I, 'what is the matter of you? you look as if
you couldn't help yourself; who is dead and what is to pay now, eh?'

"'Fairly beat out,' said he, 'I am shockin'