done. They show there is truth at the bottom. I like it, for it's what
I call sense on the short-cards--do you take? Recollect always, you
are not Sam Slick, and I am not you. The greatest compliment a
Britisher would think he could pay you, would be to say, 'I should
have taken you for an Englishman.' Now the greatest compliment he can
pay me is to take me for a Connecticut Clockmaker, who hoed his way up
to the Embassy to London, and preserved so much of his nationality,
after being so long among foreigners. Let the Italics be--you ain't
answerable for them, nor my boastin' neither. When you write a book of
your own, leave out both if you like, but as you only edit my Journal,
if you leave them out, just go one step further, and leave out Sam
Slick also.

"There is another thing, Squire, upon which I must make a remark, if
you will bear with me. In my last work you made me speak purer English
than you found in my Journal, and altered my phraseology, or rather my
dialect. Now, my dear Nippent--"

"Nippent!" said I, "what is that?"

"The most endearing word in the Indian language for friend," he said,
"only it's more comprehensive, including ally, foster-brother,
life-preserver, shaft-horse, and everything that has a human tie in
it."

"Ah, Slick," I said, "how skilled you are in soft sawder! You laid
that trap for me on purpose, so that I might ask the question, to
enable you to throw the lavender to me."

"Dod drot that word soft sawder," said he, "I wish I had never